Guillaume Apollinaire

Guillaume Apollinaire HOME
Guillaume Apollinaire Song for Lou If I should die out there on the battle-front, You'd weep, O Lou my darling, a single day, And then my memory would die away As a shell dies bursting over the battle-front, A beautiful shell like a flowered mimosa spray. And then this memory exploded in space Would flood the whole wide world beneath my blood: The mountains, valleys, seas and the stars that race, The wondrous suns that ripen far in space, As golden fruits round General Baratier would. Forgotten memory, living in all things, I'd redden the nipples of your sweet pink breasts, I'd blush your mouth, your hair's now blood-like rings. You wouldn't grow old at all; these lovely things Would ever make you young for their brave behests. The fatal spurting of my blood on the world Would give more lively brightness to the sun, More color to flowers, to waves more speedy run. A marvelous love would descend upon the world, HOTELS The room is free Each for himself A new arrival Pays by the month The boss is doubtful Whether you’ll pay Like a top I spin on the way The traffic noise My neighbour gross Who puffs an acrid English smoke O La Vallière Who limps and smiles In my prayers The bedside table And all the company in this hotel know the languages of Babel Let’s shut our doors With a double lock And each adore his lonely love Hunting Horns Our story’s noble as its tragic like the grimace of a tyrant no drama’s chance or magic no detail that’s indifferent makes our great love pathetic And Thomas de Quincey drinking Opiate poison sweet and chaste Of his poor Anne went dreaming We pass we pass since all must pass Often I’ll be returning Memories are hunting horns alas whose note along the wind is dying

Song for Lou

If I should die out there on the battle-front,
You'd weep, O Lou my darling, a single day,
And then my memory would die away
As a shell dies bursting over the battle-front,
A beautiful shell like a flowered mimosa spray.
And then this memory exploded in space
Would flood the whole wide world beneath my blood:
The mountains, valleys, seas and the stars that race,
The wondrous suns that ripen far in space,
As golden fruits round General Baratier would.
Forgotten memory, living in all things,
I'd redden the nipples of your sweet pink breasts,
I'd blush your mouth, your hair's now blood-like rings.
You wouldn't grow old at all; these lovely things
Would ever make you young for their brave behests.
The fatal spurting of my blood on the world
Would give more lively brightness to the sun,
More color to flowers, to waves more speedy run.
A marvelous love would descend upon the world,

HOTELS

The room is free
Each for himself
A new arrival
Pays by the month
The boss is doubtful
Whether you’ll pay
Like a top
I spin on the way
The traffic noise
My neighbour gross
Who puffs an acrid
English smoke
O La Vallière
Who limps and smiles
In my prayers
The bedside table
And all the company
in this hotel
know the languages
of Babel
Let’s shut our doors
With a double lock
And each adore
his lonely love

Hunting Horns

Our story’s noble as its tragic
like the grimace of a tyrant
no drama’s chance or magic
no detail that’s indifferent
makes our great love pathetic
And Thomas de Quincey drinking
Opiate poison sweet and chaste
Of his poor Anne went dreaming
We pass we pass since all must pass
Often I’ll be returning
Memories are hunting horns alas
whose note along the wind is dying