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Best Famous Paul Eluard Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Paul Eluard poems. This is a select list of the best famous Paul Eluard poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Paul Eluard poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Paul Eluard poems.

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Written by Paul Eluard | Create an image from this poem

The Human Face

 I.
Soon Of all the springtimes of the world This one is the ugliest Of all of my ways of being To be trusting is the best Grass pushes up snow Like the stone of a tomb But I sleep within the storm And awaken eyes bright Slowness, brief time ends Where all streets must pass Through my innermost recesses So that I would meet someone I don’t listen to monsters I know them and all that they say I see only beautiful faces Good faces, sure of themselves Certain soon to ruin their masters II.
The women’s role As they sing, the maids dash forward To tidy up the killing fields Well-powdered girls, quickly to their knees Their hands -- reaching for the fresh air -- Are blue like never before What a glorious day! Look at their hands, the dead Look at their liquid eyes This is the toilet of transience The final toilet of life Stones sink and disappear In the vast, primal waters The final toilet of time Hardly a memory remains the dried-up well of virtue In the long, oppressive absences One surrenders to tender flesh Under the spell of weakness III.
As deep as the silence As deep as the silence Of a corpse under ground With nothing but darkness in mind As dull and deaf As autumn by the pond Covered with stale shame Poison, deprived of its flower And of its golden beasts out its night onto man IV.
Patience You, my patient one My patience My parent Head held high and proudly Organ of the sluggish night Bow down Concealing all of heaven And its favor Prepare for vengeance A bed where I'll be born V.
First march, the voice of another Laughing at sky and planets Drunk with their confidence The wise men wish for sons And for sons from their sons Until they all perish in vain Time burdens only fools While Hell alone prospers And the wise men are absurd VI.
A wolf Day surprises me and night scares me haunts me and winter follows me An animal walking on the snow has placed Its paws in the sand or in the mud Its paws have traveled From further afar than my own steps On a path where death Has the imprints of life VII.
A flawless fire The threat under the red sky Came from below -- jaws And scales and links Of a slippery, heavy chain Life was spread about generously So that death took seriously The debt it was paid without a thought Death was the God of love And the conquerors in a kiss Swooned upon their victims Corruption gained courage And yet, beneath the red sky Under the appetites for blood Under the dismal starvation The cavern closed The kind earth filled The graves dug in advance Children were no longer afraid Of maternal depths And madness and stupidity And vulgarity make way For humankind and brotherhood No longer fighting against life -- For an everlasting humankind VIII.
Liberty On my school notebooks On my desk, on the trees On the sand, on the snow I write your name On all the read pages On all the empty pages Stone, blood, paper or ash I write your name On the golden images On the weapons of warriors On the crown of kings I write your name On the jungle and the desert On the nests, on the broom On the echo of my childhood I write your name On the wonders of nights On the white bread of days On the seasons betrothed I write your name d'azur On all my blue rags On the sun-molded pond On the moon-enlivened lake I write your name On the fields, on the horizon On the wings of birds And on the mill of shadows I write your name On every burst of dawn On the sea, on the boats On the insane mountain I write your name On the foam of clouds On the sweat of the storm On the rain, thick and insipid I write your name On the shimmering shapes On the colorful bells On the physical truth I write your name On the alert pathways On the wide-spread roads On the overflowing places I write your name On the lamp that is ignited On the lamp that is dimmed On my reunited houses I write your name On the fruit cut in two Of the mirror and of my room On my bed, an empty shell I write your name On my dog, young and greedy On his pricked-up ears On his clumsy paw I write your name On the springboard of my door On the familiar objects On the wave of blessed fire I write your name On all harmonious flesh On the face of my friends On every out-stretched hand I write your name On the window-pane of surprises On the careful lips Well-above silence I write your name On my destroyed shelter On my collapsed beacon On the walls of my weariness I write your name On absence without want On naked solitude On the steps of death I write your name On regained health On vanished risk On hope free from memory I write your name And by the power of one word I begin my life again I am born to know you To call you by name: Liberty!
Written by Paul Eluard | Create an image from this poem

Five Haiku

 The wind 
Undecided 
Rolls a cigarette of air 

The mute girl talks: 
It is art's imperfection.
This impenetrable speech.
The motor car is truly launched: Four martyrs' heads Roll under the wheels.
Ah! a thousand flames, a fire, The light, a shadow! The sun is following me.
A feather gives to a hat A touch of lightness: The chimney smokes.
Written by Paul Eluard | Create an image from this poem

The River

 The river I have under my tongue,
Unimaginable water, my little boat,
And curtains lowered, let's speak.
Written by Paul Eluard | Create an image from this poem

I Cannot be Known

 I cannot be known
Better than you know me 

Your eyes in which we sleep
We together
Have made for my man's gleam
A better fate than for the common nights 

Your eyes in which I travel
Have given to signs along the roads
A meaning alien to the earth 

In your eyes who reveal to us
Our endless solitude 

Are no longer what they thought themselves to be 

You cannot be known
Better than I know you.
Written by Paul Eluard | Create an image from this poem

Hunted

 A few grains of dust more or less 
On ancient shoulders 
Locks of weakness on weary foreheads 
This theatre of honey and faded roses 
Where incalcuable flies 
Reply to the black signs that misery makes to them 
Despairing girders of a bridge 
Thrown across space 
Thrown across every street and every house 
Heavy wandering madnesses 
That we shall end by knowing by heart 
Mechanical appetites and uncontrolled dances 
That lead to the regret of hatred 

Nostalgia of justice
Written by Paul Eluard | Create an image from this poem

At the Window

 I have not always had this certainty, this pessimism which reassures the best among us.
There was a time when my friends laughed at me.
I was not the master of my words.
A certain indifference, I have not always known well what I wanted to say, but most often it was because I had nothing to say.
The necessity of speaking and the desire not to be heard.
My life hanging only by a thread.
There was a time when I seemed to understand nothing.
My chains floated on the water.
All my desires are born of my dreams.
And I have proven my love with words.
To what fantastic creatures have I entrusted myself, in what dolorous and ravishing world has my imagination enclosed me? I am sure of having been loved in the most mysterious of domains, my own.
The language of my love does not belong to human language, my human body does not touch the flesh of my love.
My amorous imagination has always been constant and high enough so that nothing could attempt to convince me of error.
Written by Paul Eluard | Create an image from this poem

The Absence

 I speak to you across cities
I speak to you across plains 

My mouth is upon your pillow 

Both faces of the walls come meeting
My voice discovering you 

I speak to you of eternity 

O cities memories of cities
Cities wrapped in our desires
Cities come early cities come lately
Cities strong and cities secret
Plundered of their master's builders
All their thinkers all their ghosts 

Fields pattern of emerald
Bright living surviving
The harvest of the sky over our earth
Feeds my voice I dream and weep
I laugh and dream among the flames
Among the clusters of the sun 

And over my body your body spreads
The sheet of it's bright mirror.
Written by Paul Eluard | Create an image from this poem

Curfew

 What else could we do, for the doors were guarded,
What else could we do, for they had imprisoned us,
What else could we do, for the streets were forbidden us,
What else could we do, for the town was asleep?
What else could we do, for she hungered and thirsted,
What else could we do, for we were defenceless,
What else could we do, for night had descended,
What else could we do, for we were in love?
Written by Paul Eluard | Create an image from this poem

To Live

 We both have our hands to give 
Take mine I shall lead you afar 

I have lived several times my face hasw changed 
With every threshold I have crossed and every hand clasped Familial springtime was reborn 
Keeping for itself and for me its perishable snow 
Death and the betrothed 
The future with five fingers clenched and letting go 

My age always gave me 
New reasons for living through others 
For having the blood of man other's heart in mine 

Oh the lucid fellow I was and that I am 
Before the pallor of frail blind girls 
Lovelier than the delicate worn moon so fair 
By the reflection of life's ways 
A trail of moss anf trees 
Of mist and morning dew 
Of the young body which does not rise alone 
To its place on earth 
Wind cold and rain cradle it 
Summer makes a man of it 

Presesence is my virtue in each visible hand 
Only death is solitude 
From delight to fury from fury to clarity 
I make myself whole through all beings 
Through all weather on the earth and in the clouds 
Through the passing seasons I am young 
And strong for having lived 
I am young my blood rises over my ruins 

We have our hands to entwine Nothing can ever seduce better 
Tahn our bonding to each other a forest 
Returning earth to sky and the sky to night 

To the night which prepares an unending day.
Written by Paul Eluard | Create an image from this poem

The Nakedness of Truth (I know it well)

 Despair has no wings,
Nor has love,
No countenance:
They do not speak.
I do not stir, I do not behold them, I do not speak to them, But I am as real as my love and my despair.
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