Patroling Barnegat (Walt Whitman)
Par Erick le vendredi 3 février 2012, 14:50 - Poetry - Lien permanent
WILD, wild the storm, and the sea high running,
Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone muttering,
Shouts of demoniac laughter fitfully piercing and pealing,
Waves, air, midnight, their savagest trinity lashing,
Out in the shadows there milk-white combs careering,
On beachy slush and sand spirts of snow fierce slanting,
Where through the murk the easterly death-wind breasting,
Through cutting swirl and spray watchful and firm advancing,
(That in the distance! is that a wreck? is the red signal flaring?)
Slush and sand of the beach tireless till daylight wending,
Steadily, slowly, through hoarse roar never remitting,
Along the midnight edge by those milk-white combs careering,
A group of dim, weird forms, struggling, the night confronting,
That savage trinity warily watching.
Commentaires
dans Leaves of Grass il y a des passages à couper le souffle Pour qui aime la mer celui que tu as choisi expose sa face sombre
Il y a un point commun, à mon humble avis entre Whitman et toi... la musicalité des vers
(relire Instance ou Brise l'âme par ex ... )
mais aussi le sens profond qui n'est pas toujours la vision déchainée mais bien une interrogation profonde :
//Darest thou now O soul,
Walk out with me toward the unknown region,
Where neither ground is for the feet nor any path to follow?
No map there, nor guide,
Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand,
Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land.
I know it not O soul,
Nor dost thou, all is a blank before us,
All waits undream'd of in that region, that inaccessible land. //