4 november 2011
Persephone
Your dream throughout the room where a honey bee hums
Progresses. And time sleeps. An apple that perfumes
Of dozing orchards in willow baskets gathers.
The carpet is designed by the unspoiled summers.
You sing. On your forehead, playfully, shade and shine.
Pass and rhythm and peace their numbers intertwine.
In your voice two rival realms compete and unite,
Persephone, who knows of awe-inspiring woods,
Of terror of midday, of dismal sets of roots...
In silence my forehead bends, benumbed with night.
Ton songe par la chambre où bourdonne une abeille
Avance. Le temps dort. Une pomme, aux corbeilles
Recueille les parfums du verger assoupi.
L'été, l'incorrompu, compose le tapis.
Tu chantes. Sur ton front jouent et passent les ombres.
Le rythme et le repos entrelacent leurs nombres.
Deux royaumes rivaux s'unissent en ta voix,
Perséphone, et tu sais, l'obsession des bois,
La terreur de midi, les racines funèbres.
Mon front sourdement ploie, alourdi de ténèbres.
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