Charles Vildrac
Charles Vildrac Poems
IT is at morning twilight they expire;
Death takes in hand, when midnight sounds,
Millions of bodies in their beds,
And scarcely anybody thinks of it ...
...
NO water has abiding dwelling-place
Within one feeble hollow of the earth,
Which with the sky is face to face.
Let the noon glow, and the wind blow,
...
AT the black foot of trellises, by almond-branches shaded,
At the heart of corbeils, at the breast of bowers,
And all along the loam of avenues,
Are fallen faded,
...
HERE, before me, the lamp, the paper;
And behind me this troubled day
Passed in myself
...
IT is an inn there is
At the cross-roads of Chétives-Maisons,
In the land where it is always cold.
...
MAN whom I work for, I am angry with you;
But not because you pay me to possess
My loveliest day of days, my dearest hours,
...
THIS was indeed a spot where sickly earth
Was poorly clad;
Roads strewn with slag, and gathered stones,
And nettle-blinded puddles.
...
Charles Vildrac Biography
Charles Vildrac (November 22, 1882 – June 25, 1971), born "Charles Messager", was a French playwright and poet. Born in Paris, Vildrac's first poems were written when he was a teenager in the 1890s. In 1901 he published Le Verlibrisme, a defense of traditional verse. In 1912 he published a collection of prose poems. He was a member of the l'Abbaye de Créteil which he founded with Georges Duhamel. He died in Saint-Tropez.)
The Best Poem Of Charles Vildrac
After Midnight
IT is at morning twilight they expire;
Death takes in hand, when midnight sounds,
Millions of bodies in their beds,
And scarcely anybody thinks of it ...
O men and women, you
About to die at break of day,
I see your hands' uneasy multitude,
Which now the blood deserts for ever!
White people in the throes of death,
Wrestling in all the world to-night,
And whom the weeping dawn will silence,
Fearful I hear your gasping breath!
How many of you there are dying!
How can so many other folks be lying
Asleep upon the shore of your death-rattles!
... Here is noise in the house;
I am not the only one who hears you:
Someone has stepped about a room,
Someone has risen to watch over you ...
But no! It is a little song I hear.
If someone stepped about a room,
It was to go and rock a little child,
Who has been born this evening in the house.
translated by Jethro Bithell
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