SLIM HARPO ~

PHILIPPE JACCOTTET ~

Seagull Books

2017

DECEMBER

Pull back this curtain of snow . . .

JANUARY

The stream: an advancing murmur, escorted by that

of the trees, of the birds hidden along its edges.

   In Atoms of Silence, Hubert Reeves writes that

time passes more slowly at the bottom of a valley than

on the top of a mountain.

   Of the pilgrim, he says: 'He must be taught to live

in the space between knowledge and vision, and to

take the precise steps that will lead him to the truth.'

There was that late winter, saturated with frigid

lights as if we were already being pursued by a

swarm of hail with most tender stings.

   Then the knot of brooks came undone

like a braid.

   The hail lived in the trees for a short

time . . .

DECEMBER

The comet, sparkling, observed yesterday in the icy

night:  nothing more than a dandelion's feathery

sphere.

JUNE

Afternoon heat. The sky almost incandescent just

above the rooftops, light blue higher up, where even

the swifts appear calmer, less greedy, almost always

taking time to glide.

'The cold season.' It could be a title. Nothing that

burns, nothing that devours. As when we leave, and

naturally it's the case, whether we like it or not.

Nevertheless, the world is still there; the foliage

shines; the light on the morning horizon is a white

haze. The spider webs are also shining in the window, 

fragile and tenacious — exemplary in this. There is no

way to feign 'perfect joy'.

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Philippe Jaccottet