Two poems by Andre Breton - 1926

Allotropy and It's you it is not us


Who's coming in
It's me pull yourself together if you want me to put you together
The closet is full of linens
There are even moonbeams that I can unfold
You've changed
Here's the proof that you have changed
The gifts they give the newborns in their cribs
Are almost the same arrow shows the direction yo're coming from
Where you're going
Your heart is on the path of that arrow
Your eyes which will again shine bright cloud over the mist of things
Your hands grope along a road for the dark needle that can prevent a catastrophe
You see the woman you have loved
Without them seeing you you see them without them seeing you
The black wolves in turn pass behind you
Who are you
Shadow of an evildoer on the high walls
Shawdow of a signalman stretching farther than the signal
I am the primary innocent party
My head rolls from on high where my steps will never fail
What makeup
No one will recognise me
Later between the stones in a heap
The window is wide open
On that magnificent heap
Bend forward
Bend forward to change again
It is indeed you who dend and change
That photgraph you forgot to have toned
Is so like you



It's You it is not us

It's you it is not us it's the fire that doesn't fear the wind
The kind that sweeps quicker than wind over the countryside
A young girl shakes her black hair insleep
And watches us pass
And watches you pass it's you it is not us
The genius of the well lowers his magic blue hoop onto your path
It's no longer you is it you its not us
There are doors for every precipice
Even for the ones we fall over and all the way down there are birds
Birds that live only there
Whose wings form and X more vibrant than any other
Where are you going the address is grinding you I see fine nude legs
There are no precipices for you
No fleeting oaths that glide over resplendent waters
You are the light winding about the necks of trees
The light that escapes no one and that twists around the grindstone no one sees
Here is the sea here are the races and rosacres you love
The eternal armor of snows on the sea
The wet coupes whipped by the red algae of long avenues
Here are the beautiful aiguillettes
Is it there do you want to see the cross that never arises above sea-level
Do you want the forest of mirrors furrowed with black lightning
That hides behind the northen dawns

Do you attend the intimate coronations of queens with no subjects
Or else do you come from the serene pallor of mortal things
Like me questioning you and seeking your arms like a flame through a grill
What grill the grill of time
What time the time of tears
Where are the shapes of leaves of veils of huge butterfies that make the wind tremble

Where is the fire going the fire that doesn't fear the wind

Andre Breton (1926)