To The Happy Few
that Jacob ever
did anything for Reverdy
but I know
the haunted books
of anticlerical poets
make for difficult
translations
(very long sentences
with complicated clauses
and grammar).
How do you keep
anything in balance?
Arcane puns, I call
my friends:
it's the tiny debris
and differences between us
that make it very naked
shocking and thrilling (really).
The shadow of a pin
on a peach (such tiny
things on a Tuesday).
But still the epics
of Zola, the nighttime
vision and craven
formal dignity
of my passing days
into night. I'm not
known for anything
but that sudden evolution.