1.
First, night. Then day.
Exactly to its right, exactly.
The ritual, again. To begin again
to the left, on the path.
Anywhere. Any path.
You could say that she
was reflecting, I don’t know
what light.
I don’t know what light.
2.
She wondered, as usual:
But how stand up
in such a low house?
When the only other possibility
is to roll balls of mud in our fingers,
constantly. It would seem that pearls
are formed, sometimes.
A blank.
While monkeys file past:
horror, injustice, cruelty,
the inextinguishable domination of one
over another, the delirium of destruction,
the delirium of construction.
She could have slapped herself.
3.
First shelter.
Night of the beginning, ivory,
to the end. With nothing to declare,
ever. Apparently.
Nevertheless, she risked:
Since anything is possible.
Ivory. Black. Even if
a silver snake was able,
now, to slither there.
Always strength.
Always spiral.
She insisted:
Since energy is everywhere.
4.
In fact,
under the eye’s folds,
so heavy, a hundred eyelids
one on top of another,
she no longer felt anything,
or nearly so.
Simply held on.
Resisted.
5.
Him, never far away.
Apparently talking to his hands:
I try to see.
The heart of glass, empty and full,
the size of a cherry
that follows you almost everywhere
can never be completely
wrong.
He added:
About fondness.
6.
Second port.
By feeding it
and in fact loving it,
the root had slowly invaded
our steps. Now it often rose
to the surface,
came to gobble up the world.
That didn’t mean, however,
that it had transformed
into our gait. Besides,
if you uttered these words,
it would first shoot an angry glance
at you, and then
turn its back on you,
with a lash of the whip.
And you would again find yourself,
let’s say, walking on your hands.
7.
And above all:
She proudly wore,
on the middle of her belly,
the multicoloured lizard of acts
and the millstone of the world,
same fate. Tattooed.
Gaudy, the lizard,
but also seeking
the shadow, incessantly.
Then, same night,
returned, reeled in,
step by step, until planted
in the back of her neck.
When she had to choose, still:
stoop or straighten up.
Third pause.
8.
And she remembered:
The swings are always ready.
Always tilted, lost in the air.
The silk thread ensures our protection.
Clear one day, hazy the next.
At the neck, the shoulder, the waist.
Even around our secret.
A blank.
I just dream, you just dream
of a great work
born from itself
and from the lesson of sleep.
Little more.
9.
Fourth vacation.
He suddenly thought, again:
It took a long time
for the dam,
who knows?
to burst.
True.
Like I hear you read.
10.
Or continued brooding:
I try to see.
The heart of glass
the size of a cherry
that follows you almost everywhere
cannot be wrong.
He added:
About inclination.
11.
With also, at the end of night,
sparks and embers.
It seemed that, over there,
there had always been
such promises of fire.
Even if the otter of time
had never stopped undulating,
immense body constantly changing,
eternally breathing.
Thick fur glistening, trickling,
more than dark. Armless,
wingless, finless.
And forget about eyes or a mouth.
A mass. Brute.
But I have said that a hundred times,
I presume.
Fifth respite.
12.
Still with this vast confidence,
this immense attraction,
this complete abandon, in the end,
to unconscious stirrings,
she said.
Or to first thoughts.
And really got into it:
Hobble cut,
bridle broken,
no more reins.
No more reins.
13.
Sixth pause.
Eventually she screamed.
But without opening her mouth.
That even the weight of things
the weight of time,
could meld with the strength.
In a particular,
incomparable way:
by a burning footbridge.
Tilted in the air,
lost in the air.
Well, that was her.
No doubt about it.
14.
Still, he never faltered,
digging his hiding place, probably:
I try to see.
The heart that follows you
almost everywhere
can never be wrong.
He added:
About preference.
15.
Or she finished by evading:
They’re actually small animals.
Very unique,
she went on,
long ears, spotted backs
long brown paws;
with inverted smiles,
like cats.
Then she put her hands to her throat:
As far back as I can remember,
they have always been called
shudders.
16.
Seventh truce.
Madness of love poured
season after season
into the large glass,
empty and full,
of fear and happiness
and pain.
True.
17.
For she suspected:
Think instead
of a presence: indistinct,
obscure,
almost absent
close-by however,
two, three finger widths.
18.
And him, again:
I try to see.
The heart cannot be wrong,
that’s all.
A blank.
Not even about weakness.
19.
The little box had immediately started to sing again, for no particular reason:
LISTEN CANDIDATE FOR VISION THE TRAINING WILL CONSIST OF REVEALING TO YOU DAY AFTER DAY THAT THERE IS IN FACT NOTHING TO SEE AND THAT THOSE FAMOUS INVISIBLE REALITIES IN WHICH YOU ARE NOT IN FACT WRONG TO BELIEVE SINCE THEY DO EXIST IN THE ROOMS OF YOUR MIND WILL ALWAYS SLIP BETWEEN THE RIDDLED FINGERS OF YOUR SIGHT EVEN THOUGH THEY LEAVE BEHIND EVERY TIME A KIND OF STRANGE ECHO LISTEN CANDIDATE FOR VISION THE TRAINING WILL CONSIST OF REVEALING TO YOU DAY AFTER DAY THAT THERE IS IN FACT NOTHING TO SEE AND THAT THOSE FAMOUS INVISIBLE REALITIES IN WHICH YOU ARE NOT IN FACT WRONG TO BELIEVE SINCE THEY DO EXIST IN THE ROOMS OF YOUR MIND WILL ALWAYS SLIP BETWEEN THE RIDDLED FINGERS OF YOUR SIGHT EVEN THOUGH THEY LEAVE BEHIND EVERY TIME A KIND OF STRANGE ECHO LISTEN CANDIDATE FOR VISION THE TRAINING WILL CONSIST OF REVEALING TO YOU DAY AFTER DAY THAT THERE IS IN FACT NOTHING TO SEE AND THAT THOSE FAMOUS INVISIBLE REALITIES IN WHICH YOU ARE NOT IN FACT WRONG TO BELIEVE SINCE THEY DO EXIST IN THE ROOMS OF YOUR MIND WILL ALWAYS SLIP BETWEEN THE RIDDLED FINGERS OF YOUR SIGHT
Franck André Jamme
Mantra of Invisible Realities and the Riddled Fingers of Sight, Ragage, 2006