to André Breton Eyes ringed like chateaus in their ruin A monk's hood of ravines between her and her last look In delicious spring weather When the earth is made up with flowers This surrender of everything And what others desire As she pleases without giving it a thought Her life no life other than life Her chest without shadow her brow doesn’t know That her wavy hair stubbornly cradles it. Some words what words black or Cévennes Bamboo or ranunculus breathing To speak is to use feet for walking Hands for scraping sheets like the dying Eyes open and unlocked Without effort a mouth and ears A bloodstain is not an oppressive sun Or pallor a night without sleep. Freedom is even more incomprehensible than a doctor’s visit From the doctor a candle in the desert A candle’s weak glimmer in the depth of day Eternity began and will end with the bed But for whom do you speak since you don’t know Since you don’t want to know Since you no longer know Out of respect What it means to speak.
Paul Éluard (1895-1952), an integral member of the French Surrealist movement, published over 30 poetry collections, often in collaboration with other poets or artists. During WWI he dug graves and wrote letters to families of soldiers killed in action. A French Communist Party member, in WWII he worked for the Resistance. After the war, he embraced the cause of peace.
Ross Belot's latest poetry collection, Moving to Climate Change Hours, was published in 2020. The recipient of a Canada Council for the Arts grant, he's been both long and short listed for the CBC Poetry Prize, and his poems appear in numerous journals. He lives in Hamilton, Ontario.
Sara Burant is the grateful recipient of a 2023 Oregon Literary Arts Fellowship. Her poems and reviews appear both online and in print. She lives in Eugene, Oregon with an attentive red heeler named Penn.
