Francis Ponge

I just discovered some Francis Ponge in one of my notebooks tonight.  I really like his poetry, but the style is so different from what most people are used to.  I hope you enjoy.....


On the typographical bushes constituted by the poem, along a road leading neither away from things nor to the spirit, certain fruits are formed of an agglomeration of spheres filled by a drop of ink.

Black, pink, khaki all together on the cluster, they offer the spectacle of a haughty family of varying ages rather than a keen temptation to pick them.

Given the disproportion between seeds and pulp, birds care little for them, since in the end so little is left once through from beak to anus.

But the poet during his professional stroll is left with something:  "This," he says to himself, "is the way a fragile flower's patient efforts suceed for the most part, very fragile though protected by a forbidding tangle of thorns.  With few other qualities - blackberries, black as ink - just as this poem was made."


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Feb 11, 2009