Lady Love
She is standing on my eyelids
And her hair is in my hair
She has the color of my eye
She has the body of my hand
In my shade she is engulfed
As a stone against the sky
She will never close her eyes
And she does not let me sleep
And her dreams in the bright day
Make the suns evaporate
And me laugh cry and laugh
Speak when I have nothing to say
poem by Paul Eluard
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Your Orange Hair In The Void Of The World
Your orange hair in the void of the world
In the void of these heavy panes of silence
Shade where my bare hands seek your image.
The shape of your heart is chimerical
And your love resembles my lost desire.
O sighs of amber, dreams, glances.
But you were not always here. My memory
Is still obscured by seeing your coming
And going. Time consumes words, like love.
poem by Paul Eluard
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Barely Disfigured
Adieu Tristesse
Bonjour Tristesse
Farewell Sadness
Hello Sadness
You are inscribed in the lines on the ceiling
You are inscribed in the eyes that I love
You are not poverty absolutely
Since the poorest of lips denounce you
Ah with a smile
Bonjour Tristesse
Love of kind bodies
Power of love
From which kindness rises
Like a bodiless monster
Unattached head
Sadness beautiful face.
poem by Paul Eluard
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We two
We two take each other by the hand
We believe everywhere in our house
Under the soft tree under the black sky
Beneath the roofs at the edge of the fire
In the empty street in broad daylight
In the wandering eyes of the crowd
By the side of the foolish and wise
Among the grown-ups and children
Love’s not mysterious at all
We are the evidence ourselves
In our house lovers believe.
poem by Paul Eluard
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It’s The Sweet Law Of Men
It’s the sweet law of men
They make wine from grapes
They make fire from coal
They make men from kisses
It’s the true law of men
Kept intact despite
the misery and war
despite danger of death
It’s the warm law of men
To change water to light
Dream to reality
Enemies to friends
A law old and new
That perfects itself
From the child’s heart’s depths
To reason’s heights.
poem by Paul Eluard
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Fertile Eyes
Fertile Eyes
No one can know me more
More than you know me
Your eyes in which we sleep
The two of them
Have cast a spell on my male orbs
Greater than worldly nights
Your eyes where I voyage
Have given the road-signs
Directions detached from the earth
In your eyes those that show us
Our infinite solitude
Is no more than they think exists
No one can know me more
More than you know me.
poem by Paul Eluard
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I Cannot be Known
I cannot be known
Better than you know me
Your eyes in which we sleep
We together
Have made for my man's gleam
A better fate than for the common nights
Your eyes in which I travel
Have given to signs along the roads
A meaning alien to the earth
In your eyes who reveal to us
Our endless solitude
Are no longer what they thought themselves to be
You cannot be known
Better than I know you.
poem by Paul Eluard
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Max Ernst
In one corner agile incest
Turns round the virginity of a little dress
In one corner sky released
leaves balls of white on the spines of storm.
In one corner bright with all the eyes
One awaits the fish of anguish.
In one corner the car of summer’s greenery
gloriously motionless forever.
In the glow of youth
lamps lit too late.
The first one shows her breasts that kill the insects that are red
poem by Paul Eluard
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Curfew
What else could we do, for the doors were guarded,
What else could we do, for they had imprisoned us,
What else could we do, for the streets were forbidden us,
What else could we do, for the town was asleep?
What else could we do, for she hungered and thirsted,
What else could we do, for we were defenceless,
What else could we do, for night had descended,
What else could we do, for we were in love?
poem by Paul Eluard
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To Marc Chagall
Donkey or cow, cockerel or horse
On to the skin of a violin
A singing man a single bird
An agile dancer with his wife
A couple drenched in their youth
The gold of the grass lead of the sky
Separated by azure flames
Of the health-giving dew
The blood glitters the heart rings
A couple the first reflection
And in a cellar of snow
The opulent vine draws
A face with lunar lips
That never slept at night.
poem by Paul Eluard
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