T (no first name) Wignesan
The Offering, Translation Of 'Offrande' By René Etiemble - Poem by T (no first name) Wignesan
(Quatrains rhymed abab, cdcd, efef, ghgh, each line made up of eleven to thirteen syllables. Etiemble is wary of free verse as we shall see in the next posting. From his only collection: le Coeur et la cendre: soixante ans de poésie (the heart and the ash: sixty years of poetry) . Illustrs. by Hiro Soumita. Paris: Les deux animaux,1984, p.43.)
For you! Here are the hands more scarce than chance
the nails of my fingers remain in bud
which never shed their leaves and agonies of perfumes
there fuse their aromas with the roses of Menton.
Here for you my arms, weary of so many wars
so heavy to bear, so many sent to concentration camps,
that the flesh looks lifeless where of late it sagged
in cribs for winter, in chains for summer.
Here for you my breast (did you sense it so close?)
made heavy by sorrow and this darkened core
that the most beautiful breasts in their flesh cock of the rock
achieve fullness: the cause of their desperation
Here for you this yet unformed abdomen which age
nor love can wound: Ah! Don’t let it worry you
even a bit, forgetting your death by drinking its mirage
and to want to die by drawing the screen!
© T. Wignesan – Paris,2014
Comments about The Offering, Translation Of 'Offrande' By René Etiemble by T (no first name) Wignesan
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe