Silk Paper Dreams

The Night tries to let us know.
How long will we remain deaf?

The Moon does not shine.
She simply faces the Sun.
Things do not happen.
They come and go.
Time does not flow.
It just pretends to pass.
Worlds do not exist.
They all are
silk paper dreams,
and so is Life
and so is Death.

But Love is Love, it is
the only Truth.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Clara’s Song / Chanson de Clara

It’s a huge universe
and a strange hue of blue.
Clara, I mean
I don’t blame you.

With all your being
you loved him.
Clara, that’s  true.
There’s light in darkness.

Deep black silence.
Absence and presence.
Clara. Like a sweet
and luminous laughter.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Que l’univers est grand
et cette nuance de bleu,
étrange. Clara, si loin de moi
l’idée de te blâmer.

De tout ton être tu l’aimais.
Clara, c’est vrai.
De l’obscurité
a surgi la Lumière.

Silence noir et profond,
absence et présence.
Clara. Comme un rire
doux et lumineux.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: Ophelia (Odilon Redon, c1903)

The Forgotten Poem

Have you seen Mnemosyne
in the garden of lost Springs?
I wish I could remember
the Forgotten Poem!

Was it about
a thousand-year-old tree
or the light within
the smallest fragment of time?

I guess it was written
by the breeze in a dream
with silent words of yours,

a sonnet engraved
in the nightingale’s heart,
all about Life and Love.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Abstract Poem

Blue flows, ebony bows,
oriental garden, playful arson,
half a golden sun,
tranquil purple seas, green rays,
agate slices, serene waves,
chimerical swan, concealed wand,
the last star at dawn

and a world beyond.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: Composition (János Mattis-Teutsch, 1920)

Failed Poet / Poète raté

It was so presumptuous of me
to think I was able to write
about the beauty of the sunset light!

Still, I wrote my lines in Moonlight.
But no one liked the paper words
I found at Night, after the sun had gone.

Silence is gifted. Silence is enough.
So tomorrow I will throw all my poems
into the great Fire of Dawn,

and when I scatter their ashes
I will tell myself that finally
it’s not so bad to be a failed poet.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Au coucher du soleil la lumière est si belle !
J’ai cru pouvoir le dire. Ce n’était pas la peine.
J’écrivais au clair de lune mais nul n’aima
les mots de papier qu’à la Nuit je trouvais.

Le silence est doué, le silence suffit.

Aussi demain je jetterai mes poèmes
au grand feu de l’aurore
et puis en dispersant leurs cendres
je me dirai que ce n’est pas si grave d’être

un poète raté.

© Frédéric Georges Martin