Andree Chedid

Landscapes

Behind faces and gestures We remain mute And spoken words heavy With what we ignore or keep silent Betray us I dare not speak for mankind I know so little of myself But the

The Voice

Where is the distant voice That speaks like my soul? Buried beneath daylight’s clamor Gold and the seasons Beneath groaning streets And the ferment of cities In my grave of care And blond laughter

The Final Poem

A forge burns in my heart. I am redder than dawn, Deeper than seaweed, More distant than gulls, More hollow than wells. But I only give birth To seeds and to shells. My tongue

The Ever-Patient Woman

In the flowing sap In her growing fever Parting her veils Cracking out of her shells Sliding out of her skins The ever-patient woman Slowly Gives herself Life In her volcanoes In her orchards