Poèmes écrits par Anna-Lynne Williams

Anna-Lynne a déjà publié deux ouvrages de ses poèmes et de ses chansons

Anna-Lynne Williams - In The Night I Go Sailing

1. Claremont
Pianohammers, New Method, Bright Fish, Erased, Elliot Smith, Ashes

2- Seattle, Part One
Dim, Oceanbotton, Borrowing, Full Silence, Ear, Bulletproof, Gold Sleep, Splinters, Argentina

3- Seattle, Part Two
Spokes, Purple Juice, Blood Poem, Torches, In Dreams, Thunder, Bookends, Like a Tire, Wax Orchards, Revive, In The Night I Go Sailing, Grenades, Diver, Vines & Pulses, Muse, Parts of Snow, Pure Metals, Skywritten, Lyre, I Once Made A Fist For You, Boats, The Track, Fever Spell, Paper, Your Room, White Noise, Tidal Wave, Deep Breath & Lula Boat


Anna-Lynne Williams - Split Infinitive - Poems & Songs

Beaucoup plus complet avec 209 pages, il contient l’intégralité des textes des deux premiers albums de Trespassers William.


Poèmes de 2008
Poèmes publiés par Anna-Lynne Williams le 23 septembre 2009 sur son ancien blog « Parrotwood »

other people would,
would swim to that side you’re on
begin ideas of two bodies together
with first gestures
of eyelids and hands.
my body suggests it to me
but not to you.
other people reveal first
the shoulder as the jacket slips
the neck as the hair is held back,
tell all with the step
of the body forward
in the circle of your space
wordlessly offered up.
but my movements are of silence,
though my thoughts are
quick piano hammers
that have rhythms for your presence,
letting the air weigh what you have said
for what it is made of,
and a new weight that i carry
of what my body tells me
but does not tell you.

it cannot be
quite so sweet
as it seems to me
when you hold my face in your hands
and look
and kiss,
place your thin arms
right around me
from behind
and tap against my stomach
the time of the music playing.
and just when
everything melts
upon your beautiful face
and i feel i will rip apart
if i do not press
the word love
against your cheek,
that is when you take my hand
to your lips
and remind me
of the full silence.

i said something about your eyes
but it was not enough.
some beauty, some explosive,
your face gives and your eyes give more.
you, you in the dark or the light
in my arms or far.
the unrhyming different
sound that you are,
and when you are studious
at something else, and turned,
somehow you still give
and the stoop of your back
and the curl of your hair
and all that i would make mine
but for a word from you;
you do not mean to suggest adjectives
with your yes,
you do not mean this heat in my
shoulder blades.
you mean for me to wait,
and quietly,
as the beautiful line of your body
before a blank wall
makes that wall glow
and makes my ache
a gentle fixture right here
glad with the thought of it
being erased or not erased.

your doorway
and light through open windows
wordless music
a soft floor
and the back of your hair,
the side of your face,
a rain of letters at your hands
and i feel you before i feel the arms,
letting go of packages
and it is the subtlety of stopping time
shutting off everything else
no one else, nowhere else
if you let me touch you
and lay words all over the bed.
and this feeling is warm and always
but beside you it flickers higher
leaving white ashes on our sleeping faces
and sunlight in the window.

the sweetness of the only sip
you can’t remember
the one your mind and mouth
let go of
tell me that you don’t mind
that you can only reach for
the low branches.
which loves
are the long sighs
as you lie listless
and obvious,
and which are the bright fish
that you fight for
and never catch.
you remind me that everything moves
like i hope
that while my body seems the same
and my thoughts,
they are whirring
beyond me.


he said ‘if you love me
find a new place on my body
that has been kept a secret from me

we will both know when you find it
because the ice of my skin will melt

isn’t that what lovers do
change their substance
to let someone through
but it isn’t easy for me
like it’s easy for you

but that is all
that is all that you have to do
move the earth
with your hands
raise the birds from their tombs’
(posté le 12 janvier 2013)

if you talk like a philosopher
a lover without questions.
i do not understand,
cannot imagine any lust
for something you know entirely
something you could immediately draw.
i have seen it’s angles
and in my sleep i know its measurements
and i noticed the place where the freckles
cluster most
the first time.
if you love, but in a way
that can float above us when i talk
so that i feel like the music.
« love, there is no consequence
i will sleep beside you anyway »
but there are things i want to know
even to know what you would do
if i called you something ugly
but you will not listen.

no difference
sharp cold or tired heat
i remove my jacket in rhythms
and imagine either.
i do not want my dreams lucid
i want to be told that it is fall
and what that means.
i do not want this room and this boy
to be my happiness or not
depending on me.

the light weight of my thoughts
shuddering bubbles
are too thin to be held
too fragile to press
too much movement to anchor,
my weighed heart
and weightless words
waiting to beat together
like approaching lights
saying sweet dreams. all right.
beautiful. safe.
while my chest keeps me awake
all night
like little fluttering hands.
whispering sorry
when i want you to say the same.
we are close or distant
depending on where i lie
because you are fixed
like with pins
to one space on the bed.

i can see through your ear
warm pink like something young
needing a blanket
the lamp behind you a warm monster
it is the one part of you that glows.

you have been a comma.
what i thought you were
you were not,
still four small windows
someone else’s black cat is lonely
i alone in a darkness
that allows me to see the book shelves.
before i was a lover
having conversations on our elbows
they grew pink and i showed us.
later i will be important
and read from my works
or sing them
and you are the comma
between those things
but something else
i thought you were.

that dim
the only way that things can become
like arms dropping to one’s sides
after an embrace,
cold settled wax
and worn blankets
and birds that have sung themselves
to sleep.

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