Yves Bonnefoy Poems (11 Poems)
The house where I was born (05) (Yves Bonnefoy Poem)
In the same dream I am lying in the hollow of a boat, My forehead and eyes against the curved planks Where I can hear the undercurrents Striking the bottom of the boat. All at once, the prow rises up, … Continue reading
The house where I was born (04) (Yves Bonnefoy Poem)
Another time. It was still night. Water slid Silently on the black ground, And I knew that my only task would be To remember, and I laughed, I bent down, I took from the mud A pile of branches and … Continue reading
The house where I was born (09) (Yves Bonnefoy Poem)
And then the day came When I heard the extraordinary lines in Keats, The evocation of Ruth “when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn.” I did not need to search for the meaning Of these … Continue reading
The house where I was born (02) (Yves Bonnefoy Poem)
I woke up, it was the house where I was born. It was raining softly in all the rooms, I went from one to another, looking at The water that shone on the mirrors Piled up everywhere, some broken or … Continue reading
The house where I was born (06) (Yves Bonnefoy Poem)
I woke up, but I was travelling, The train had rolled throughout the night, It was now going toward huge clouds That were standing, packed together, down there, Dawn rent from time to time by forks of lightning. I watched … Continue reading
The house where I was born (03) (Yves Bonnefoy Poem)
I woke up, it was the house where I was born, It was night, trees were crowding On all sides around our door, I was alone on the doorstep in the cold wind, No, not alone, for two huge beings … Continue reading
The house where I was born (10) (Yves Bonnefoy Poem)
And then life; and once again A house where I was born. Around us The granary above what once had been a church, The gentle play of shadow from the dawn clouds, And in us that smell of the dry … Continue reading
The house where I was born (01) (Yves Bonnefoy Poem)
I woke up, it was the house where I was born, Sea foam splashed against the rock, Not a single bird, only the wind to open and close the wave, Everywhere on the horizon the smell of ashes, As if … Continue reading
The house where I was born (07) (Yves Bonnefoy Poem)
I remember, it was a morning, in summer, The window was half-open, I drew near, I could see my father at the end of the garden. He was motionless, looking for something, I could not tell what, or where, beyond … Continue reading
The house where I was born (08) (Yves Bonnefoy Poem)
I open my eyes, yes, it’s the house where I was born, Exactly as it was and nothing more. The same small dining room whose window Gives onto a peach tree that never grows. A man and a woman are … Continue reading
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