Poem
Jacques Roubaud
IDENTITY
What identity could be yours, that of your death?you are, some would say, your grave and its inside,
the gravestone with your name
but that only means saying:
alive, you were this body dressed and undressed,
this body that contained your thought (or soul)
this body that also bore this, your name
identity does not last in the world except by this analogy
you are, others would say, as you are in the memory,
if they remember, of those who had,
even just for a moment, known you
thus you would be, but parcelled out, changeable,
contradictory, dependent, in intermittent light,
and once all those others are dead you would no longer be.
and, surely, here again the idea of afterlife borrows its very char-
acteristics from the world that was your life
but for me, it is quite different:
each time I think of you, you cease to be.
© Translation: 2009, Rosmarie Waldrop, Jean-Jacques Poucel and John Fenoghen
IDENTITEIT
Welke zou jouw identiteit zijn, welke de identiteit van je dood?volgens sommigen ben je het graf en wat erin is,
en de grafsteen met je naam erop
wat zoveel betekent als:
in leven was je dat lichaam, met en zonder kleren
het lichaam dat je geest (of ziel) bevatte
het lichaam dat eveneens die naam droeg, jouw naam
identiteit bestaat in onze wereld alleen bij gratie van die analogie
volgens anderen ben je zoals je voor de geest komt
van diegenen die je, voor zover ze zich je herinneren,
hebben gekend, al was het maar even
zo zou je bestaan, maar verkapt, wisselend,
contradictoir, afhankelijk, in knipperlicht,
en is ieder van hen dood, dan zou je niet meer bestaan.
zeker, ook hier bestaat het idee van een leven na de dood alleen bij gratie van de eigenste karakteristieken van je levenswereld
maar voor mij gaat het er heel anders aan toe:
telkens, wanneer ik aan je denk, houd je op te bestaan.
© Vertaling: 2009, Jan H. Mysjkin
IDENTITÉ
Quelle identité serait tienne, de ta mort ?tu es, diraient certains, la tombe et son dedans,
et la pierre tombale avec ton nom
mais cela n’est pas autre chose que dire :
vivante, tu étais ce corps vêtu et non vêtu,
ce corps qui contenait ta pensée (ou ton âme)
et ce corps aussi portait ce nom, le tien
l’identité ne persiste dans le monde que de cette analogie
tu es, diraient d’autres, telle que te restituent
dans leur souvenir, s’ils se souviennent, ceux
qui t’ont, ne serait-ce qu’un instant, connue
ainsi tu serais, mais divisée, changeante, contradictoire,
dépendante, par éclipses,
et quand chacun de ceux-là sera mort, tu ne serais plus.
et sans doute, ici encore, l’idée de survivance emprunte aux
caractéristiques mêmes du monde de ta vie
mais, pour moi, il en va tout différemment :
chaque fois que je te pense, tu cesses.
© 2009, Jacques Roubaud
Poems
Poems of Jacques Roubaud
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IDENTITY
What identity could be yours, that of your death?you are, some would say, your grave and its inside,
the gravestone with your name
but that only means saying:
alive, you were this body dressed and undressed,
this body that contained your thought (or soul)
this body that also bore this, your name
identity does not last in the world except by this analogy
you are, others would say, as you are in the memory,
if they remember, of those who had,
even just for a moment, known you
thus you would be, but parcelled out, changeable,
contradictory, dependent, in intermittent light,
and once all those others are dead you would no longer be.
and, surely, here again the idea of afterlife borrows its very char-
acteristics from the world that was your life
but for me, it is quite different:
each time I think of you, you cease to be.
© 2009, Rosmarie Waldrop, Jean-Jacques Poucel and John Fenoghen
IDENTITY
What identity could be yours, that of your death?you are, some would say, your grave and its inside,
the gravestone with your name
but that only means saying:
alive, you were this body dressed and undressed,
this body that contained your thought (or soul)
this body that also bore this, your name
identity does not last in the world except by this analogy
you are, others would say, as you are in the memory,
if they remember, of those who had,
even just for a moment, known you
thus you would be, but parcelled out, changeable,
contradictory, dependent, in intermittent light,
and once all those others are dead you would no longer be.
and, surely, here again the idea of afterlife borrows its very char-
acteristics from the world that was your life
but for me, it is quite different:
each time I think of you, you cease to be.
© 2009, Rosmarie Waldrop, Jean-Jacques Poucel and John Fenoghen
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