[1]
Between what I see and what I say 
Between what I say and what I keep silent 
Between what I keep silent and what I dream 
Between what I dream and what I forget: 
poetry.
          It slips
between yes and no,
                               says
what I keep silent,
                           keeps silent
what I say,
                 dreams
what I forget.
                    It is not speech:
it is an act.
                It is an act
of speech.
               Poetry
speaks and listens:
                            it is real.
As soon as I say
                         it is real,
it vanishes.
                Is it more real?


[2]
Tangible idea,
                     intangible 
word:
         poetry
comes and goes.

[A] I kissed her lips. And then just to mean this she twisted her legs and broke my glasses!

[B] Frustration is finding out for the first time that you can't do it the second time.

Panic is finding out for the second time that you can't do it the first time.

EVERYTHING is jazz: snails, jails, rails, tails, males, females, snow-white cotton bales.

Knee-bone, thigh, hip-bone. Jazz slips you percussion bone classified "unknown."

Slick lizard rhythms, cigar-smoke tunes, straight-gin sky laced with double moons.

Second-chance rhythms, don't-give-up riffs: jazz gets HIGH off can'ts, buts, and ifs.

[Original French Version]

Y a du jazz PARTOUT : chez veau, vache, cochon, couvée, blanche-neige et coton.

Genou, cuisse et hanche. Le jazz te secoue, te branche. Mais, dis, ça vient d'où ?

Peinard, lézard, cool, dans la fumée des cigares ; gin dans la lune saoule.

Rythmes qu'on rattrape, riffs à bout de souffle : le jazz PLANE quand ça dérape.