arthur rimbaud – to music lyrics
on the square which is chopped into mean little plots of gr-ss
the square where all is just so, both the trees and the flowers
all the wheezy townsfolk whom the heat chokes bring
each thursday evening, their envious silliness
– the military band, in the middle of the gardens
swing their shakos in the waltz of the fifes:
round about, near the front rows, the town dandy struts;
– the notary hangs like a charm from his own watch chain
private incomes in pince-nez point out all false notes:
great counting-house desks, bloated, drag their stout spouses
close by whom, like bustling elephant keepers
walk females whose flounces remind you of sales;
on the green benches, retired grocers’ clubs
poking the sand with their kn-bbed walking canes
gravely discuss trade agreements
and then take snuff from silver boxes, and resume: “in short!…”
spreading over his bench all the fat of his rump
a pale-b-ttoned burgher, a flemish corporation
savours his onnaing, whence shreds of tobacco hang loose
you realize, it’s smuggled, of course; –
along the gr-ss borders yobs laugh in derision;
and, melting to love at the sound of trombones
very simple, and sucking at roses, the little foot-soldiers
fondle the babies to get round their nurses…
– as for me, i follow, dishevelled like a student
under the green chestnuts, the lively young girls:
which they know very well, and they turn to me
laughing, eyes which are full of indiscreet things
i don’t say a word: i just keep on looking at
the skin of their white necks embroidered with stray locks:
i go hunting, beneath bodices and thin attire
the divine back below the curve of the shoulders
soon i’ve discovered the boot and the stocking…
– i re-create their bodies, burning with fine fevers
they find me absurd, and talk together in low voices…
– and my savage desires fasten on to their lips…
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