Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Yves Bonnefoy

The house where I was born (09)

And then the day came
When I heard the extraordinary lines in Keats,
The evocation of Ruth “when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn.”

I did not need to search for the meaning
Of these words,
For it was in me since childhood,
I had only to recognize and to love it
When it came back from the depths of my life.

What could I take  
From the evasive maternal presence
If not the feeling of exile and tears
That clouded that gaze searching to find
In things close by the place forever lost?

The house where I was born (09)

Et alors un jour vint
Où j’entendis ce vers extraordinaire de Keats,
L’évocation de Ruth « when sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn ».

Or, de ces mots
Je n’avais pas à pénétrer le sens
Car il était en moi depuis l’enfance,
Je n’ai eu qu’à le reconnaître, et à l’aimer
Quand il est revenu du fond de ma vie.

Qu’avais-je eu, en effet, à recueillir
De l’évasive présence maternelle
Sinon le sentiment de l’exil et les larmes
Qui troublaient ce regard cherchant à voir
Dans les choses d’ici le lieu perdu ?
Close

The house where I was born (09)

And then the day came
When I heard the extraordinary lines in Keats,
The evocation of Ruth “when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn.”

I did not need to search for the meaning
Of these words,
For it was in me since childhood,
I had only to recognize and to love it
When it came back from the depths of my life.

What could I take  
From the evasive maternal presence
If not the feeling of exile and tears
That clouded that gaze searching to find
In things close by the place forever lost?

The house where I was born (09)

And then the day came
When I heard the extraordinary lines in Keats,
The evocation of Ruth “when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn.”

I did not need to search for the meaning
Of these words,
For it was in me since childhood,
I had only to recognize and to love it
When it came back from the depths of my life.

What could I take  
From the evasive maternal presence
If not the feeling of exile and tears
That clouded that gaze searching to find
In things close by the place forever lost?
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