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Wednesday, April 16, 2014

A POEM BY APOLLINAIRE

francis picabia



      HUNTING HORNS

   Our history is noble and tragic

   Like the mask of a tyrant

   No drama with danger and magic

   No detail indifferent

   Can make our love pathetic


   And Thomas de Quincey drinking

   Opium sweet and pure poison

   Dreaming continually of his poor Anne

   Let us pass let us pass as everything passes

   I will return often


   Memories are hunting horns

   Whose sound dies away with the wind




                     ----Guillaume Apollinaire

                          tr TJ Worthington
 
 
 
guillaume apollinaire


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