Michael Varga

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 (extract)
 
It's too hot for
early August – the trees
still weary of July heat.
Leaves yellow, energy
flows back underground.
Except for the invincible oaks,
refuge for singing cicadas
and for spiders weaving
their silk. In their branches
the ants dance
a delicate step: summer's curtain call.
 
Like the birds, I hide under the leaves,
seeking shade,
gazing at the blinding, ruthless sun,
asking wilted questions:
how through evolution and persecution,
through life and death, How my bones, my blood,
my eyes, my balls, my head
could have ended up here?
Linked through my ancestors to the first upright-walking men,
to the first fish swimming in the primordial sludge,
linked through my arteries to the first sigh
of the first idea,
in the middle of an afternoon on a journey
starting in the countryside of southwestern Louisiana
and headed who knows where,
linked through the choices of my heritage,
as scattered behind me as in front,
and as often by accident as by twisted fate.
 
Made sad by the arrogance of man,
Soothed by the beauty of country and trees.  


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