(Note: Poem inspired by the figure of Bousono’s grand-aunt with whom he had had to live since childhood, after the death of his mother. Cf. Carlos Bousono. Poesia Antologia: 1945-1993. Madrid: Espasa Calpe,1993. T. Wignesan)
There was a child. A child who in your hands
wanted to experience the music of sunrise,
feel the soft lawn, the suave grass.*
Out there, in the heights, lights stuck up high.
Was I about to sound the rock
of its mysterious and cautious blackness?
The world hushed as did also the sky.
The sky hushed like a child would.
Oh! My childhood dream of a river lined with fronds,
My cristal flight: made all the more necessary;
my constant tolerance faced with your mood changes
before the grimness of your statuesque stance!
Silent, stilled woman alone during the day,
woman without light, the woman of long shadows,
dried-up wall unable to feel pain: sheer matter.
A hard, embittered woman!
Further, as I watched you at other times walking about:
Your enormous dress train in the sombre mansion
while I continued to strike at my tenuous light.
My girlish light, my suave and livid lights.
Your quietude waxed furious, your parched country
when crossing your path
a child, even a child, always, always,
like scum, the nausea…
© T. Wignesan – Paris,2013