Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MY HAND TREMBLES, by FRANCIS PICABIA


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MY HAND TREMBLES, by                    
First Line: The bells are singing to wake the dead
Last Line: Like birds of the fields.
Subject(s): Dadaism; Death; Fear; Dead, The


The bells are singing to wake the dead
we go along our way lost in the crowd;
like birds of the fields.
Trees, flowers, and animals, are beings
more sensitive than men.
But I, I have a blindfold over my eyes,
not to see the sunsets;
the sunsets are not beautiful enough
and make me weep;
the moon is not beautiful enough;
women are not beautiful enough;
only the armourers' shops allure me,
they charm me because I do not like to hunt,
I do not like to fight,
and I'm afraid to die.

One day my grandfather said to my dad:
It's as hard to break from death as it is from life;
and I found the thought so beautiful
that I shrugged my shoulders
and discreetly tried to turn the conversation.
Life is insensate;
spring is in autumn
autumn in spring
summer in winter and winter in summer;

I'd rather have my tears
and my new hat.
I shuffle underfoot
the butterflies so daintily turned in color
for all beauty is natural vice
but the bells are singing to wake the dead
like birds of the fields.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net