Il pleut.

Guillaume Apollinaire, Il pleut

It’s Raining

it is raining women’s voices as if they were dead even in memory
you also are raining down marvellous encounters of my life o little drops
and these rearing clouds are beginning to whinny a whole world of auricular towns
listen to it rain while regret and disdain weep an old fashioned music
listen to the fall of all the perpendiculars of your existence

From Guillaume Apollinaire, Selected Poems, translated and introduced by Oliver Bernard.

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