Mark Stout

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

August 1^st, Section III (excerpt)

It's too hot for
Early August, the trees
Bent low from the July heat,
        Their leaves yellow, their life force
Seeping into the earth.
        Only the stouthearted oaks stand firm,
Providing safe haven for singing cicadas
        And spiders sculpting
Their webs. In their boughs,
        The ants dance
With dainty steps—a ballet to summer's end.

Like the birds, I hide beneath the leaves,
        Wanting shade.
Watching the sun, white and pitiless,
        Asking wilting questions,
How—through evolution and persecution
        Through life , through death—how have my
        bones, my blood,
My eyes, my loins, my brain
        Made it this far? Tied through my
        ancestors
To the first men who walked the earth and the first fish
        Who splashed in primordial slime,
Tied through my veins to the first hint
        of the first idea in
Mid-afternoon on a road
        Leaving a south-western Louisiana countryside
To end up who knows where—tied through the choices of my
        Heritage scattered behind me as much as
Before me, and by as many accidents or twists of fate.
        Saddened by the arrogance of man,
Soothed by the beauty of the fields
        And by the trees.

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