Sous la tristesse et l\u2019angoisse des cieux
\nLes lieues
\nS\u2019en vont autour des plaines ;
\nSous les cieux bas
\nDont les nuages tra\u00eenent,
\nImmens\u00e9ment, les lieues
\nMarchent, l\u00e0-bas.<\/p>\n
Droites sur des chaumes, les tours ;
\nEt des gens las, par tas,
\nQui vont de bourg en bourg.
\nLes gens vaguants
\nComme la route, ils ont cent ans ;
\nIls vont de plaine en plaine,
\nDepuis toujours, \u00e0 travers temps ;
\nLes pr\u00e9c\u00e8dent ou bien les suivent
\nLes charrettes dont les convois d\u00e9rivent
\nVers les hameaux et les venelles,
\nLes charrettes perp\u00e9tuelles,
\nCriant le lamentable cri,
\nLe jour, la nuit.
\nDe leurs essieux vers l\u2019infini.<\/p>\n
C\u2019est la plaine, la plaine
\nImmens\u00e9ment, \u00e0 perdre haleine.<\/p>\n
De pauvres clos ourl\u00e9s de haies
\n\u00c9cart\u00e8lent leur sol couvert de plaies ;
\nDe pauvres clos, de pauvres fermes,
\nLes portes l\u00e2ches
\nEt les chaumes, comme des b\u00e2ches,
\nQue le vent troue \u00e0 coups de hache.
\nAux alentours, ni tr\u00e8fle vert, ni luzerne rougie,
\nNi lin, ni bl\u00e9, ni frondaisons, ni germes,
\nDepuis longtemps, l\u2019arbre, par la foudre cass\u00e9.
\nMonte, devant le seuil us\u00e9.
\nComme un malheur en effigie.<\/p>\n
C\u2019est la plaine, la plaine bl\u00eame.
\nInterminablement, toujours la m\u00eame.<\/p>\n
Par au dessus, souvent,
\nRage si fort le vent
\nQue l\u2019on dirait le ciel fendu
\nAux coups de boxe
\nDe l\u2019\u00e9quinoxe.
\nNovembre hurle, ainsi qu\u2019un loup,
\nLamentable, par le soir fou.
\nLes ramilles et les feuilles gel\u00e9es
\nPassent giffl\u00e9es
\nSur les mares, dans les all\u00e9es ;
\nEt les grands bras des Christs fun\u00e8bres,
\nAux carrefours, par les t\u00e9n\u00e8bres,
\nSemblent grandir et tout \u00e0 coup partir,
\nEn cris de peur, vers le soleil perdu.<\/p>\n
C\u2019est la plaine, la plaine
\nO\u00f9 ne vague que crainte et peine.<\/p>\n
Les rivi\u00e8res stagnent ou sont taries,
\nLes flots n\u2019arrivent plus jusqu\u2019aux prairies,
\nLes \u00e9normes digues de tourbe,
\nInutiles, arquent leur courbe.
\nComme le sol, les eaux sont mortes ;
\nParmi les \u00eeles, en escortes
\nVers la mer, o\u00f9 les anses encor se mirent,
\nLes haches et les marteaux voraces
\nD\u00e9p\u00e8cent les carcasses,
\nPourrissantes, de vieux navires.<\/p>\n
C\u2019est la plaine, la plaine
\nImmens\u00e9ment, \u00e0 perdre haleine,
\nO\u00f9 circulent, dans les orni\u00e8res,
\nParmi l\u2019identit\u00e9
\nDes champs du deuil et de la pauvret\u00e9,
\nLes d\u00e9sespoirs et les mis\u00e8res ;
\nC\u2019est la plaine, la plaine
\nQue sillonnent des vols immenses
\nD\u2019oiseaux criant la mort
\nEn des houles de cieux au Nord ;
\nC\u2019est la plaine, la plaine
\nMate et longue comme la haine,
\nLa plaine et le pays sans fin
\nD\u2019un blanc soleil comme la faim,
\nO\u00f9, sur le fleuve solitaire,
\nTourne aux remous toute la douleur de la terre.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"parent":0,"template":"","meta":{"inline_featured_image":false,"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"default","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"default","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"set","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}}},"annee":[259],"poems-book":[683],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[654],"class_list":["post-14925","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-259","poems-book-les-campagnes-hallucinees","poete-emile-verhaeren"],"yoast_head":"\n