From 'I Love' 1922
Translated by George Reavey
WHAT HAPPENED
More than possible,
more than necessary-
as though
in sleep sagging down in poetic delirium-
the lump of the heart has grown huge in bulk:
that bulk is love,
that bulk is hate.
Under the burden
my legs
walked shakily-
as you know
I am
well built-
and yet,
an appendage of the heart, I dragged myself about,
hunching the vast width of my shoulders.
I swell with the milk of verse-
there's no pouring it forth-
anywhere, it seems- and it brims me anew.
I am exhausted by lyricism-
wet nurse of the world,
the hyperbole
of Maupassant's archetype.