The house where I was born (03)

I woke up, it was the house where I was born,
It was night, trees were crowding
On all sides around our door,
I was alone on the doorstep in the cold wind,
No, not alone, for two huge beings
Were speaking to each other above me, through me.
One, behind, an old woman, stooped, mean,
The other standing upright outside like a lamp,
Beautiful, holding the cup that had been offered her,
Drinking greedily to calm her thirst.
Did I think to mock her, surely not,
Rather I let out a cry of love
But with the strangeness of despair,
And the poison ran throughout my body,
Ceres, mocked, broke the one who loved her.
Thus speaks the life walled up in life today.

The house where I was born (03)

Je m’éveillai, c’était la maison natale,
Il faisait nuit, des arbres se pressaient
De toutes parts autour de notre porte,
J’étais seul sur le seuil dans le vent froid,
Mais non, nullement seul, car deux grands êtres
Se parlaient au-dessus de moi, à travers moi.
L’un, derrière, une vieille femme, courbe, mauvaise,
L’autre debout dehors comme une lampe,
Belle, tenant la coupe qu’on lui offrait,
Buvant avidement de toute sa soif.
Ai-je voulu me moquer, certes non,
Plutôt ai-je poussé un cri d’amour
Mais avec la bizarrerie du désespoir,
Et le poison fut partout dans mes membres,
Cérès moquée brisa qui l’avait aimée.
Ainsi parle aujourd’hui la vie murée dans la vie.