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Friday, April 23, 2021

L' AME DU VIN PAR BAUDELAIRE with Transversion


 


Well, the Baudelaire 200 Years! festival, held for the Alliance Francaise in Dublin, went extremely well. I want to thank all the members of the Alliance who took part , but in particular Christine Weld and Vincent Lavergne. Also, a big thank you to all the writers who took part - R J Dent, Yan Kouton, Daniel Wade, Marc Di Saverio, Helene Cardona, Linda Morales Caballero, Edith De Belleville, Nina Kossman, Fred Johnston and Kevin Kiely. It was an absolute blast working with you all on this festival. Here's to you all, and of course to 'Charlie!'   


                                                                                   

CIV

 

L’AME DU VIN

 

 

Un soir, l’âme du vin chantait dans les bouteilles :

“ Homme, verst oi je pousse, ô cher déshérité,

Sous ma prison de verre et mes cires vermeilles,

Un chant plein de lumière et de fraternité !

 

Je sais combine il faut, sur la colline en flame,

De peine, de sueur et de soleil cuisant

Pour engendrer ma vie et pour me donner l’âme;

Mais je ne serai point ingrate ni malfaisant,

 

Car j’éprouve une joie immense quand je tombe

Dans le gosier d’un homme usé par ses travaux,

Et sa chaude poitrine es tune douce tombe

Où je me plais bien mieux que dans mes froids caveaux.

 

Entends-tu retentir les refrains des dimanches

Et l’espoir qui gazouille en mon sein palpitant?

Les coudes sur la table et retroussant tes manches,

Tu me glorifieras et tu seras content;

 

 

 

 

 

 

J’allumerais les yeux de ta femme ravie;

A ton fils rendrai sa force et ses couleurs

Et serais pour ce frêle athlete de la vie

L’huile qui raffermit les muscles des lutteurs.

 

En toi je tomberai, végétale ambroise,

Grain précieux jeté par l’éternel Semeur,

Pour que de notre amour naisse la poësie

Qui jaillira vers Dieu comme une rare fleur !”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Soul of Wine

 

 

 

One night, the soul of a wine sang in its bottle :

“ Towards you, Man, my dear disinherited,

From inside this glass prison, I reach out to you,

With a song full of warmth and brotherhood.

 

For I know how much pain, under the burning sun

Out on the hills aflame, it takes to engender me,

And give me a soul. So, I will not be ungrateful,

Or troublesome.

 

As, I get an immense satisfaction plunging down

Into the throat’s of men who are tired from work;

Their soft bellies, after all, are a much gentler abode

Then the cold wine cellars, where I am typically stored.

 

Do you hear the sound of the Sunday hymns

And the hope which babbles in my palpitating breast?

Sleeves rolled up, both elbows on the table,

You glorify me while satiating your thirst.

 

 

 

 

As I help to light up the eyes of your woman;

And to your son give back to him his force and colour,

And to the frail athletes in life,

I will be the oil that strengthens the muscles of the fighters.

 

In you I will fall, vegetative ambrosia,

Precious seed of the eternal planter,

 So that our Love will bring real poetry

Gushing towards God like a rare flower.





Wednesday, April 21, 2021

HOMERIC


 



                                                                                     

 

Homeric

 

Not wine dark but black, as black as mercury.

Or rather leaden in colour and weight,

And mercurial, the Waters already Covid-

Washed, the collective mind’s submarine.

 

The Sea of Azov and the Bosphorous

Both resonate with the Crimea, ancient

Names evoking history and deeds heroic,

Desperate and utterly foolish!

 

On the borders of Ukraine, the great

Garden basket, the fields of wheat and other

Bounty are now planted firmly with the

 

Unnatural spring crop of the armed bodies

Of men standing facing one another;

 And the sea before them is not wine dark, but Black!




( 21/04/2021)