Ce fut un vrai po\u00e8te : Il n\u2019avait pas de chant.
\nMort, il aimait le jour et d\u00e9daigna de geindre.
\nPeintre : il aimait son art \u2014 Il oublia de peindre\u2026
\nIl voyait trop \u2014 Et voir est un aveuglement.<\/p>\n
\u2014 Songe-creux : bien profond il resta dans son r\u00eave ;
\nSans lui donner la forme en baudruche qui cr\u00e8ve,
\nSans ouvrir le bonhomme, et se chercher dedans.<\/p>\n
\u2014 Pur h\u00e9ros de roman : il adorait la brune,
\nSans voir s\u2019elle \u00e9tait blonde\u2026 Il adorait la lune ;
\nMais il n\u2019aima jamais \u2014 Il n\u2019avait pas le temps.<\/p>\n
\u2014 Chercheur infatigable : Ici-bas o\u00f9 l\u2019on rame,
\nIl regardait ramer, du haut de sa grande \u00e2me.
\nFatigu\u00e9 de piti\u00e9 pour ceux qui ramaient bien\u2026<\/p>\n
Mineur de la pens\u00e9e : il touchait son front bl\u00eame,
\nPour gratter un bouton ou gratter le probl\u00e8me
\n\ufeffQui travaillait l\u00e0 \u2014 Faire rien. \u2014<\/p>\n
\u2014 Il parlait : \u00ab Oui, la Muse est st\u00e9rile ! elle est fille
\n\u00ab D\u2019amour, d\u2019oisivet\u00e9, de prostitution ;
\n\u00ab Ne la d\u00e9formez pas en ventre de famille
\n\u00ab Que couvre un \u00e9talon pour la production ! \u00bb<\/p>\n
\u00ab \u00d4 vous tous qui g\u00e2chez, ma\u00e7ons de la pens\u00e9e !
\n\u00ab Vous tous que son caprice a touch\u00e9s en amants,
\n\u00ab \u2014 Vanit\u00e9, vanit\u00e9 \u2014 La folle nuit pass\u00e9e,
\n\u00ab Vous l\u2019affichez en charge aux yeux ronds des manants !<\/p>\n
\u00ab Elle vous effleurait, vous, comme chats qu\u2019on noie,
\n\u00ab Vous avez accroch\u00e9 son aile ou son r\u00e9seau,
\n\u00ab Fiers d\u2019avoir dans vos mains un bout de plume d\u2019oie,
\n\u00ab Ou des poils \u00e0 gratter, en fa\u00e7on de pinceau ! \u00bb<\/p>\n
\u2014 Il disait : \u00ab \u00d4 na\u00eff Oc\u00e9an ! \u00d4 fleurettes,
\n\u00ab Ne sommes-nous pas l\u00e0, sans peintres, ni po\u00e8tes !\u2026
\n\u00ab Quel vitrier a peint ! quel aveugle a chant\u00e9 !\u2026
\n\u00ab Et quel vitrier chante en r\u00e2clant sa palette,<\/p>\n
\u00ab Ou quel aveugle a peint avec sa clarinette !
\n\u00ab \u2014 Est-ce l\u2019art ?\u2026 \u00bb
\n\u2014 Lui resta dans le Sublime B\u00eate
\nNoyer son orgueil vide et sa virginit\u00e9.<\/p>\n
(M\u00e9diterran\u00e9e.)<\/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":[199],"poems-book":[894],"poemes-theme":[],"poete":[792],"class_list":["post-16822","poemes","type-poemes","status-publish","hentry","annee-199","poems-book-les-amours-jaunes","poete-tristan-corbiere"],"yoast_head":"\n