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« Alas, I
worship and flatter
what will
kill me… »
Gace Brulé
Where are you now, O my child ?
Why this silence, why this sorrow
that makes my hand tremble
as soon as I try to write ?
In vain my memory draws
in the dirt and dust of the window pane
your face, your eyes, your throat, your smile,
your arms cleansed with rose oil !
These attacks I keep suffering,
the way my skin shudders
rippling like the waves of a stream under
the worn sail of silence,
ancient words
sweeter and more delicious
than wild raspberries !
Come back, my child,
mend my sadness with
your youthful passion, your bright red gestures,
the votive arches of your fresh anger !
Come back, O beloved soul, ease the anxiety
I feel this evening, the melancholy of the trees,
the empire of drowsy memories,
the icy fire that jumps from my brest !
Come back, give life to the dead time,
give my congealed blood a divine shock to make it
flow,
come, speak, sing,
soothe with a hand finally reconciled
to tenderness
the palpitations
of this September night !
Translated from the French by Norton Hodges.
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