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Passer-By, These Are Words Analysis



Author: Poetry of Yves Bonnefoy Type: Poetry Views: 220

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The Partisan Review2001Passer-by, these are words. But instead of readingI want you to listen: to this frailVoice like that of letters eaten by grass.Lend an ear, hear first of all the happy bee

Foraging in our almost rubbed-out names.It flits between two sprays of leaves,

Carrying the sound of branches that are realTo those that filigree the still unseen.Then know an even fainter sound, and let it beThe endless murmuring of all our shades.

Their whisper rises from beneath the stonesTo fuse into a single heat with that blindLight you are as yet, who can still gaze.May your listening be good! Silence

Is a threshold where a twig breaks in your hand,Imperceptibly, as you attempt to disengageA name upon a stone:And so our absent names untangle your alarms.And for you who move away, pensively,Here becomes there without ceasing to be.






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||| Analysis | Critique | Overview Below |||

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Passerby, these are words. But instead of reading
I want you to listen: to this frail
Voice like that of letters eaten by grass.
Lend an ear, hear first of all the happy bee
Foraging in our almost rubbed-out names.
It flits between two sprays of leaves,
Carrying the sound of branches that are real
To those that filigree the unseen gold.
Then know an even fainter sound, and let it be
The endless murmuring of all our shades.
Their whisper rises from beneath the stones
To fuse into a single heat with that blind
Light you are as yet, who can still gaze.
Listen simply, if you will. Silence is a threshold
Where, unfelt, a twig breaks in your hand
As you try to disengage
A name upon a stone:
And so our absent names untangle your alarms.
And for you who move away, pensively,
Here beccomes there without ceasing to be.

| Posted on 2013-11-15 | by a guest




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