Tuesday Poem, #1: The Landscape

In the interest of having more excuses / digital guilt-trips to prod me into posting here, I'm starting a new posting series.  Every Tuesday I'll post a poem, beginning this week with a lovely poem by French Surrealist Robert Desnos. 

The Landscape
by Robert Desnos

I dreamt of loving. The dream remains, but love
is no longer those lilacs and roses whose breath
filled the broad woods, where the sail of a flame
lay at the end of each arrow-straight path.

I dreamt of loving. The dream remains, but love
is no longer that storm whose white nerve sparked
the castle towers, or left the mind unrhymed,
or flared an instant, just where the road forked.

It is the star struck under my heel in the night.
It is the word no book on earth defines.
It is the foam on the wave, the cloud in the sky.

As they age, all things grow rigid and bright.
The streets fall nameless, and the knots untie.
Now, with this landscape, I fix; I shine.

(Translated from the French by Don Paterson)