#Yves Bonnefoy

[exhaled-spirals]

— Yves Bonnefoy, Poems: 1959-1975 (trans. Richard Pevear)

[undinesea]

And it’s true, my love: when all is fading, something remains. Together, our fingers are touching strings in the invisible. Our desires, our memories awaken them.

Yves Bonnefoy, from “Together Music and Memory”

[majestativa]

La pourvoyeuse du ciel noir. (The purveyor of black sky.)

— Yves Bonnefoy, Anthology of Contemporary French Poetry, transl by Graham Dunstan Martin, (1971)

[elizabethanism]

“Receive me intensely but abstractedly

Let me have no face or name for you,

So that being the thief I can give you more

And the stranger, exile, in you, in me

May become the origin . . .”

— Yves Bonnefoy, from “Two Boats” (tr. Richard Pevear)

[embeccy]

"And it’s true, my love: when all is fading, something remains. Together, our fingers are touching strings in the invisible. Our desires, our memories awaken them."

- Yves Bonnefoy

[astrosoeur]

bonnefoy for the signs

Aries: “I will name wilderness the castle which you were: night your voice, absence your face. And when you fall back into sterile earth; I will name nothingness the lightning which bore you.”

Taurus: “Unknowing, let us sleep. Chest against chest, our breathing mingled, hand in hand without dreams.”

Gemini:  “Smiling, prime, faded, forever an immobile star's reflection / in mortal gesture.”

Cancer:  “These frail earthly hands will undo / The sad knot of dreams.”

Leo: “Our hands full or not: The same abundance. Our eyes open or shut: the same light.”

Virgo: ”[You] who are strange to me no longer. We have grown, I know, In the same dark gardens.“

Libra: “Dreaming is a language.”

Scorpio:  “Always the same night that does not end.”

Sagittarius: “I live again in the light / Of the shadows you used to be”

Capricorn: “I sense you in the secret of all the paintings I love. I hear you stumbling at the stony core of the only books I read, the few I know how to read.”

Aquarius: “Silence is like the outline of a thousand metamorphoses.”

Pisces: “Let our bodies try to ford a wider time, our hands not know the other shore.”

[aschenblumen]

¿Qué casa quieres levantar para mí, qué escritura negra cuando llega el fuego? * Retrocedí por mucho tiempo antes tus signos, me expulsaste de toda densidad. * Pero ahora la noche incesante me cuida, con caballos oscuros me salvo de ti.

—Yves Bonnefoy, «Una voz» en Del movimiento y la inmovilidad de Douve (1953), compilado en Poemas 1947-1975. Traducción de Silvio Mattoni.

[ma-pi-ma]

Sei allegra o triste? – Come saperlo, Salvo che nulla pesa Al cuore senza ritorno.

Nessun passo d’uccello Su questa vetrata Del cuore attraversato Da giardini ed ombra.

Un pensiero di te Che ha bevuto la mia vita Ma tra queste foglie Nessun ricordo.

Sono l’ora semplice E l’acqua non intorbidita. Ho saputo amarti, Non sapendo morire?

Yves Bonnefoy, da Pietra scritta, 1965

[las-microfisuras]

Dibujar es menos precisar unos contornos, expresar su verdad, que adentrarse en ese blanco, y descubrir la precariedad de cualquier logro, la vanidad de los deseos, y alcanzar de esa manera la realidad-unidad de la que el lenguaje nos priva. Y en esto el dibujo, el “gran” dibujo, será poesía. Poesía “pura”, moderna ya, junto a pinturas que son obras entreveradas de relato, de sermón, de ciencia; y sin duda enriquecidas también –pero de modo menos directo- por esa poesía que a veces recogen, que intensifican o disipan.

_ Yves Bonnefoy: Apuntes sobre el dibujo, Ed. Asphodel, Tenerife, 1999.

[tournevole]

Yves Bonnefoy, L'Heure présente

[schizografia]

Dedico questo libro all’improbabile, ossia a ciò che è. Ad uno spirito vigilante. Alle teologie negative. Ad una poesia desiderata, di piogge, d’attesa e di vento. Ad un grandioso realismo che aggravi invece di risolvere, che indichi l’oscuro, per cui le certezze siano nubi che è sempre possibile lacerare. Che abbia l’ansia di un’altra ed impraticabile certezza.

Yves Bonnefoy

[canesenzafissadimora]

Allungando le braccia si può toccare, a volte, nella distanza tra due persone un istante del sogno dell’altra, che non ha fine.

[undinesea]

One can sometimes touch, in the distance between two people, a moment of another person’s endless dream.

Yves Bonnefoy, from In the Shadow’s Light

[majestativa]

I was happy to the point of dying.

— Yves Bonnefoy, Anthology of Contemporary French Poetry, transl by Graham Dunstan Martin, (1971)

[elizabethanism]

“Against whom do we ever struggle if not against our own double?” —Yves Bonnefoy

[yes-too-yves]

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certified yves bonnefoy fan blog!

Meet the Mods (the three S's)!

Mod Sophia - the most criminally not funny, can speak whatever i put my mind to (just not French) stop editing my posts SRIYA [ :( ]

Mod Sindhu - not funny, can speak french (?)

Mod Sriya the bonnefoy-ed genius - not funny, cannot speak french nor English tbh (Don't touch my Bonnefoy-ed genius Sophia or Ill start crossing things out on yours too)