Three
Poems by Philippe Jaccottet:
New
Transl-
ations
Poems by Philippe Jaccottet:
New
Transl-
ations
To speak is simple, and tracing the words on the page,
as a general rule, is hardly risky:
a work of lace, enclosed,
peaceful (we have even demanded
of the candle a softer, more deceptive light),
every word is written with same ink,
“flower” and “fear,” for example, are almost identical,
and should I repeat “blood” from the top to the bottom
of the page, it will not be stained,
nor I wounded.
So it happens that we begin to detest this game,
that we can no longer imagine what we wanted to do
by playing it, as opposed to going outside and making
better use of our hands.
This,
This is when we can no longer escape the suffering,
which resembles an approaching figure
tearing apart the wisps of fog that surround us,
batting away obstacles one by one, closing
in from a distance - suddenly so near
that we can see only its nose,
larger than the sky.
To speak thus seems untrue, or worse: cowardly
insult added to injury, and wastes
what little time and energy we have left.
Enough! Oh, enough.
Destroy that hand which no longer knows how to draw
but vapors,
and watch with your eyes :
Thus embarks that boat of bone which bore you,
thus she sinks (and the most profound thought
will not mend her junctures)
thus she is filled with a bitter water
Oh that there were, barring a great net
of light, unthinkable,
for every old human boat in these deadly waters,
a remission of pain, a softer breeze,
childlike slumber.
So, to speak is difficult, if it is to search... to search for what?
A loyalty to moments alone, to things only,
which are so low in us, which evade,
if it’s purpose is to to braid a vague shelter for unassailable prey...
If it’s purpose is to wear a mask more real than its face
to be able to celebrate a party long ago past
with the others, who are dead, distant or sleeping
still, and have trouble lifting themselves from their beds by
this rumor, these first trembling steps, these timid lights - our words:
rustling of the drum as long as it is grazed by the unknown finger
