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Tristan Tzara

The Death of Apollinaire (La Mort de Guillaume Apollinaire)

We know nothing
               We know nothing of grief
The bitter season of cold
                                                      Ploughs long furrows in our muscles
He would have rather enjoyed delight in victory
               We wise beneath calm sorrows caged
                                                      Unable to do a thing
                                             If the snow fell upwards
If the sun rose among us during the night
                                                       To warm us
                                             If And the trees hung there in a wreath
                                                         – The only tear –
                                             If the birds were among us to be mirrored
In the tranquil lake above our heads
                                             WE MIGHT UNDERSTAND
               Death would be a long and beautiful voyage
And an endless holiday for the flesh for structure for bone

Tristan Tzara, (1919) The Yale Anthology of Twentieth-century French Poetry. (ale University Press; First Editiion edition, June 10, 2004

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