translated by Heather Green

VIIIand just like that overnightthe nights too stretch themselves into all the cornersof crude lonelinesses and the nightsparallel the crosssroads in the stonedo not touch starsthese are the nettleswhere our words arethe doors mislay themselvesit’s bright in the madhouseevery hour has mildeweda lone sound from time to timeresembles your patha lone woman still risesto the voice that built usthat took us one and then anotherby the hand one cool garden day

Xa joy a futureeverything is spoken on the branchthe rocking stealsyour smile blown like the windthe clearest eyes and the days of bloodwhen i open the mouth you speakand the same is sung much higherwhere you don’t arrive to drinklaugh laugh in the eartha childhood to distract the woodsand the mute girls trustin those who drowned your mouth for me

___Heather Green’s poems have appeared in or are forthcoming from Tarpaulin Sky, Denver Quarterly, and The Hat. Her reviews have appeared in Octopus magazine, and her chapbook, The Match Array, is available from Dancing Girl Press.

Tristan Tzara (1896-1963) best known as the father of Dada, was a Romanian-born poet, playwright, performer, and critic who lived in Paris for most of his life. These poems are from a series included in the book Oú boivent les loups (Where the Wolves Drink) which was written in French and originally published in 1932.

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