Andrer Breton, Surrealist, Surrealism, Books by Andre Breton, Surrealist Books, Surrealist art
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"In the beautiful half-light of 1934"
The air was a splendid pink the color of red mullet
And the forest when I prepared to enter it
Began with a tree with cigarette paper leaves
Because I was waiting for you
And if you come for a walk with me
No matter where
Your mouth is the incredible all-spice
From which the blue wheel diffuse and broken endlessly sets out and rises
Turning pale in the rut
All the marvels hurried to meet me
A squirrel had come to press its white belly against my heart
I don't know how he made himself do it
But the earth was filled with reflections deeper than those in water
As if metal had finally shaken off its shell
And you lying on the frightening ocean of precious gems
Were turning
In a huge sun of fireworks
I saw you slowly evolving from the radiolarians
Even the shells of the sea urchins I was there
Wait a minute I wasn't there any more
I had raised my head because the living jewel box of white velvet had left me
And I was sad 
The sky between the leaves was shining haggard and hard like a dragonfly
I was going to shut my eyes
When two wooden booms which had suddenly swung apart came crashing down
Without a sound
Like the two center leaves of an immense lily-of-the-valley
Of a flower capable of containing the whole night
I was where you see me now
In the set-all-the-bells-a-ringing perfume
Before they could return as they do each day to fickle life
I just had time to place my lips
On your glass thighs
"I dream I see you endlessly superimposed upon yourself"
You're sitting on the high coral stool
In front of your mirror always in its first quarter
Two fingers on the water wing of your comb
And at the same time
You're returning from a journey you're lingering the last one left in the grotto
Streaming with lightning
You don't recognize me
You're stretched out on the bed you wake up or you fall asleep   
You wake up where you went to sleep or somewhere else
You're naked the elderberry ball bounces again
A thousand elderberry balls hum above you
So light that at each instant you're unaware of them
Your breath your blood saved from the crazy juggling of the air
You cross the street the cars hurled at you are nothing but their shadows
And as a
Little girl
Caught in a bellows of sparkles
You jump rope
Long enough so that the one green butterfly which haunts the peaks of Asia
Can appear at the top of the invisible stairway
I caress everything that was you 
In everything that's yet to be you
I hear the melodious hissing
Of your limitless limbs
The one serpent in all the trees
Your arms at whose center the crystal of the compass rose turns    
My living fountain of Shivas
Two sections from The Air of the Water by André Breton, 
translated by Bill Zavatsky and Zack Rogow, excerpted from 
Earthlight by André Breton, recently reissued by Sun and Moon Press. 
Translation © 1993 by Bill Zavatsky and Zack Rogow. 
Poems © 1966 Editions Gallimard.