Quand surgit la pâleur du futur à éteindre12 janvier 2022
Courtesy Rodrigo Luff
Nous n’irons plus aux bois tels des enfants légers
Les yeux remplis de rêves et de tendres désirs
Nous n’aurons plus aux doigts cette musique ailée
L’oreille sonnera la trêve de ces fantasques plaisirs
Relevons les éclats de nos cœurs emmêlés
Quand s’écoule lente la sève en un bel élixir
Témoin de nos ébats scellant grandes échappées
Le devoir veut qu’on crève en un dernier soupir
Compterons-nous les secrets des intrépides soldats
Raidis par la douleur de patrie à étreindre?
Des drapeaux à hisser dans un froid de verglas
Quand surgit la pâleur du futur à éteindre
Lecture du poème:
Corneille - Parce qu'on vient de loin
Summarised translation of the Alexandrin French poem into English
When the pallor of the future to be extinguished arises January 12, 2022
Courtesy Rodrigo Luff
We will no longer go to the woods like light children
Eyes filled with dreams and tender desires
We will no longer have this winged music at the tips of our fingers
The ear will sound the end of these fantastic pleasures
Let’s lift up the shards of our tangled hearts
When the sap slowly flows into a beautiful elixir
Witness of our frolics sealing great escapes
Duty wants us to die in a last sigh
Will we count the secrets of intrepid soldiers
Stiffened by the pain of fatherland to embrace
Flags to be hoisted in a freezing cold
When the pallor of the future to be extinguished arises
Reading of the poem:
I was once a swan
gracefully gliding
I conquered surfaces of waters
gleaming as they slipped
tickling my under belly
working their way to my neck
that revealed itself to slaughter
Daytime picked its grind
tossing me sideways
ripping parts of my wings
as I lay flat on the lake
a sacrifice to my ineptitude
my commonplace fantasy
of being no more
What is left of me loosens
at the edges; it parts
revealing scintillating facets
of places hidden within
where I search for my traces
when I moved head held high
unveiling my togetherness
I am still sometimes a swan
patching feather after feather
through my insides laid bare
retrieving lost wings
carved inside my memories
They speak of lost paradise
when we were all children
I see now the swan in her
fleetingly visible in the sun
shadows of her wings soaring
high above the green lake
I see her and feel the ache
She hides it gracefully
We were once swans
Reading of the poem:
Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" - Piano Sonata No.14 - Arr. G.Grant
