Capitolo 61
Rapid and blue, or dark. . . .What did you/they intend?
What left threat of the power? What suggestion of the beauty?
Prelude to that gigantic, or thin music?
Only I know that these things tilted him on me,
Brooded on me, it made a break, slightly went flowing,
Slipped and it passed. I loved, I desired, I hated,
I fought, I produced and I loved, you/he/she was heated for blooming. . .
You, when Your eyes have light of the sun in the evening in them,
Puts these dunes in front of me, these they salt the bright flowers,
These presences. . . .I am drowsy, them brook above of me,
Me lottery, I produce and hook, I am heated for dreaming.
You are the window (if I could say me I would tell him)
Through that I see a clear far world of light of the sun.
You are the silence (if you could feel you it would feel me)
In that I remember a thin still whispers to sing.
Don't be you I give back for, You I touch!
My hands, that touch You, suddenly touches white cobwebs,
Coldly silvered, it heavily silvered with dewy drops;
It is clover, heavy with rain; and green and cold grass. . .
YOU. CINEMA
How fallen in the evening,
The walls grow bright and they heat, the walls
You tremble and burns with the lives inside them moving himself/herself/itself,
As music moving himself/herself/itself, secret and rich and warm.
How will we live to-night, where will we turn?
To that new light or the obscurity it craves?
Thousand steps of winding conduct down in front of us;
And one to the time in myriads we come down
From lamplit you wall up, long balusters bloomed,
Through salt mean-turned on that you/they reach anybody end. . . .
Takes my arm, then You or You or You,
And it allowed us to walk to the foreign countries on the solid air:
You look as the head of the organist in silhouette,,
Thin to the orange of the music of angle straight lamplit! . . .
The lines of illumine of lamps weak-combined of faces,
File of hands and arm and hungry eyes,
They has expedited down from a secret and innumerable places,
From windy it lodges following to the skies. . . .