Christopher Mulrooney

Translation of Zachary Richard's poem "1^er août, Section III (extrait)."
Traduction du poème "1er août, Section III (extrait)" de Zachary Richard.

It's much too warm for
       This early August, the trees
Wearied with the July heat.
       The yellow leaves, the energy
That goes back to earth.
       Only the untameable oaks
Shelter of singing cicadas,
       And spiders shaping
Their webs. In their branches,
       The ants en pointe
Step lightly, summer's-end ballet.
 
With the birds, I hide in leaves
       Seeking shade.
Eyeing that pale and pitiless sun,
       Asking worn-out questions,
How evolved and persecuted
       Past life and death, my bones, blood,
Eyeballs, other balls, head
       Ever got here? My sires have bound me
To the first human steps, first fish
       In the clear bowl swimming,
Bound to the very first suspicion
       Of the first thought
One afternoon in a pathway
       Setting out from the countryside in southwest Louisiana
To reach I know not where, bound by the past
       Selection sown as much behind as
Before, as accidental as predestined.
       Sorrowing with the arrogance of man,
Succoured by the beauty of the fields
       And trees.
 
 
 

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