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Free Verse
My
Judgment
They
have judged me in front of the flowers.
The flowers are dead,
the days have spoken.
An accusation pierced my eyes
and I proclaimed my innocence.
They did not listen.
I know the flowers were thinking,
the nights are my witnesses.
I implored them to listen
to what the stars declared.
They did not hear.
In the middle of the night,
my heart surrounded,
I let myself be blindfolded
with obscurities
and swept away,
loneliness planted in my heart.
I could not explain that I had no one,
they would not listen.
They judged me in front of the flowers
and tied the nights to my arms.
They exiled me to darkness
all alone.
I proclaimed my innocence.
They did not listen.
French free
verse translated into English free verse by Joneve McCormick
- 2003
Those
who Dance to the Rhythm of their Own Music
Those who
nourish themselves on meats, dairy products and desserts
Cannot estimate you at your fair value.
Even if stone cracked, you cannot make them open
The windows of their farm …
People like you are not included in their center of
interest
You do not exist …
Hereafter you must know
That they do not have time to bless you!
Their eyes are always fixed from above you
While they bow
With smiles above their double chins
Before the sovereign...the sultan.
Do you think for an instant that they acknowledge you?
If you ask my opinion on this subject
It is because the ends of their twine
Are in the hands of other people.
Don't take exception to the fact
That they are taken for kings!
Do not wait for them
In the wrong places
Vainly hoping
They will consider you a man …
Even if you write hundreds of letters
To these men of the closed doors
Intending to see or speak to them
You will not receive a single response …
Be wary and attentive;
Above everything
Allow them their haughty airs.
By thinking themselves important
They will look at you scornfully!
They well like fondling
Each others' backs …
It is no longer to the point
To listen to their dialogues "with admiration"
To extol their writings "enthusiastically"
To reward their facts "by clapping" …
Do not waste your time
Or put your attention here …
Think of other things.
French free
verse translated into English free verse by Joneve McCormick
Martial
Dances
We
live in strange times, my brother
men make money
with war dances
and occupation...
Do you not see the bombardments
and the pillaging?
Under the boot
you are worn out,
these days
the sweat of your brow
no longer serves you!
Tanks come from distant lands
passing down your streets
demanding to know
why you were born!
And you can say nothing.
Soon, if this continues,
it will be the course of progress
to be denied learning.
One speaks of the rights of man
here and there.
Do not believe those rumors!
You see that nothing is in place now!
We live in strange times my brother,
arms dealing,
construction
governing the land.
Is it so difficult to understand?
They sell the merchandise of war!
Come listen to my counsel.
Don't marry, it is unsupportable
to suffer the massacre of your children.
The success of your affairs depends
on producing fictitious enemies
to menace...
In this manner
they take over small countries
one after the other
under the pretext of saving them.
While you fight amongst yourselves
others consume your underground resources.
What should I tell you;
do these times plant sorrow
in your hearts?
Be a little understanding!
Increase the number of fratricidal wars,
divide your people further
to make the lives of the invaders easier.
Do not forget that to destroy love
requires only this:
Live in a society without love
and don't educate anyone...
Live in the clarity of obscurity,
depend only on yourself!
The sun rises and sets on time...
the throats of cocks are cut
that sing before the hour!
We live in strange times my brother,
men make money with war dances
and occupation...
Do you not see the bombardments
and the pillaging?
French free
verse translated into English free verse by Joneve McCormick
- 2003
My Teacher
Superannuated children
At the tether of insensitivity,
These are your work—
Born of selfishness,
Each generation slips away
Further and further.
From every sideways glance
Aimed at revolt
Fleas give birth to dragons
And they do it from the underside
Of workbenches only partially covered with tablecloths.
The month of September in their eyes
Piles up their hatreds day in and day out,
An anteroom for opportunists
A shelter annihilating love
And—
A prop
For confidence,
Whose opposite face falls into a ravine.
My teacher,
Before the wellspring
of your values dries up...
Draw near, and you'll see the capillary vessels
Of youth.
Draw near,
Before the last vestiges of your sensibilities
Are snuffed out, scattered by the winds of Time.
Oh, I know,
No matter what you plea,
Your inner Tribunal doesn't leave you free
So long as tomorrow drops suffering into your lap.
Events fall out on your right,
Secrets shake you up on your left
The source of worrying
Is in every tomorrow
Looming inside you...
Your accomplishments, my dear teacher,
Only see you
They can't see themselves!...
French free verse
translated into English free verse by Richard Vallance
What Is
Written in the Dark by War
You can no
longer warm your cold hands, nor offer them in friendship.
You have time to look back only once to see the life of your
friendship with the flowers, the pleasure you take in love,
the light ignited in your heart of hearts.
It is most unfortunate, but there are those who decide your
tomorrows. Perhaps the month of March will not return, and
the feet of a child will not break the snow. The marks left
by war will not longer retire in the schools after you.
Books will speak of you. Throw me once more into the arms of
my mother, before the bloody marks show, before the agonies.
Bid adieu to the flowers, their breath cut off. The time
narrows and suffering tramples on your sentiments.
You will never forget while memories sink into living
hearts. Why do they wish to make war instead of leaving
their fears and resentments? Have you ever though about what
they want of you? It is their internal enemy that mobilizes
them!
I know that you find yourself facing the folly of those who
cannot hear themselves. I can do nothing! I cannot prevent
the animosity that makes you a target of killing and sorrow.
You are a tiny tot - I love you dearly! Tomorrow the poisons
embedded in the recipes of those who seek cover for their
fears and complaints will slacken...passions will surely
cause hands to tremble while they design with blood as their
ink. You can be sure of it my child!
If your starving mother falls on her tears at the table
before she can eat a morsel of bread, do not forget to give
her a smile, my child! At present, you see who smells like
oil, under the menacings of war. Iraq vibrates before your
windows, and old lives. I know that flowers do not live in
the mouths of canons...war holds grief, not joy, in its
foyers! Throw yourself once more into the arms of your
mother before the blood flows, and the suffering.
French free
verse translated into English free verse by Joneve McCormick
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