2 poems by Marine Houtmann


smell of sap & juice in the vineyard
where the grape is roaming
like a myriad of marbles
theatre for the visionaries & the mavericks
beguiled beguiled
by the syncopation
of the flute & the drums

come & eat the glistening swollen button
come & kneel by the blade of fermentation
all the creatures are decked out
with the leather of your frightening words
whirlpools of your strange liquor
in Venice Beach or in the Latin Quarter
give me your night of lust
a trust in your might

you created a cult of clashing mystery
as immortality dripped
along my legs & the glass



Poetry of the Road

down with the already seen
I say down with the already seen
the infected blade tearing off the hairs of my pussy the trace of injection on my bruised arm
I want to unveil the bridge of sighs & bloom in the splinters of new spontaneous adventures

I have laid down on the floor of a myriad of dirty train stations
I have seen the carnival of city lights turning on & off as I was waiting slumped on an outcast bench
I have yearned to fall in love on the counter of a beautiful brewery bar
& I can’t say that I wasn’t scared once
oh I’m fucking terrified with this bearded face of mine to howl at every possible stranger
but you look at me in the eyes & recognise the broke travelling child
here come the rascals the merchants the scholars the thieves the gamblers the suffering old man in a checkered coat with a trilby hat
gobbling up his second bottle of wine
counting the rings on the tree
ain’t go no money ain’t got no home ain’t got no woman ain’t got nothing to make his days bright on & roaring
but a theatrical asymetrical hysterical damned lyrical voice that resonates and will resonate in the railway night you wouldn’t believe
you wouldn’t believe there is art in it as there is art in the dizziness in the back alley to shake our steps in architecture in my legs & in the architecture of my legs
I want to be penetrated by the lanes the coloured seafront houses the excentric shops the open markets the stolen hobo-like hooded top whose wool resembles the skin of an exotic snake

now when I look at my muddy hiking boots I’m convinced that I am a warrior, a volcano on the rise, a woman with urges
the kind that shreds her clothes & cries on the pieces of the undiscovered belt of joy & drinks up to the last drop & tries her luck turning maps upside down
it’s me wishing it was us & the pavement, the holy heartbeat of the pavement on a sunny late afternoon
the whole world is too vast, the whole world is too narrow, the whole world is two
all I know is my head is an aquarium of dopamine when she and the road are naked
all I know is I am literature for the uninvited





Marine Houtmann is a masters student at the Université de Lille. Her research focuses on the intersections between lyrics, voice and performance with regard to Patti Smith’s representation of gender.

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