LOOK

Look 


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The Dimensions of the Look
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Each look is the end point
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That man puts to his solitude
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And it is impossible to go beyond
Without meeting the thickness of a thousand lives of which one is hardly lived.
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The sky is a little steam on the window
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In the middle of which one wanders as if in the open sea.
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Leaning against the shadow as a buttress,
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We see the houses flowing from all their canopies.

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It is enough that one recognizes his face in the window panes so that the world becomes again the place where the sunset is smooth like a great bird and where women are the only things that one can hold against oneself.
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But most days are lost days

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Which bear a date as a soldier his serial number
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And they make the past when they retreat

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The anonymous crowd that accompanies man to his death.

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Resting on the base of the roofs,
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The blue of the air remains at the front of the sky.
.
sometimes touches the earth
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In the eyes of newborns.

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Existence has no edge.
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It gives the empty
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And many are falling
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and many fall into it without having time to see where the sun comes from. 

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The landscapes are all alone in the verdure and clarity far from away the cities that man can not leave because his steps are inscribed in advance in all the streets where his statue moves.

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His life gropes in a tunnel on the side of which the faces of women pose a gleam quickly surpassed by the shadow that covers in him all the sources of the day.

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The space is born from a single calyx flower or even from a badly closed palm.

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With a glance, one can launch the river to the bridge of the cities.

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To bring light back into the world,

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The morning blows axes to the windows

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And the plain begins to rotate like a disc

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Between the finally visible edges of the horizon.

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By rising in the midst of their sleep, men break the hardest rocks.

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They bend for a few moments before taking on the giant of the day.

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And it is the same fruit of air shared between all the mouths that are in the ground the only islands where the sun takes the form of a word.

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To awaken the city from among the stones in the morning is made river in its streets

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And a bird of light will beat its wings against the windows that dispute night to day.



The centuries that shelter themselves in the walls place shadows of shade all over where one can sit a whole life with a face that the sun will never reach in its entirety.
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Seeds do not make detours
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To pass between the fingers of the earth
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But the man needs years to discover
 
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A single plant of joy on its way.

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He does not strike the ground while walking because nothing can be born of his steps but the body to which he is always rejected as a vessel in the bottom of the sea.

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At the same time in all cities

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women drink for a long time to showcases.

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They have sun to the bottom of the throat
With teeth always planted as in full fruit.

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They are for the senses the only object
On which they exercise completely.
It is against them that caress loses its shadow,


That the body of man recovers its true dimensions.

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Passers-by enter into their gaze without staying there longer than a forest in the downpour.

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They can be guessed white under their robes like plants living far away from the day and they can sunlight a whole room with the only light that rises from their legs.

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There is a sun roof over the forests that mark the horizon with trees holding back against them the silent landslide of light.

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Spring sinks very far between the stones torn like sheets and it advances from one to the other by casting behind its locks of greenery.

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All the windmills can fall into the leaves or even into the grass.
The birds are now there to raise it intact in space.

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And in the evening when the air is without a gesture and the city is no more than a truncated mountain, it remains on the fields the height of peace finally contained among a thousand villages.
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❤️ Lucien Becker ❤️

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?? LOOK ??


What is it ? 


CURIOUS
 

If my look seems curious

It is only healthy desire

To become a friend for You

To make all envious


*** Idéelle, 12/07/2017 ***

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IN MUSIC 

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ROXETTE : The Look 
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One, two, three, four walking like a man

Hitting like a hammer

She’s a juvenile scam

Never was a quitter

Tasty like a raindrop

She’s got the look
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Heavenly bound

Cause heaven’s got a number

When she’s spinning me around

Kissing is a color

Her loving is a wild dog

She’s got the look
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She’s got the look (She’s got the look) She’s got the look (She’s got the look)

What in the world can make a brown-eyed girl turn blue

When everything I’ll ever do I’ll do for you

And I go la la la la la she’s got the look
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Fire in the ice

Naked to the t-bone

Is a lover’s disguise

Banging on the head drum

Shaking like a mad bull

She’s got the look
.

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 Swaying to the band

Moving like a hammer

She’s a miracle man

Loving is the ocean

Kissing is the wet sand

She’s got the look
.

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She’s got the look (She’s got the look) She’s got the look (She’s got the look)

What in the world can make a brown-eyed girl turn blue

When everything I’ll ever do I’ll do for you

And I go la la la la la she’s got the look
.

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Walking like a man

Hitting like a hammer

She’s a juvenile scam

Never was a quitter

Tasty like a raindrop

She’s got the look
.

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She goes (na na na na na na)

She’s got the look

She’s got the look (She’s got the look) She’s got the look (She’s got the look)
What in the world can make a brown-eyed girl turn blue

When everything I’ll ever do I’ll do for you

And I go la la la la la she’s got the look
.

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What in the world can make you so blue

When everything I’ll ever do I’ll do for you

And I go la la la la la (na na na na na na)

She’s got the look

She goes (na na na na na na)

She’s got the look, she’s got the look

She goes (na na na na na na)

She’s got the look, she’s got the look

She goes (na na na na na na)
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https://youtu.be/3Cyp-eZI4DY

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6 commentaires sur “LOOK

  1. kutukamus dit :

    And this generous ‘Look’
    Could make up a lovely little book 🙂

    Aimé par 1 personne

  2. Trigwen dit :

    Il y a dans ces textes que j’ai pu traduire sans problème car ton anglais n’est pas si scolaire que tu l’écrivais.
    Becker parle du regard de façon poétique et philosophique. Il laisse sous-entendre que grâce au regard on peut s’évader par le rêve, se préparer à aller au devant de l’autre en préparant la rencontre. Sa façon de parler du regard est chargée d’imagination.

    Aimé par 1 personne

    • ideelle dit :

      Merci beaucoup Yann …. mais il va falloir que je « travaille » un peu plus vite … 😉 J’ai été très surprise par le « Rendu » de Becker traduit en anglais …. ma façon de ressentir le texte qu’il soit écrit en français ou en anglais n’est pas la même … et la profondeur que j’ai pu découvrir dans la version traduite m’a émerveillée, je ne m’y attendais vraiment pas …

      Aimé par 1 personne

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