lirik lagu arthur rimbaud - nina's replies

he – your breast on my breast
eh? we could go
with our nostrils full of air
into the cool light

of the blue good morning that bathes you
in the wine of daylight?…
when the whole shivering wood bleeds
dumb with love

from every branch green drops
pale buds
you can feel in things unclosing
the quivering flesh:

you would bury in the lucerne
your white gown
changing to rose-colour in the fresh air the blue tint which encircles
your great black eyes

in love with the country
scattering everywhere
like champagne bubbles
your crazy laughter:

laughing at me, suddenly, drunkenly –
i should catch you
like this – lovely hair, ah! –
i should drink in

your taste of raspberry and strawberry
oh flower-flesh!
laughing at the fresh wind kissing you
like a thief

at the wild rose, teasing you
pleasantly:
laughing more than anything, oh madcap
at your lover!…

seventeen! you’ll be so happy!
oh! the big meadows
the wide loving countryside!
– listen, come closer!…

– your breast on my breast
mingling our voices
slowly we’d reach the stream
then the great woods!…

then, like a little ghost
your heart fainting
you’d tell me to carry you
your eyes half closed…

i’d carry your quivering body
along the path:
the bird would sping out his andante:
hard by the hazeltree…

i’d speak into your mouth;
and go on, pressing
your body like a little girl’s i was putting to bed
drunk with the blood

that runs blue under your white skin
with its tints of rose:
and speaking to you in that frank tongue…
there!… – that you understand…

our great woods would smell of sap
and the sunlight
would dust with fine gold their great
green and bronze dream

……………………………………………

in the evening?… we’d take the white road
which meanders
like a grazing herd
all over the place

oh the pleasant orchards with blue gr-ss
and twisted apple trees!
how you can smell a whole league
off their strong perfume!

we’d get back to the village
when the sky was half dark;
and there’d be a smell of milking
in the evening air;

it would smell of the cowshed, full
of warm manure
filled with the slow rythm of breathing
and with great backs

gleaming under some light or other;
and, right down at the far end
there’d be a cow dunging proudly
at every step…

– grandmother’s spectacles
and her long nose
deep in her missal; the jug of beer
circled with pewter

foaming among the big-bowled pipes
gallantly smoking:
and the frightfull blubber lips
which, still puffing

sn-tch ham from forks:
so much, and more:
the fire lighting up the bunks
and the cupboards

the shining fat b-ttocks
of the fat baby
on his hands and knees, who nuzzles into the cups
his white snout

tickled by a gently
growling muzzle
that l!cks all over the round face
of the little darling…

[black and haughty on her chair’s edge
a terrifying profile
and old woman in front of the embers
spinning]-

what sights we shall see, dearest
in those hovels
when the bright fire lights up
the grey window panes!…

– and then, small and nestling
inside the cool
dark lilacs: the hidden window
smiling in there…

you’ll come, you will come, i love you so!
it will be lovely
you will come, won’t you? and even…

elle: – and what about my office?

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