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Poems by Anne-Marie Derésetranslated by Eric Dillon and Judith SkillmanJe SuisJe suis le fer rougesur l'èpaule du condamnè, le gibet et la corde, la hache et le billot, le fouet et la croix.
Je suis la dent du lion
Bourreau,
Les victimes ne m'ont laissè I AmI am the red brandon the shoulder of the condemned, the gallows and the rope, the ax and the block, the whip and the cross.
I am the lion's tooth
Hangman,
My victims have left me nothing Visage volè l'oiseauJe ne sais qui tu cachessous ton visage inventè, ton visage volè l'oiseau, emprisonnè de cendre rouge. Je vais t'aimer comme on meurt.
Je vais te garder
Je boirai ton haleine Face Stolen From a BirdI don't know who you're hidingbehind your mask, your face stolen from a bird, imprisoned by red ashes. I will love you the way one dies.
I will keep you
I'll drink your breath La nuit s'ouvre, l'orageLa nuit s'ouvre, l'orage,accouplement mauve, boursouflure.
Le ciel chargè
Miroitante de mercure,
La vallèe a rejoint la nuit,
Et moi, debout, Night Opens to the StormNight opens to the storm,a mauve coupling, swollen.
The sky, laden
Shimmering like mercury
The valley of has rejoined the night,
And I, standing here PardonPardon si j'ai ridans vos chapelles, pardon si j'ai claquè la porte de l'hŮpital, pardon pour le bruit, pour la vie, pour l'amour auquel je n'avais pas droit. Pardon de ne pas vous ressembler. Forgive MeForgive me if I have laughedin your chapels, forgive me if I have slammed the hospital door, forgive me for the noise, for life, for the love to which I have no right. Forgive me for not resembling you. Tu m'as donnè une armeTu m'as donnè une armeDans le troupeau humain, tu as lancè tes mots commes des pierres. Les blessures furent bonnes lècher. Tu as rèveillè le feulement. Tu t'es donnè comme on prend. You've given me a weaponYou've given me a weapon.you've flung your words into the human herd like stones. The wounds were good to lick. You have woken the tiger. You've given as one takes. La dètresse s'enrouleLe volcan en attente au fond de nousronge, creuse, tremble, soupése ses chances.
La dètresse s'enroule, Distress CoilsThe waiting volcano inside usgnaws, digs, trembles, weighs its chances.
Distress coils up,
Notes:Anne-Marie Derése was born in 1938. She is French-Belgian, and has written four books of poems:
Nue sous un manteau de paroles, Bruxelles, Maison Internationale de la poèsie, 1980.
For more about Anne-Marie Derése please see these websites: Judith Skillman holds a Masters degree in English Literature from the University of Maryland, and done translation studies at the University of Washington. Eric Dillon, of Paris, is a computer specialist with an intense interest and understanding of French literature and culture. These translations appeared in the literary journal Beacons, published by SUNY. |