Awakening
Grave mouths of lions
Sinuous smiling of young crocodiles
Along the river's water conveying millions
Isles of spice
How lovely he is, the son
Of the widowed queen
And the sailor
The handsome sailor abandons a siren,
Her widow's lament at the south of the islet
It's Diana of the barracks yard
Too short a dream
Dawn and lanterns barely extinguished
We are awakening
A tattered fanfare
poem by Jean Cocteau
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Jean Cocteau’s poem for Welles
Orson Welles is a poet
through his violence
and through his grace.
Never does he tumble
from the tightrope
on which he crosses cities
and their dramas.
He is a poet too in the
Loyal friendship he bears
our dreams and our struggles.
Others will know better than I
how to praise his work.
I content myself with sending him
my fraternal greeting.
His handshake is as firm as he is
and I think of it each time my work
obliges me to leap over an obstacle.
poem by Jean Cocteau
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Soft Caramel
Take a young girl.
Fill her with ice and gin
shake it all up to make it androgynous
And return her to her family
Hello, hello, operator don't cut me off
Ah! how sad it is to be the king of animals,
Nobody says a word
Oh! Love is the worst of evils
Take a young girl,
Fill her with ice and gin
Put a slight drop of angostura on her mouth
I knew a man very unhappy in love
Who played Chopin's nocturnes on the drum
Hello, hello, operator don't cut me off
I was talking to....I was talking to the....hello, hello?
Nobody says a word.
—don't you find that art is a bit.....
We tell children wash your hands
We don't tell 'em wash your teeth.....
Soft caramel--
poem by Jean Cocteau
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L'Ange Heurtebise (translated in english)
I
Angel Heurtebise on the steps
Beats me with his wings
Of watered silk, refreshes my memory,
The rascal, motionless
And alone with me on the agate
Which breaks, ass, your supernatural
Pack-saddle.
II
Ang el Heurtebise with incredible
Brutality jumps on me. Please
Don't jump so hard,
Beastly fellow, flower of tall
Stature.
You've laid me up. That's
Bad manners. I hold the ace, see?
What do you have?
[...] Read more
poem by Jean Cocteau
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Toreador
Pepita queen of Venice
When you go beneath your shutter
All gondoliers call out:
Watch out--Toreador!
No one rules your heart
In the grand palace where you sleep
And near you the old duenna lies in waiting
for the Toreador.
Toreador, bravest of the brave
When in Piazza San Marco
The wild, slobbering bull
Falls slain by your blade
It is not pride that caresses
Your heart beneath your golden cape
It is for a young goddess
That your passion burns, toreador.
(refrain)
Lovely Spanish girl
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poem by Jean Cocteau
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Preamble (A Rough Draft For An Ars Poetica)
...Preamble
A rough draft
for an ars poetica
. . . . . . .
Let's get our dreams unstuck
The grain of rye
free from the prattle of grass
et loin de arbres orateurs
I
plant
it
It will sprout
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poem by Jean Cocteau
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