…   A nearly nude man entered among these canvases and into these stretches of ice and desert. He drew along a disorderly caravan and walked alone. A voice that came from somewhere else made our ears tingle with a new sound. But in the mixture of cloaks and daggers, of songs and cries, a carnival atmosphere reigned— grace with spirit was especially lacking.
        A very old world was spinning in our heads and we were waiting for a moment when everything would fall.

— Pierre Reverdy, a selection from “The Intruder”

From a new translation of Pierre Reverdy’s first book Prose Poems by Ron Padgett. As I make my way through Reverdy, there are some translations that are absolutely thrilling and others that are flat. Padgett managed to hit every note and I suspect added a few of his own.