If there were a bird left...

She’d be here

So heavy

With iron guts

And brass trimmings

Tubes of water and fever

She would run straight on her tracks

Like death herself runs to war

Like a shadow in an eye

There is so much work in her

So much skill holding the lime

So much pain, so much sorrow

So much anger and eager

And there are so many years

Clear visions all together

So many wills gathered up

So many wounds, so much pride

Metal torn out from the Earth

And then tortured on the flames

Metal bent harassed and plagued

Twisted in form of  a dream

There’s the sweat of all ages

Enclosed in this sort of cage

Thousands of years of waiting

And awkwardness defeated

If there were a bird left

And a locomotive

And me alone in a desert

Standing between bird and thing

And if I were told to choose

What would I do, what would I do

He would have a tiny beak

As it suits to conirostres

And two shining buds for eyes

And a small chubby belly

I would hold him in my hand

And his heart would beat so fast…

All around, the end of the world

Two hundred twelve episodes

He would have a grey feather

A bit of rust on breastbone

And his fine and dry legs

Needles girdled into skin

Come on then, what will you keep

Everything has to perish

But for your loyal service

You’re allowed to keep with you

Only a unique sample

Comotive or tiny bird

Starting everything again

All these heavy secrets lost

All the human science wrecked

If I’m leaving the machine

But his feathers are so fine

And his heart would beat so fast

That I’d keep with me the bird.

Boris Vian.

(And the duck of Vaucanson)

Comments

[ruru]

Ce canard de
vaucanson a permis un calembour gastronomique! Un cuisinier a crée une recette dite "canard vaucanson"... Car il s'agit évidemment d'un canard ... aux tomates!