Mots en mouvement /Words on the Move 2008
Traduction du poème "Carnets secrets d'Agathe Brisebois" de Patrick Coppens.
Translation of Patrick Coppens' poem "Carnets secrets d'Agathe Brisebois
Aviva Shimelman
The Secret Notebooks of “I think you are a poet
Agatha Brisebois
Patrick
Coppens
Translated by Aviva Shimelman
*****
I build temples
with grass and blood
forms inhabited by space
intimate logic of colors
About colors,
those that bleed
weren't meant to last.
Distant whistle, train of thought.
Poetry shuffles
my neglected memories.
*****
He approached to ask me the time,
I responded not.
To his dumbstruck face, I explained:
Don't worry, hon', it'll come.
It was noon.
I lived my life one day,
the next day, I lived yours.
Afterwards, it was over.
but you won't find anything new,
anything essential, I mean,
except by contemplating your own navel.”
(Max Jacob,
Letter to François Gachot, May 7, 1926)
“The construction of illusion and reality
*****
Can't forget the photos,
those where we're dancing at Sospel,
on the shores of Merlanson
summer loves
berry stains in my head
Mysteries multiply
like rabbits. Congratulations!
in the same object makes it
the disturbing mirror of our interior life.”
(Bernard Noël,
Les peintres du désir, 1992)
I love abstraction
in the cracks in reality.
*****
Annonymity
weighs on me some days,
shames me on others;
I revel in it all the same because
no one can take it away from me.
But then when I write, when I draw,
I feel like a queen, a queen adored by my subjects.
Seduction exhausts those
who do not like themselves enough.
*****
Style.
What can I do about it?
LUCK IS A PAINT-BY NUMBERS
MASTERPIECE.
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