My mother, illustrious in the kingdoms of the Orient
Is seated surrounded by water
The water forms a belt around her, a boat.
This's the threshold of infancy
The step which leads into the past
Is filled up by the sea.
You're accoutred as a very old princess
In dire age-old poverty
A sack tied to the small of your back
An ashen camisole.
The odour of the humus in autumn
Tames me into accepting your disappearance.
Your face is the wind that blows on me
Another wind blows past the back of my eyes.
Since you are now eternally
Impenetrable and black
Impenetrable and black.
Even with stars twinkling from time to time
The way out was impossible.
Now that you are dead some twenty years
I understand that my dreams
Speak in your voice.
My premonitions indicate to what extent I loved you
I who was ashamed
Of your derangement.
Heavy are the tears of love flowing in me
Huge and tenderly
And it's like a change in the seasons
The change in reason
All that was atrocious and absurd to me
Makes some sense to me now.
Mother, you wished that your son
Became a drogman in the kingdoms of the Orient
In order to be able to explain your plight.
Today as a sleeper I return
To the brink of an infancy
Which is my death
Perhaps I assume this truth.
My dreams form the crest of your discourse
Their coherence is their ocean
Your shadow, lonely seagull and savage
Is my spirit
• Don't quite know what this word means, unless it's etymological origins are to be found in the Arabic « tarjuman », meaning « translator ».
(Tu, O.C. t. II, p.531)
© T. Wignesan - Paris,2014
T (no first name) Wignesan
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/drogman-translation-of-pierre-emmanuel-s-drogman-by-t-wignesan/
