Poem
Anne Penders
The Reverse (Fragment 1)
–––To name.
Instead of what we conceal, the reverse would be a way to say.
Fake softness of cactus’ bristle, thistle, caterpillar.
Precarious harmony of families.
Affirmation of the gap, trap of the case ––––––––– sometimes, speech,
immaterial.
Sometimes.
Frail machine with seized brakes. Terraced construction that hammer and chisel loosen
/ wall, hollow tooth, original anomaly.
An instant, the words’ force loses its balance — only for a instant.
The reverse –––––––––––––––––––––––––– a backwards energy /
that concordance stuns.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Pigs, sheep, cows. Bottoms in the wind, frolic.
[how can we still eat ham ?]
Circumscribe a space ———————————–––––––– you say.
The border close at hand, a way out, a crossing.
All the necessary potential for a temporary stop.
Words we don’t say / inevitable meetings / mountains’ slopes.
Does the reverse share with the right side the edge or the flat ?
Does the reverse share ?
If the right side is a place, does it declare a dismissal for the reverse ?
Does it foreshadow the loss of itself ?
The mark.
The place, bitten, as if marked by a drift. The reverse, driven in, hammered.
Which one determines the other ?
The pigs. Snouts rummaging turned up soil. Renewing arable space
—––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Before being eaten.
Some words burn everything in their wake, carrying away what’s left of living energy.
Exaltation / the war of the buttons, beetroots, babies bottles.
The reverse often looks at the right side —––––––––––––––––––––––––––– with the dread of someone
that nothing surprises.
It walks with language, in the wild wind where even pride departs.
I would like to believe it immortal, irreversible. But sometimes a draught is all it takes, hardly
a gust, to make it fall on its back, shell on smooth concrete, paws in the air, helpless.
–––
The reverse has no place. It lives deep in the layers.
[from present, the past / out of use]
—––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– wear always ends up affecting the body.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
© Translation: 2012, Anne Penders and Philip Waters
l\'envers (extrait 1)
l\'envers (extrait 1)
–––Nommer.
Plutôt que ce que l’on tait, l’envers serait une manière de dire.
Fausse douceur du poil de cactus, chardon, chenille.
Harmonie précaire des familles.
Affirmation de l’écart, piège de l’écrin ––––––––– parfois la parole,
immatérielle.
Parfois.
Frêle appareil aux freins grippés. Construction en terrasses que le marteau et le burin décèlent
/ mur, dent creuse, anomalie originelle.
Un instant, la puissance du mot perd l’équilibre — un instant seulement.
L’envers –––––––––––––––––––––––––– une énergie à rebours /
que la concordance sidère
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Les cochons, les moutons, les vaches. Fesses au vent, batifolent.
[comment peut-on encore manger du jambon ?]
Circonscrire un espace ———————————–––––––– tu dis.
La frontière à portée de main, une échappatoire, une traversée.
Tout le potentiel nécessaire à l’arrêt provisoire.
Les mots que l’on ne prononce pas / rencontres inévitables / versants des montagnes.
L’envers partage-t-il avec l’endroit la tranche ou l’aplat ?
L’envers partage-t-il ?
Si l’endroit est un lieu, prononce-t-il le non-lieu de l’envers ?
Annonce-t-il la privation de lui-même ?
La trace.
L’endroit mordu, marqué comme au repoussoir. L’envers enfoncé, martelé.
Qui de l’un conditionne l’autre ?
Les cochons. Truffes trifouillent la terre retournée. Renouvellent l’espace
cultivable —–––––––––––––––––––––– avant d’être bouffés.
Certains mots brûlent tout sur leur passage, emportent avec eux ce qu’il reste d’énergie vive.
L’exaltation / la guerre des boutons, betteraves, biberons.
L’envers souvent regarde l’endroit —––––––––––––––––––––––––––– avec l’effroi de celui
que rien n’étonne.
Il marche avec le langage, dans le vent fou où même la fierté trépasse.
J’aimerais le croire immortel, irréversible. Mais il suffit parfois d’un courant,
à peine une bourrasque, pour qu’il tombe sur le dos, carapace sur béton lisse,
pattes en l’air, impuissant.
–––
l’envers n’a pas d’endroit. Il vit au fond des strates.
[du présent, le passé / hors d’usage]
—––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– l’usure finit toujours par affecter le corps.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
From: l\'envers
Publisher: Le Cormier, Bruxelles
Publisher: Le Cormier, Bruxelles
Poems
Poems of Anne Penders
Close
The Reverse (Fragment 1)
–––To name.
Instead of what we conceal, the reverse would be a way to say.
Fake softness of cactus’ bristle, thistle, caterpillar.
Precarious harmony of families.
Affirmation of the gap, trap of the case ––––––––– sometimes, speech,
immaterial.
Sometimes.
Frail machine with seized brakes. Terraced construction that hammer and chisel loosen
/ wall, hollow tooth, original anomaly.
An instant, the words’ force loses its balance — only for a instant.
The reverse –––––––––––––––––––––––––– a backwards energy /
that concordance stuns.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Pigs, sheep, cows. Bottoms in the wind, frolic.
[how can we still eat ham ?]
Circumscribe a space ———————————–––––––– you say.
The border close at hand, a way out, a crossing.
All the necessary potential for a temporary stop.
Words we don’t say / inevitable meetings / mountains’ slopes.
Does the reverse share with the right side the edge or the flat ?
Does the reverse share ?
If the right side is a place, does it declare a dismissal for the reverse ?
Does it foreshadow the loss of itself ?
The mark.
The place, bitten, as if marked by a drift. The reverse, driven in, hammered.
Which one determines the other ?
The pigs. Snouts rummaging turned up soil. Renewing arable space
—––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Before being eaten.
Some words burn everything in their wake, carrying away what’s left of living energy.
Exaltation / the war of the buttons, beetroots, babies bottles.
The reverse often looks at the right side —––––––––––––––––––––––––––– with the dread of someone
that nothing surprises.
It walks with language, in the wild wind where even pride departs.
I would like to believe it immortal, irreversible. But sometimes a draught is all it takes, hardly
a gust, to make it fall on its back, shell on smooth concrete, paws in the air, helpless.
–––
The reverse has no place. It lives deep in the layers.
[from present, the past / out of use]
—––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– wear always ends up affecting the body.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
© 2012, Anne Penders and Philip Waters
From: l\'envers
From: l\'envers
The Reverse (Fragment 1)
–––To name.
Instead of what we conceal, the reverse would be a way to say.
Fake softness of cactus’ bristle, thistle, caterpillar.
Precarious harmony of families.
Affirmation of the gap, trap of the case ––––––––– sometimes, speech,
immaterial.
Sometimes.
Frail machine with seized brakes. Terraced construction that hammer and chisel loosen
/ wall, hollow tooth, original anomaly.
An instant, the words’ force loses its balance — only for a instant.
The reverse –––––––––––––––––––––––––– a backwards energy /
that concordance stuns.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Pigs, sheep, cows. Bottoms in the wind, frolic.
[how can we still eat ham ?]
Circumscribe a space ———————————–––––––– you say.
The border close at hand, a way out, a crossing.
All the necessary potential for a temporary stop.
Words we don’t say / inevitable meetings / mountains’ slopes.
Does the reverse share with the right side the edge or the flat ?
Does the reverse share ?
If the right side is a place, does it declare a dismissal for the reverse ?
Does it foreshadow the loss of itself ?
The mark.
The place, bitten, as if marked by a drift. The reverse, driven in, hammered.
Which one determines the other ?
The pigs. Snouts rummaging turned up soil. Renewing arable space
—––––––––––––––––––––––––––– Before being eaten.
Some words burn everything in their wake, carrying away what’s left of living energy.
Exaltation / the war of the buttons, beetroots, babies bottles.
The reverse often looks at the right side —––––––––––––––––––––––––––– with the dread of someone
that nothing surprises.
It walks with language, in the wild wind where even pride departs.
I would like to believe it immortal, irreversible. But sometimes a draught is all it takes, hardly
a gust, to make it fall on its back, shell on smooth concrete, paws in the air, helpless.
–––
The reverse has no place. It lives deep in the layers.
[from present, the past / out of use]
—––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– wear always ends up affecting the body.
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
© 2012, Anne Penders and Philip Waters
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