Poem
Michelle Grangaud
They announce
They announce theflight coming in
from Barcelona at gate thirty-two.
She’s strechted out
on her back, on the grass.
She thinks she’s falling watching the sky.
On the scaffolding
swayed by the wind
he’s whistling away repainting the wall of the apartment building.
A school bus
fell
into a ravine : 6 killed and 22 injured.
She has broken the
thermometer to
play with the globules of quicksilver.
He blows on the
iron filings.
The noise of the machine penetrates the helmet.
The department store
is closing. The sales clerks
are quickly leaving via the service door.
During dinner,
the news :
area of wreckage from the earthquake.
The child wakes up
and perceives
that once more he has wet his bed.
She says good evening
in a very hoarse way
like someone sobbing inexplicably.
He remains two hours
in front of the pinball machine
clinging to it, teeth clenched.
After dinner,
it’s television
again. She’s knitting as she watches.
He’s crouched
on the step
and it’s written on cardboard that he’s hungry.
She didn’t hear
him coming.
Starts as she feels his hand on her shoulder.
He places two fingers under
the newborn’s
armpits to ease it from the womb.
The car, after
slewing around and
rolling over twice, lands on the slope.
They hold each other’s
arms, and move
forward, as they are talking, their white canes.
He always puts a
bunch of violets
in front of his wife’s picture. He’s a widower.
The young girl
hides behind
the door and falls asleep. People find her. And laugh.
He opens his eyes,
Recognizes nothing.
Has forgotten everything. Only remembers one word : Yes.
It’s dark and cold.
She’s walking quickly.
Behind her a man’s footsteps still sound. She’s afraid.
The father really loves
his little daughter. He likes
tweaking her chubby cheeks. He’s hurting her.
She turns the
wooden spoon about
in the translucent red jam.
The curve kills
or injures, year in
year out, its score of drivers.
From: Geste
Publisher: Bilingual anthology : women’s poetry in France 1965-1995, Wake Forest University Press, , 1991
Publisher: Bilingual anthology : women’s poetry in France 1965-1995, Wake Forest University Press, , 1991
On annonce
On annonce
On annonce levol en provenance
de Barcelone à la porte trente-deux.
Elle est allongée
sur le dos, dans l’herbe,
elle croit tomber en regardant le ciel.
Sur l’échafaudage
que le vent balance,
il repeint en sifflant le mur de l’immeuble.
Un car de transport
scolaire est tombé
dans un ravin : 6 morts et 22 blessés.
Elle a cassé le
thermomètre pour
jouer avec les boules de vif-argent.
Il souffle sur la
limaille de fer.
Le bruit des machines traverse le casque.
Le grand magasin
ferme. Les vendeuses
sortent vite par la porte de service.
Pendant le dîner,
les informations :
champ de décombres du tremblement de terre.
L’enfant se réveille
et il s’aperçoit
qu’une fois encore il a trempé son lit.
Elle dit bonsoir
d’une voix très rauque
qui ressemble à un sanglot inexplicable.
Il reste deux heures
devant le flipper,
cramponné à l’appareil, les dents serrées.
Après le dîner
c’est encore la
télé. Elle tricote en la regardant.
Il est accroupi
dans les escaliers
et c’est écrit sur un carton qu’il a faim.
Elle ne l’a pas
entendu venir.
Tressaille en sentant la main sur son épaule.
Il met deux doigts sous
les aisselles du
nouveau-né pour le faire sortir du ventre.
La voiture, après
un tête-à-queue et
deux tonneaux va se planter dans le talus.
Ils se tiennent par
le bras et promènent
devant eux, en parlant, leur canne d’aveugles.
Il met toujours un
bouquet de violettes
devant la photo de sa femme. Il est veuf.
La petite fille
se cache derrière
la porte et s’endort. On la trouve. On en rit.
Il ouvre les yeux,
ne reconnaît rien.
A tout oublié. Ne sait plus qu’un mot : oui.
Il fait nuit et froid.
Elle marche vite.
Derrière elle, un pas d’homme insiste. Elle a peur.
Le père aime bien
sa fillette. Il aime
pincer les joues rebondies. Il lui fait mal.
Elle tourne la
cuillère de bois
dans la confiture, rouge translucide.
Le virage tue
ou blesse, bon an
mal an, sa vingtaine d’automobilistes.
From: Geste
Publisher: P.O.L,
Publisher: P.O.L,
Poems
Poems of Michelle Grangaud
Close
They announce
They announce theflight coming in
from Barcelona at gate thirty-two.
She’s strechted out
on her back, on the grass.
She thinks she’s falling watching the sky.
On the scaffolding
swayed by the wind
he’s whistling away repainting the wall of the apartment building.
A school bus
fell
into a ravine : 6 killed and 22 injured.
She has broken the
thermometer to
play with the globules of quicksilver.
He blows on the
iron filings.
The noise of the machine penetrates the helmet.
The department store
is closing. The sales clerks
are quickly leaving via the service door.
During dinner,
the news :
area of wreckage from the earthquake.
The child wakes up
and perceives
that once more he has wet his bed.
She says good evening
in a very hoarse way
like someone sobbing inexplicably.
He remains two hours
in front of the pinball machine
clinging to it, teeth clenched.
After dinner,
it’s television
again. She’s knitting as she watches.
He’s crouched
on the step
and it’s written on cardboard that he’s hungry.
She didn’t hear
him coming.
Starts as she feels his hand on her shoulder.
He places two fingers under
the newborn’s
armpits to ease it from the womb.
The car, after
slewing around and
rolling over twice, lands on the slope.
They hold each other’s
arms, and move
forward, as they are talking, their white canes.
He always puts a
bunch of violets
in front of his wife’s picture. He’s a widower.
The young girl
hides behind
the door and falls asleep. People find her. And laugh.
He opens his eyes,
Recognizes nothing.
Has forgotten everything. Only remembers one word : Yes.
It’s dark and cold.
She’s walking quickly.
Behind her a man’s footsteps still sound. She’s afraid.
The father really loves
his little daughter. He likes
tweaking her chubby cheeks. He’s hurting her.
She turns the
wooden spoon about
in the translucent red jam.
The curve kills
or injures, year in
year out, its score of drivers.
From: Geste
Publisher: 1991, Bilingual anthology : women’s poetry in France 1965-1995, Wake Forest University Press,
Publisher: 1991, Bilingual anthology : women’s poetry in France 1965-1995, Wake Forest University Press,
They announce
They announce theflight coming in
from Barcelona at gate thirty-two.
She’s strechted out
on her back, on the grass.
She thinks she’s falling watching the sky.
On the scaffolding
swayed by the wind
he’s whistling away repainting the wall of the apartment building.
A school bus
fell
into a ravine : 6 killed and 22 injured.
She has broken the
thermometer to
play with the globules of quicksilver.
He blows on the
iron filings.
The noise of the machine penetrates the helmet.
The department store
is closing. The sales clerks
are quickly leaving via the service door.
During dinner,
the news :
area of wreckage from the earthquake.
The child wakes up
and perceives
that once more he has wet his bed.
She says good evening
in a very hoarse way
like someone sobbing inexplicably.
He remains two hours
in front of the pinball machine
clinging to it, teeth clenched.
After dinner,
it’s television
again. She’s knitting as she watches.
He’s crouched
on the step
and it’s written on cardboard that he’s hungry.
She didn’t hear
him coming.
Starts as she feels his hand on her shoulder.
He places two fingers under
the newborn’s
armpits to ease it from the womb.
The car, after
slewing around and
rolling over twice, lands on the slope.
They hold each other’s
arms, and move
forward, as they are talking, their white canes.
He always puts a
bunch of violets
in front of his wife’s picture. He’s a widower.
The young girl
hides behind
the door and falls asleep. People find her. And laugh.
He opens his eyes,
Recognizes nothing.
Has forgotten everything. Only remembers one word : Yes.
It’s dark and cold.
She’s walking quickly.
Behind her a man’s footsteps still sound. She’s afraid.
The father really loves
his little daughter. He likes
tweaking her chubby cheeks. He’s hurting her.
She turns the
wooden spoon about
in the translucent red jam.
The curve kills
or injures, year in
year out, its score of drivers.
From: Geste
Publisher: 1991, Bilingual anthology : women’s poetry in France 1965-1995, Wake Forest University Press,
Publisher: 1991, Bilingual anthology : women’s poetry in France 1965-1995, Wake Forest University Press,
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