billet à l’inconnue
this one’s quite short . here it’s been broken up into stanzas, since the punctuation is characteristically sparse. (commas are added)
BILLET A L’INCONNUE
Under the trees of the grand shelter of Paris, one has parted in the tank, in a purple dream underway
a dream of paradise of Paris carries to us our leaders
in our arms
the naked feet on the moon-stones of honey, following rose-pearls of India, of all colors
on the port of the pearls of grandest price
the head of Napoléon elevated
on his heart, the Madonna of France, pretty Corsican
isle of love one would say in that horde
the student who carries his tableaux
or the hundreds of horns of flowers
battalions of flowers that the parade floats advance by the thousands
debut of the matadors, whom all the world adores, in their roman chariots of Tespis
carrying in their arms their siren in white of the Riponne[1]
or the students of Gaule thereby make the grand bridge of love, of celestial bodies
king thrust into the thousand beams of sunlight like an imperial embroidered robe
a Promethean sphinx in their arms
one carried the Immense, sumptuous Hierophant[2]
of crowns fabricated by cooking the hooves and the rubber
always the arms in bracelets
I love you Carmen
in garnishing their ballroom
they would be carried by butterfly
or would fall, the kings
into the flowered arms of the Adriattica
in their robes of twelve idyllic tableaux, painted by Fragonard
when France opens its arms, or their flowering campidoglio[3] of the interdiction de Lygie[4]
makes flourish the sky of Italy in an arc of flowers
Don’t leave my arms, running
the earth of their magnificent ballets of the roses
the espoused would arrive in floral gondolas
passing under the flowered arches, of magnolia
all the universe as a gift to everyone ever
to say a natural tree of Noël, barque[5], eternally reflowering and illuminated
by the Rosière and its creator Chamorel[6]
always would work their arms in bracelets
or one could say the paradise of the living Saint Pierre in Sedia[7]
paradise in Italy’s bed, at its laced-boot of all the Yersin[8] mille-fleurs
Imperial of banknote.
[1] Original footnote (my translation): “marble sphinx at the Place de la Riponne which one can find at the University of Lausanne”
[2] In ancient Greek culture, the Hierophant explained the mysteries and lead the initiation ceremonies every year in the cult of Demeter & Persephone. From Wikipedia (sorry): “One line of thought by modern scholars has been that these Mysteries were intended ‘to elevate man above the human sphere into the divine and to assure his redemption by making him a god and so conferring immortality upon him.’(Martin Nilsson)
[3] ref. to Piazza Campidoglio in Italy, or more generally, one of seven hills in Rome.
[4] Original footnote (my translation): “allusion to the novel Quo Vadis”
[5] barque= gondola, small boat …but sounds like “bark,” as of a tree
[6] Original footnote (my translation): “pastor who admired Aloïse in her youth”
[7] papal throne
[8] Original footnote (my translation): “infirm who looked after Aloïse at the Rosière.
“The writing of Aloïse before 1920 had not been preserved, save for three notebooks which are dated between 1941 – 1945 and of which we here transcribe entirely one. They were written in pencil and except for two pieces of paper, with inscriptions in the margins. Aloïse here mixed her own inspirations from memories (with popular Vaudoise media)…..”
the following is a lovely, if rambling, text . it’s original is mostly in french, some phrases are in english, german, and latin. the original transcription is in Porret-Forrel’s Aloïse & Le Théâtre de l’Universe. (Skira, 1993)
CAHIER A ROSINE
à mademoiselle Rosine
Your are tall so much like the corn in May. And your hand isn’t any larger than a rose. As for your feet, my dear child, that’s another thing. The prince who espoused Cendrillon loved her. As an artist, the gesture is good, the tone formed And you sing how would I say? And you had already well before you were hatched. A little taste of you, piquant and perfumed. –I know that you are ten years old mademoiselle And that you are grand and that one must pay attention to detail: If you wouldn’t, would you enjoy them? –You are my baby, my quasi-wife, accept my homage and receive, madam, without blushing, in this moment, the cornet[1] of the Fortune of bonbons, of Albert Mérat…
–It is a song of Napoleon’s love, the sun shines on all the almond trees of Naples where the lovers forever prepare their sermons of marriage—the friends of the espoused voyaging from the Orient: among the cliff’s orange tree flowers, do not leave my arms in the ballets of the party of Ortigosa, French folk, you are the brave ones when France opens its arms to the lighthouses ablaze of the isle of the Cross,
or the isle of Pen Mesa, aged like a bright star on the forehead of France…All to the lighthouse or memory (ou ronge) let us fish out the Siren—Liberty, will bloom again when she opens her arms, her corset of gold, and her royal manteau, at a kneeling Victoria Hall within its military auditorium. The other stanzas of song of the new year of the Bon-Enfant and his gifts of miraculous fish, the scepter, and the laced boots of Thalie. Everything flourishes under the flowering scepter, of the rejuvenation of the balusters of flowers of fruits of nature of bleu pomegranate of Sans-Souci or for the imperial crown of the Sallz of the rosy orchids of the marriage to de Gaule, painters of Paris, or those of Pregny (Schenk and king) of the Rosia… Prayers for Bretagne. The espouse of the Bard. The prayer of the kneeling marine (sailor). Sermon which made flower the colonnade of Julliet, was illuminated in the finale of Bengale, of a Venetian dance party, of flowered gondolas and golden Venetian lanterns of Jean-Pierre Cailloich= président Lebrun and his military theatrical loggia—French Aumonier and British poet. His wife Lecorre à Montbenon à Lausanne, gigantic veil of crimson of flowered parade floats of the students. In the consecration with flags, she had the air of having taken France in triumph when the orchestral conductor, after his opera solo? presented her a bouquet of lilies as he kneeled. the long train of the queen in her Carosse (some American bagpipes in paris at the insistence of the beauty queens of the of the camellia women) or also it dressed her in the apotheosis of a manteau of crimson which covers the glory of the Swiss French… Of the Papes à Avignon Orange et Nice the royal earth opens in flowers thrown into the space in battalions of flowers and song, the sun, the sky, the bed and the Madonna of the Sea in a thunderous trio. The monument of Montreux of the Papes à Avignon—Orange et Nice.
the royal earth opens up in flowers thrown into the space in battalions of flowers and song, the sun the sky, the bed and the Madonna of the sea in a thunderous trio. The monument of Montreux chef Yersin who as a chanteuse put the if in a bottleschaped (sic) of the english for all the auditoriums… I recommend you to God dear angel. She did not remain like a cypress upon the tomb of humanity, without the theatrical wedding fêtes, of the épées above that offer a jewelry box, a diadem of pearls of diamonds. One senses the lion in the darkness who composes her Achilleïon de Corfou. Christomanos spoke greek to him to welcome to moneyed Tollebouquine: Isteu velled azerett augyalom[2] in the talon of Achilleïon or in a navirro dal Sol Minerva vivante Sédia—would fall on him in the belt of Eros of the Gürtlerose of the Hollandaise painter Rubens. I am lovingly and passionately at your sides in his pastoral symphony raised in rose d’Armide at the chateau of Montaulieu (of Beaulieu). Rosalie of the Chablière in the painting on your table, of the sun in the garden of Beau-Soleil, in the pension of the prof. Bernardin de Saint Pierre. One kissed the monastic robe of la Folda de Pie XII of Roméo and Juliette—by flowered gondola or on the lap of the king of Naples, at the feet of Zita in the balconies of the almond trees, magnolia trees, or apricot trees of cherry-peach trees, necklace and earrings which cost no more than a kiss and the song: his two arms stretched to climb upon the cherry tree, from where I smile at the beauty who extends to me his apron and his crimson and vermillion fruits, I was making him, to amuse him, some necklaces, some earrings that cost nothing but a kiss. In spring, with the first bright blooming flowers on the plain and on the coasts, it is necessary for the lovers and the birds to go see the cherries ripening. I’m two years older than Rose
less in spirit she had it all I knew well one thing that was to love a lot the seeing, the adoring, the him, (it is) to say it was the refrain of my heart in his regard in his smile I saw born my bonheur…To celebrate you dear mother, I have put my flowered dress on the manteau of l’île des Paons painted in spring. On my face, the most pretty smile. All sorts of bouquets… My darling a butterfly bouquet a rose over your corall (sic) lips for their husband ring diamond[3] in crowns of the royal earth in a kiss on the hand from the Waleswska à Finkenstein and the arms in bracelets from her, on Napoléon reposed on the canapé… he tears to pieces the rose garlands, Oberwaid destroys the sails, sentimental conspiracy on idyllic tableaux. The sun speaks to the earth and says: Never has loved, the one who can flout about love… JC Lavater… the poem to the bloom of plums
ennobles an banished Minister to be the japaniese god. When the wind blows from noth-east it brings the scent of the bloom of plums… Also if your sir is not at home do not forget that the spring nears the castle[4]… the Luxembourg the throne.
Lighthouse of Lichtenstein this joy of Europe its natural bridge—draw the pink flamingo nest and its eggs white, rose, blue, red, on a chimney of the chateaux of the family of Mozart at the organ the country of the lovers where flourishes the orange tree, a white satin dress and a diadem of flowers of diamonds of roses in mother-of-pearl, Queen and Marg Churchill mille-fleur Chamorel= Marguerite Eglise de Saint Jean Eglise de Vaduz…Ave maria the fruit of your rose bosom is beneficent; be beneficent between us all. You would adore, kneeling in church in pearls in the cathedral etui, is declared queen
of the light kissing the hand and of the manteau of crimson. The sun will kiss all the flowers with your name of Marguerite in bouquets of diamonds of Marie Louise.
–Night of Noël of mademoiselle Nathalie or saint night—the night like an exploding (ripe) fruit. Its ruptures are the happy laughter of golden pulp of blue grapes, wherein sings and makes iridescent an Agathe[5]. The ruptures of the fecund night, spire light of the miracles in flowers, have left to fall upon our world, the invisible splendid embroidery—of Noël. God gives us, harmonies. Rustling of beneficent wings. Rusting of celestial bodies aroused in a burning chandelier. Petite enfant. King without a kingdom. Lily sleeping on the humble thatch. The hearts and the love are provoked
Denise Dupraz
School of the nuns of Saint Louis son Noel for children.
It’s in the night of Noël that a star guides the mages towards a very small village and toward a very poor hotel. It’s during the fête de Noël that the children of all ages promise to be very good sages with an air very solemn. Why do I love Noël. It’s our fête, la fête of des petits enfants, they have simple pleasures of the mind and of the heart as well, really. I love Noël for its mystery, its secrets, and its beautiful presents, I love the familial fêtes where one forgets our shortcomings. The city Eternelle reflection of a happy Italy, Byron called it the city of love, the paradise on earth. Maurice Paléolgue Rome this magical city, its palace of intricate stone patterning, and its marvelous tableaux of the adoration of the Mages Saint Pierre seen in the chateaux Saint-Ange which replaced an épée in its sheath…L’Arc de Constantin or ellipse of sovereigns on the rose colonnade
—in the republic of popes. in his manteau… the annunciation of Noël sings Ave Maria Gratia plena beneficent be the fruit of your rosy bosom. The sacred voice of the Vatican has lost its chariots of fruits and its narrow triumphal passageways of the high Monte Mario would applaud them… Ô Roma nobili, orbi et Domina Cicerone…the Good Mother, the lamp eternal is also of Marseille very close to Nice. it is joyous, it’s a day of the Carneval the beautiful women of amorous arms press themselves towards the ball, and meanwhile the masks pass un joli domino noir pierrot fantasque muttering to himself a couple words, it’s so soft to hear what he says that just as soon as the woman follow him to a bed of flowers, the Titien he dares to take off his mask of velvet. Along the Riviera where murmurs a balmy breeze, each woman has dreamed there to be belle and always adored in the blue to the point of defiling the skies with their monotonous chants. Are so sweet the sermons, always faithful the lovers. C’est l’amour that goes on singing way down there along the Riviera… From his virginal temple comes to fall a crown of orange-flower buds. She takes her pardon and then goes to sleep in a kiss of the Impératrice of roses—stretched out beneath the roses—de Meyerling.
[1] Cornet= a small trumpet-like horn, a cornucopia, a gramophone: in this sense, it’s interesting to suggest that any of these definitions would suit her text, as they each present something of a gift (music, foods, poetry)
[2] Greek? I’m looking for a translation…
[3] original in English
[4] original in German
[5] a type of Tulip
aloise opera … !(?)
in other world news, it’s snowing again today . technically, yesterday’s freak storm was hail not snow . all the same … it’s icy and cold and there’s precipitation. “tout va bien,” michel thévoz’ 2004 cultural critique, is my leisure reading at the moment. and, it’s witty, deadly serious, and hilarious all at the same time. though i’m not sure what that says about my sense of humor. it’s probably risky to post a photo of the cover on this blog, so alternatively, here’s the link.
A.B.C. de la paix
here follows a letter dated “Mai 14. 1920″ : Aloïse à ses Trinitaires :
*my translation*
LETTER ON NARROW PAPER
From Aloïse to her Trinities
May 14 1920
My God my Creator president of the Federal counsel creates a world with his hymnology, the grand natural symphony: finished en morendo in a moon-lilied urn of life of the universal church of the creation, the only source of perpetual ecstasy of the immortal adoration who offers reason. How can I express before such grand divinity if it’s not to take witness of his masterpiece of my infinite revelation to make flourish the three nests of the infinite crimson and gold vermillion, may I offer you again my heart, of the ravaged humanity which has given all its soul fashioned of your sublime, elevated thoughts which had become a passionate, sacrificial, haloed, star in a mosaic of happiness under its benediction of nuanced colors and all the skies under its pussy-foot only that would be since if in leaving the entrails of the black earth itself, like a natural and incomparable Bible, that the ruler of the earth counsels us to study, must be nothing more than the mediators of the human beginning of the ricochet solaire on earth and not otherwise, considering beyond that taken first in sprit as was the Christian life compared to the life of the Atheist. According to Vetter, we are the molecules d’un tout omnes cellula e cellua[1] like Newton, with the sun-star of his maquette had pierced the mystery of the teachings of Lumen de Coelo, who always finished with a marriage of the earth and the sky in brilliant butterflies with golden wings of the grand flaming world awarded (by) Wilson, voluptuous seduction to force to be virtuous will settle after having en-shelled the grand astral rosary who is his crown of life on the universal rose who gives him, cut from life, where it draws the delicious nectar of its cocoon heart conscience of the universe.
The grand resplendent bell, with its stars that wake a sleeping unique earth, Jaccard who incarnates the Madonna wise woman of the skies wide eyes. Her chart has been adopted by the university like that of Luther who gives God’s royalty, announcing the Gospel in a hand of the divine Sower (of seeds) in the apple of love, bread of life, supreme beginning of life, and that of Bossuet with his star of the imperishable girl of the sky with which he intertwines his public, supporting that of Wilson of the English penal code. If I could wind myself into a ball in this Olympic regard of the Creator, like a little croissant in the fiery burning magnificent Saturn of the soul of a thousand flames of the Emperor whom synthesis makes resplendent or brings forth the chaos of Genesis, such voluptuous fiery love with maternal blowing crimson lips, why does he lower, a bit too much, his heavy imperial crimson eyelids, with compassion, what pain of agony she senses this unique immense earth which seems to him more than a world by exception to the sole idea of seeing Paradise closed in his—beautiful, superbly Apollonian, it can bury me because it’s seen me even if it’s not noticed. The eyes of Saturn who reveal to us his soul in the universal rosette to be the little croissant who disappeared in the mosaic of goodwill in priceless pearls within him. The timid eyes of Saint Pierre, radiant of the transfiguration of Raphaël who purifies us, who blesses humanity in a torrent of adoration in a soft, long, immortal fusion of the simultaneous combustion of four celestial bodies of creation in one day beyond that is a mystery but { photocopy missing } is according to our soul sealed in triplicate, from there.
One can ascertain peace by the Trinity, possessor of a pacifying queen-woman in the beginning of the immortalization of the adages of the sacrifice of the peace, the adoration, the spiritual, and the universal who represents the one, the fusion of materials in a unique earth, the other, the light, the third, the child whom it incarnates, gives the kingdom its skies. After the butcher of the abyss of the adoration of the bundled kindling of the God with us O might the hour be so close where you, lover, are mine again, I await you, my Kaiser[2] that I’ve only seen and known by the pastors by whom I was pensioned as a governor (au-pair), really I was intimately treated without the shirt of Isabelle at least it was that of the Bismark whose incredulity must disappear like the soiled ball-gown of the petite Betsy of St. Hélène who had been covered in roses by her Napoleon, becoming a théophilanthrope.[3] The wings of the Madonna of Rantz who would finally take him in Très Haut Trinitaire in the sky on the earth, her Bethlehem, with her trinity of convents. He would only come to this level here with Wilson Chiesa of Lausanne. So until death, I will always remember the fanaticism of his Majesty’s cross, since one does not know whom one has in their arms—only by means of telepathy unless it is that of reporter Wolf—always in the half sleep of night, one feels absolutely penetrated as though one were in a nuptial bed, seeing again the vision of the bodies whom touched you, one cannot otherwise explain, here it’s not the case of appearances which are spread from dogmas, it’s not so refined, I avow so as that one will not take it as a tragic thing to which the world had been subjected. With Deux ex Machina, one has shivers before the frailty of the antimilitarist ricochetist without the protection of the Trinitaries, the initiators, the founders of the universal church. The Eternal is my light, in it my heart finds comfort.
These Almightyes, so magisterial, so humble, of rich and incandescent expression, of an infinite sweetness who have the air, nevertheless, of the child of God, that is however, in sacrifice at the least of their life at the foot of a suddenly elevated humanity, with the grandiose air of the Creator, emperor of peace in the relief this human suffering ala Voltaire, the king of laws of the earth which steals without authorization and is drunken of and encrusted of sound gold which it has caused to spew from his body. How have you been able to rid yourself of all superiority of all supremacy of all vainglory divulging always goodwill? To be happy living hidden, who would have been able to, by the moral tempests thundering with infernal hatred, this material, this mud becomes, in their bodies, a Saturn, or saturated with celestial bodies who they immortalize in discovering in their poor stunted hearts, in a human beginning the key of the sky, the mechanism of the astronomer Laplace, who constitutes a world and gives the universal exposure who is nothing but three nests of the infinite in one.
Its heart, its breast, its golden urn of an incomparable richness that reveals the soul has the effect of miraculous creation of spontaneous fusion—of a regard, of a spoken word of ricochet; a parabolic universal searchlight that serves the ambitious queen Victoria to reduce the Cipayes to slavery–then they slashed his collar, splendid, in all its metamorphosis of the aurora borealis so red of interweaving rivulets on a symphony of the hymnology the diadem of Peace, flowered, enamored, and tearfully perfumed, slowly enlaces, in its tulle embroidered with gold, en Madone de Rantz de 1918, his Majesty Guillaume, from whose eyes shoot forth two such precious diamonds, a resplendent cathedral of the ideal visage, wherein would be revealed the universe replenished with the magnificence in the days of the moon of honey where each caress of the hand in Thalie is the manna of the blind man in the world’s desert, of the nuptials of Cana of the raindrops of stars which made brilliant the eyes of all the cherubs, of lily-pearled bodies and of pink mother-of-pearl, of ruby extremities, rejoiced among the nimbuses, in the golden twined hair of which each ribbon was a natural bracelet, would give their lips to suckle (cueillir: to pluck fruit, to receive bounty, pucker one’s lips); in searching in the past, this impassioned embrace in death of consumption under this flamboyant épée of the truth, how to ever forget this immortal ecstasy and to preserve the memory now twenty years later, so that I would never again be more than a monster born to a transparent Sainte of other-times, to its feet when too the amorous humanity has the seduction of the first love contact with GOD. His illustrious parent has not left me a trace of humility, whose armed fanaticism of the reform, which has separated the love in a pastoral décor, have stayed in the fire without burning for the virtue that is ever so distant from itself as though escaping fruition… Majesty in praying there on dying knees, on the Bible that Mr. le Prof. Mahaim represented in Pacificateur, give me again the salute of the golden helmet which has become the cradle of humanity in the resplendent angel Michel, in which to resuscitate the glory of marble of his mausoleum as God on earth. Vedi mio Dio e poi muori.
Res est solliciti plena timoris amor. I would have wanted to be joyful in the presence of this Creator all my life in the light of his épée of truth. I have seen in him the Angel Gabriel, in luminous splendor how I would have given to be a little Easter sheep, completely lost in his celestial wings. You nourish (abreuve = to water) me with pure waters in the school of God. But I have tinted his body of lambs blood, dedicated till death to his service, always without a word from him apart from the church sermons where one responds in applause, having never dared accept the offers of religious societies to approach him. As His Sainteté le Pape Benoit XV who possesses in his name the good (noix de Béthel) which are cultivated with one closed hand. Théos= unique sketch, a world in the fusion of the celestial bodies and of the body of the Lord, resplendent with light which has spanned the sky like a Psaume de Humbold tapestry. A sky of a mother of the world at least a pale moon-lily conscience. The morning star in his terrestrial bed, so black, of the three flaming vermillion stars of crimson and gold. Palpable alter with the announcement to la Dame (Madonna) returns their penetrating fervor, of floral perfumes of the Faith, sweetly fanned on the universal pomegranate, so somber would it be again if it were not covered the with the palms of the ricochet solaire of gold. Never forget this star of the multicolored virtue, so blanched in the childbirth of gold in the kiss of the moon of honey who sleeps all the night keeping guard as well over an entire universe covered with magnificence who give her, with fervor and prostration to the suffering humanity in an effort of all her palpitating body of joy abounding with an abyss of pain in the crucible of her sky where one finds three nests wherein sleep the rosy beatific angels of the infinity where all is charming commencement of adoration of infinitely soft caresses where one slowly draws the breath of life, the communal human endeavor, parting the lips which speak of the ricochet of divine justice or of love on earth and nothing more, by the map of Bossuet, his star of charity, heavenly girl, the star disappeared…4 lines missing… The transfiguration of Raphaël when the Majesties had been enlaced, enveloped in the wings of the crimson humility of sacrifice, always of bruised-bluish decency of peace of his heart of gold, rose, violet, of passion of adoration of the halo of lilies and roses that it unites, like human beings, in impassioned regard of profoundest revelation, are covered in diamonds of tears of joy, now by the order of all the churches who are seeking of materials for which to constitute a world, of which the heart, in its black tristesse, captured in the arms of its God, of gold in Trinity who ingeniously at his school of resistance to the rendering of weapons, in the anguished sweat of heedless love of consecration for the goodwill who dies at their feet rather than crown itself in their glory or rather than, finally, give them the crown of life, (le nimbe pour l’auréole … the two words are synonymous??) in the mutual bliss shown upon, however, their redemption which illuminates, in making of her, a scepter of the King in the evangelical ricochet, incarnated in a winged love, a minor head of archangels which she crowns with her fingers in the sign of the cross of the Lord with the immortal ecstasy in the Nativity where=Vatican la Chiesa multiple universelle… Immortally famished in the night without the triple astral tree bouquet of life that fuses the body of the earthen urn of gold touched with a dash of Passion of the Celestial Lord of flours of his body which flow onto her.
[1] Omnis cellula e cellula
Le premier axiome de la théorie (toute cellule est issue d’une autre cellule) semble être du au botaniste Charles Joseph Dumortier (1832) qui affirme “toute cellule est issue d’une autre cellule par division binaire”. Il proposa cette généralisation à partir de nombreuses observations de divisions chez les algues et les plantes.
[2] German translation
[3] Mouvement déiste, fondé sur l’amour de Dieu et des hommes, dont les adeptes se réunissaient pour célébrer un culte inspiré de celui de l’Être suprême et qui connut un certain succès entre 1797 et 1801.
La « théophilanthropie » (…) fut fondée, au début de 1797, par le libraire Chemin et protégée par La Revellière (Lefebvre, Révol. fr., 1963, p. 473).