VALSE DES FLEURS
THE house is in disorder
the chairs turned, the tables up • the wallpapers wet and soiled peeling in strips and hanging on the floor arc broken foods and the damp, dead, unnameable things are cast in disorder on the surfaces while the windows reflect nothing . . .
a strange house to come after the dreams, after the hopes after the leap into darkness with the wet sands piled in corners there are many rooms like this dedicated in unconscious agony here to those who dreamed infinity to those who believed the essence and thought from the wet deadness she would lift them into space out of the dream conception there are many rooms like this dedicated in the wilderness baptized in sordiness proclaimed by millions from the towers and shouted forth in the loneliness and I have lingered there touched nervously the hanging paper avoided carefully the tilted chair guided myself past the open doors and found nothing to create a name nothing to hold up as glory save in the farthest corner of a room an old man weeping fingering sadly the broken semblance of a violin
DENIS HunsoN
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