:: Article

Three Poems

By Blandine Longre.

Cartography

A substantial knot roaming
to and fro our true-to-us selves
keeps congruous freedom within romping
bounds (according to our own distorted
topographical laws and free-willing maps) and imparts
a tabooless luminance
to our most shrouded wanderings – thus wherever
our fiery yet fiercely-guarded spheres might
stand our umbilical certainties (though numerous
they are not) prevent my sinking into a deepknown
pit of fearful distrust– while keeping at
bay the vagaries from the mumbly-miry outside and
having loneliness (that of the
racking-rackety sort) and many-voiced pain flung
down then wrenched back to
their own rocky void – so whatever
the drumming immensity of distance
between our thriving parabolas
they soar bond meander (perpetually) and then
alight in a clot as enmeshed as
a fetter-free flesh-bound lock – your immeasurable
planets wrapped-up round my
vagrant atoms.

 

Inward interlude

Pluck my oh so tense embodied
strings twitch
your wild wandering ear listen for
a distended while
to my unwavering vibration (the shiniest of all) then
find my most inner
tuneful air (to be repeated and breathed in) coming from
an unquenchable echo-chamber unloosing
a lasting stridency swollen tremors grating tremolos
(moans and cries alike till the last
quavers)
Yes, do pluck stretch outplay them at
will before
snapping them
alive

 

Revolving

A mutation on its
way and here I am once or is it twice?
more (though we more than most know more
can never be enough) rolling round on this crooked
axis of mine for real for worse or for everything – and while
unsealed scars recede grudging limping
back out of my once-warped sight they can’t help hovering
offstage (above this unwonted
lovetrustlife of me of us) birds-of-prey-like
sores still on the watch (as is their obvious
leaning the little brutes): qualmless
flap-aflapping – wings beak
talons a-ready to rend
scratch cleave my now-grinning now-numbed
skin in spite of its long-self-taught bellicose bend – so what
balmy thread could help stitch those now-barely-oozing
marks? subdue them into crawling back to
the unconscious crannies of my imperilled
me? None, perhaps –
apart from your boundless saving
fingertips a too-true flesh
an able-bodied soul (call them
my own) and your many manly
spiralling cells embedding
mine – forever off-center.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Blandine Longre is a French writer (fiction, and poetry in English), literary translator and reviewer, based in Paris. Some of her short stories have been published in The Zaporogue magazine and in the Revue Rue Saint Ambroise. She is currently working on the translation of Tabish Khair’s The Bus Stopped (Picador, 2004) and of Paul Stubbs’ poetry collection The Icon Maker (Arc Publications, 2008). Her recent translations include The Wizard of Oz books by L. F. Baum, which will be released in France in April 2010 (Le Cherche-Midi).

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Friday, February 12th, 2010.