Les rêveries sauvages.

L'aube, peu visible à Paris, m'apporte un sentiment empli de renouveau, il n'y a pas de banalités à écrire sur la beauté de l'aube, juste des répétitions à faire : L'aube est un jour merveilleux qui commence.
Les mains de Thấm sont fripées comme une peau d'éléphant et pourtant quand on les touche, elles sont très douces et très soignées, voilà un beau démenti sur la différence entre ce que l'on voit et ce que l'on ressent.
Les rizières sont au repos, les nuages, les buffles et les vaches les traversent dans le silence. Ces paysages m'appartiennent mais seulement quand je les peins, ensuite ils retournent à leur rêveries sauvages.
Je remercie Michèle et me permet de partager ici le beau poème qu'elle m'a envoyé :

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

Wallace Stevens

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I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.

II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?

VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.

IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.

XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.