A General View of Paris, the Capital of France, taken from an eminence in the Village of Chaillot
A charming rococo piece,
quite in the mood, if not the style,
of a child’s tarred head.
The supreme refinement,
the threshold, the eminence,
the bone spur of Chaillot.
(The Seine finds nothing familiar.
The pillow creeps into its ark.
How could you not understand me?
Between us lay only the dark.)
I am standing in Chaillot
on an eminence,
in the open air of my blank gaze.
I have journeyed (formal) the scholiast’s journey
and now I see (bang) the Universal System
that was called upon to hang a lock on my lips.
In the foreplay a monsieur and his deux dames
return from the branching-off place.
The afternoon haughtily holds its clouds.
From the background the dark garden
surges up.
Inspectors cannot always watch us.