Bruce Henry
traduction du poème de Patrice Desbiens.)

I remember a station wagon that cut through the dark
and opened the northern night like a hunting knife
would gut its prey
We're all there
my mother my sister her husband and their kids everybody
in the car it's
Johnny B. Good Leblanc at the wheel his face vaguely
glowing in the dashboard lights
I am the only passenger who's awake while
we move along with a bruised green ocean
on each side
My sister is sleeping on the front seat
the blackness that floats in and out of her open mouth
The night is long and flat
The night is long and flat
The night is long and flat
The night is long and fla—All of a sudden
something tears its fabric something moves
there and
the windshield is a screen in cinemascope the headlights
of Twentieth Century Fox and Gulf Western lighting
the animal the animal the moose right in the middle of the road
stares at destiny heading for it at 60 miles an hour
Its eyes its eyes its eyes O God stare right to
the last minute and the deaf-mute shock of iron on
flesh
and my sister who wakes screams a huge cry
crazy and
final like the moose soul had passed through
her
dying and then
silence
the silence of our silence in
the silence between
Timmins and Toronto.

Home / Page d'accueil