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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The Wedding Ceremony of the Dead, Part One, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Les Noces de la Mort by T. Wignesan Orgy of stone ! I drank hate in your inferior parts And bathed during a wild summer our green sepulchres O ! death and my animal mouth became distorted on those decomposed lips which long ago turned strange Stricken by god for having loved you during transfiguring summers O ! Madeleine wholly naked breasts dried up by such severe beauty and by such an impetuous sun between your legs and upon your flanks two large smelly wounds I loved you streaming and golden through fatigue O ! grape of sin ripened by my gaze I loved your heated mounting sucking in shadows and the houses your famous teeth and your gardens all juicy the evening of the dream of whores Nocturnal city whose walls of tears bitter crypt the obscene litanies that I have sung that I have prayed to your Madonnas of pleasure and those testing the guilt-ridden ex-votos which I trimmed during my wild years ! How I prayed shed tears sang How I intoned in a tenebrous voice your praises at the organ of winter’s rains in the tubas vertiginous in the shade and how I walked ! How I stalked Death for a long time under your arcades with my blood I mixed the oil of cobbled paving where I looked atrociously for pure crime amongst discordant murders the agonies the love And the svelte leaded-glass window I loved so naked in the square of memory that she was visible in the great heaps when her haïr raving cascaded graminaceous over you revealed your proud marble O ! speechless that she was grave and sculpted by your labours death which bathed you with her tender arms that she was tall like down in the depths of the lakes and that your rivers ran sweet on her ivory How difficult was the offering of tears where to be crucified, you appeared to be betrayed down there in the darkness How she was superbly black this heavy calice raised by two hands of blood over your sin Which from the other being never useless is the tomb II Lord ! You looked for me in the vacuous waters of a woman under the searing myrtles You stifled her the youthful dead drenched in tears ! And you cried out more desperately than the light and You laughed at the earth one could hear Your heart beating ferociously amongst the stones Father of my pain ! You tear apart my demise but why destroy the cadaver since You want the blood ? and why the emptiness ? and why do You let me have this victim ? Hands sullied by the night Am I the murderer am I the cursed priest of this death have I eaten the bread over her and drunken the wine have I shed Your blood over her have I invented her body cross of voluptuousness whereupon to have me nailed O ! jealous gods ! what is my crime ? I loved her She was a sword of fury between us in times gone by, but dead what can she still retain of my likeness this forgotten rock pounded by her kisses ? Is this blasphemy that these rites of a pious heart serve as down under the stone’s wing a black sun in her hair a sip of shadow at her lips a portion of autumn in her hand a herb But O ! You aren’t at all deceived by these environs of alleys of tranquil slumber : and You require that I were naked in the battle ! Here I am made glorious, a great flag of adorable countryside Death at the highest tower of the impossible, laid out for her ! I am the fort on which converge all vistas raised on the naked ire of memory hymn of stone and the resounding tomb where adorable Easter rises protected in You she who was death O ! Sacred One ! You Lord, march into crime ! amidst the detonations of the soul and the mammoth explosions of the depths, hurry up with the profanous dénouement or the darkness or it hardly matters the resurrection ! and don’t ever lift eyes towards the curtain of the theatre. (from the collection : Tombeau d’Orphée, 1941/1946/1967) © T. Wignesan – Paris, October 1, 2014 (from the collection : Tombeau d’Orphée, 1941/1946/1967) © T. Wignesan – Paris, October 1, 2014 I
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