“Gardens are poems Where you stroll with your hands in your pockets. (Les jardins sont des poemes Ou l'on se promene les mains dans les poches.)” — Pierre Albert-Birot Copy Share Image
“Oh you dear companions Electric bells of the stations song of the reapers Butcher's sleigh regiment of unnumbered streets Cavalry of bridges nights livid… — Pierre Albert-Birot Copy Share
“Do you remember the suburbs and the plaintive flock of landscapes The cypress trees projected their shadows under the moon That night when as… — Pierre Albert-Birot Copy Share
“If anything can be said in prose, then poetry should be saved for saying nothing.” — Pierre Albert-Birot Copy Share
“The City is free of sin The snow has given it absolution A man who slips A horse that falls Oh no, the city… — Pierre Albert-Birot Copy Share
“Do you remember the long orphanage of the train stations We crossed cities that turn-tabled all day And vomited at night the sunshine of… — Pierre Albert-Birot Copy Share
Who is that blond child laughing as he runs after his colored marbles? [my marbles] It's me And who is the poet writing this… — Pierre Albert-Birot Copy Share
“Gardens are poems Where you stroll with your hands in your pockets. (Les jardins sont des poemes Ou l'on se promene les mains dans… — Pierre Albert-Birot Copy Share
