In fact these poems were written,
I must say, a long time ago.
Because translation takes time.
So the poem I'm going to read in French from--
I have to mention that for this selected--
translated by Clayton Eshleman.
Maybe you know Clayton.
He's a great American poet.
And with an introduction by--
Est-ce que c'est là ?
Kenneth Koch's introduction.
He died three, four years ago.
And I met often with Kenneth in New York.
"Bon."
Sometimes I add a few words in French or in English
but my English is dirty. Comment on va dire ça ?
The "Leviathan upstart" was a phrase
of nasty, solitary, brattish and ugly.
So that's my English.
"Bon."
I start with a few extracts from "Oui Dire" in French.
56.
Quand le vent pille le village,
tordant les cris,
l'oiseau s'engouffre dans le soleil.
Tout est ruine,
et la ruine un contour spirituel.
"When the wind sucks the village, twisting the cries,
the bird engulfs itself in the sun.
All is ruin.
And ruin, a spiritual contour."
Les jours ne sont pas comptés.
Sachant former un convoi de déportés qui chantent.
Arbres à flanc de prière,
Ophélie au flottage du temps,
assonance guidant un sens vers le lit du poème.
Comment appellerons-nous ce qui donne le ton ?
La poésie, comme l'amour, risque tout sur des signes.
"The days are not numbered.
Let's learn how to form a convoy of singing deportees.
Trees with flanks of prayer.
Ofelia at the floating of time.
[INAUDIBLE] is guiding a meaning toward the poem's bed.
How should we name what sets the pitch?
Poetry like love risks everything on signs."