lirik lagu wallace stevens - the novel
the crows are flying above the foyer of summer
the winds batter it. the water curls. the leaves
return to their original illusion
the sun stands like a spaniard as he departs
stepping from the foyer of summer into that
of the past, the rodomontadean emptiness
mother was afraid i should freeze in the parisian
hotels
she had heard of the fate of an argentine writer. at
night
he would go to bed, cover himsеlf with blankets—
protruding from the pile of wool, a hand
in a black glovе, holds a novel by camus. she begged
that i stay away. these are the words of jos6 . .
he is sitting by the fidgets of a fire
the first red of red winter, winter~red
the late, least foyer in a qualm of cold
how tranquil it was at vividest varadero
while the water kept running through the mouth of
the speaker
saying: olalla blanca en el bianco
lol~lolling the endlessness of poetry
but here tranquillity is what one thinks
the fire burns as the novel taught it how
the mirror melts and moulds itself and moves
and catches from nowhere brightly~burning breath
it blows a glassy brightness on the fire
and makes flame flame and makes it bite the wood
and bite the hard~bite, barking as it bites
the arrangement of the chairs is so and so
not as one would have arranged them for oneself
but in the style of the novel, its tracing
of an unfamiliar in the familiar room
a retrato that is strong because it is like
a second that grows first, a black unreal
in which a real lies hidden and alive
day’s arches are crumbling into the autumn night
the fire falls a little and the book is done
the stillness is the stillness of the mind
slowly the room grows dark. it is odd about
that argentine. only the real can be
unreal today, be hidden and alive
it is odd, too, how that argentine is oneself
feeling the fear that creeps beneath the wool
lies on the breast and pierces into the heart
straight from the arcadian imagination
its being beating heavily in the veins
its knowledge cold within one as one’s ovra;
and one trembles to be so understood and, at last
to understand, as if to know became
the fatality of seeing things too well
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