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This poem is taken from PN Review 95, Volume 20 Number 3, January - February 1994.

Eight Poems André Frénaud

From II n'y a pas de paradis


Real Presence
Except your look in which I hate meeting myself,
except your empty hands where my head was cradled,
except your expectation harrying my desert,
except our nights, our suns of equal tedium,
except your breast, except your laugh,
except you, except me,
I have found myself, I am confident, I shall take you.



Dawn
The insurmountable girl has disappeared -
She couldn't stand being closed and so pale any longer -
For her fire to take it chose a match which blazed -
He awaited her to take her. He burned that she might be -
The flames also pronounced their future -
And yet you and I shall be separated -
...


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