Gaston Burssens

PROVERB

The electronic eye now aims
at every movement.
Its beam which should be purple
shines green on my face.

Purple and green are as poisonous as the questions:
what used to stop me from sleeping?
Why are my temples greyer
and wiser?

I know the beam pierces my field of vision
as if my eyes
must search implicitly the wisdom in certain things,
that drip from the rain in the drop of stars
– when one must either pump or drown –
close to the electronic eye of the needle
through which my camel will soon have to pass.

SNOW

Sparrows chirp loudly
cars hum more loudly
trams ring most loudly

Through the centuries stars are
symbols of ideal desire
snowballs star open
snow is white on black
camouflage

when the king is in Nice
the court jester throws snowballs
the footmen ride in sleighs
with the members
of the parliament

The sparrows fly forlornly
and chirp loudly
the barometer points to changeable
snow is camouflage
on Christmas night no baby will be born
in a garage

DESPAIR

Along the sloping plain of the senses
the moon once pushed her stark light

And whoever ventured on this plain
has weighed himself
and lighter than the rays
has bent his own fragility

And this is good
The rays have not been violated yet
and the starkness of the light remains inviolate
Only the iron of your senses has been twisted
and has been weighed and found too light