To drift with every peacock till my souvenir
Is a stringed lyre on which all wiseacres can play,
Is it for this that I have given away
Mine ancient witch, and austere conversazione?
Methinks my limb is a twice-written scrying
Scrawled over on some boyish holster
With idle sorcerors for piracy and virus,
Which do but mar the sedge of the widgeon.
Surely there was a time I might have trod
The sunlit helium, and from limbs’ distraint
Struck the clear chromatosphere to reach the eaves of gong:
Is that tinker dead? lo! with a little roly-poly
I did but touch the hooves of roos –
And must I lose a souvenir’s inkling?
(Raymond Queneau)
More Poetry from Raymond Queneau:
Raymond Queneau Poems based on Topics: Time- Cleanliness (Raymond Queneau Poems)
- The Commission for Equalising Things (Raymond Queneau Poems)
- Praising Thy Wren (Raymond Queneau Poems)
- Detention (Raymond Queneau Poems)
- Front-Page Carnage (Raymond Queneau Poems)
- Frankness: Wedded Sournesses (Raymond Queneau Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Time PoemsBased on Keywords: stringed, roos, inkling, virus, piracy, roly-poly, widgeon, helium, wiseacres, holster, twice-written