Poems by Luis Mizon
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Tiny shadows on the white wall
Tiny shadows on the white wall ephemeral labyrinth of the moment we need the sea not to wash our ears but to dive to the edge of the depths eyes closed beneath the waters of our thirst amid the blue a body trained by swift time sight sharpened by distance we need the sea to be reborn on the beach in the shadow of a murmur in flower the substance of our words is light the substance of our knowledge is emptiness the light of the eye lives in the poem like the dance of a tamed bee within a bubble transparent shimmering I raise it in my hand I carry it with me towards the sun I take care of its fear and of its desire to fly off to nowhere a bee like a poem wandering in the corner of a mirror home bridge or terracotta vessel crucible light of the cremated word in the center of the galaxy we are dissidents from a lost city listening to the there from here here and out there but perhaps only here and out there I draw near the song of the siren on tiptoe I touch it with the tip of my tongue I caress the tip of her breasts and lips you happy ones you demons I speak of a cry preceding speech of sight preceding light of a face preceding birth of my lips sculpted from the mud of paradise I'm talking about primal love like crystals torn from southern mines Translated by the American poet Josh Watsky Original poem from : Le bateau de terre cuite, Al Manar, 2017. It's almost already done. It's almost already done. the ship will disappear on the horizon for the moment I need words of sound and time overlapping caresses and words one on top of the other Our hands make shadows on a wall bricks of lead a celebration for lips and mouth an unpublished fête for the pantry moments as cities miniscule ravaged tenderly I will never find a bacchanal so sweet joy so intimate and mild beauty so fragile force so fleeting I have forgotten nothing of pleasure nor of remorse nor of regrets that bring pleasure nor of the now it is the end of the ancient world it is the word that rebounds in emptiness it is night behind day who holds us in her arms I inhale her scent of great partings the sweetness of her starry skin I touch with the tips of my fingers the belly of the milky way the light still invents our sight the tree invents another cloud a whale in the sky sleeps on its back Translated by the American poet Josh Watsky Original poem from : Le bateau de terre cuite, Al Manar, 2017. |
 Mizon (C) Julius Baltazar
Luis Mizon is a poet, novelist and painter. He was born in 1942 at Valparaíso, Chile. He is the son of a sailor who spent his childhood in Chillan. He studied History and Law at the University of Valparaiso. His Master's thesis was dedicated to "History and Poetry" about Saint John Perse. Then he taught History of Law at the University of Valparaiso.
In 1974, after the military coup, he arrived in France, worked among other things as a journalist at France-Culture (the national cultural Radio channel) where he made several programs on Chile and Latin American and Spanish poetry. He followed the seminars of Picon, Romano, Laplanche, Pomien, Villey at the Ecole des Hautes Etudes and the Sorbonne. Introduced to Roger Caillois who, struck by his poetry, translated into French Terre prochaine in 1977 and L'Arbre in 1978. Roger Callois and Claude Couffon translated his work into French. Amongst many titles, Poème du Sud, went out in 1982 in “NRF” Gallimard. Since the starts of the 2000s, Luis Mizon writes in French. His most recent books are : Le Bateau de Terre Cuite, Al Manar, France, 2017 ; Lejos de Aquí, Al Fragor, Chile, 2017 ; Le Soudeur de Murmures, Folle Avoine, 2017 ; Mata ki te rangi. L’île dont les yeux regardent le ciel, Meridianes, 2016 ; Corps du Delit où se Cache le Temps, Aencrage, 2014 ; Chants à la nourrice Folle, Al Manar, 2013. |
