‘Études’ and Other Poems Translated by Karen Leeder

Études

In the lectures our handwriting wrote itself
into a new character. We had blood
          on our fingers and sat
                   near Romanticism.

The muscle-twitch in our forearms looked the part
did he say Keats did he say Shelley drowned
          and passing lightly over
                   the Spanish flu.

We were reading true to life en route to half
apartments. Lent each other our hands.
          Bit by bit a certain style emerged
                   around the mouth

and the fingers as we smoked: which film
did you steal that from or is it all your own?
          Dramaturgy developed and
...