L'heure De Midi.(Translation) . Poem by Michael Walker

L'heure De Midi.(Translation) .

Elle est assise a la poussiere aux murs
Et elle fait des cigares,
En se courbant au banc
Les doigts inquiets pour la paie,
En echangeant sa sueur contre la paie pour le jour.

Maintenant que l'heure de midi est venue,
Et elle se penche les bras nus
Sur l'appui de fenetre au-dessus du fleuve,
Se penche et sent sa poitrine
Des choses mouvantes fraichement hors des cotes libres et ouvertes:

A sa poitrine et aux yeux et ses narines
La touche et la fraicheur soufflante
De grandes autoroutes au-dela des murs.

-' Noon Hour'. Carl Sandburg.

Tuesday, May 1, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: work
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Poem Hunter/ Carl Sandburg/poems/ 118/457.
The poet gives his impressions of a woman who works in a cigar-making factory. She is anxious to earn enough money in exchange for her sweated labour. At lunch-time, she leans on the window-sill overlooking the river and 'feels at her throat/ Cool-moving things out of the free open ways'.She has to be seeingcars. There is a cool breeze blowing at her face 'from the great freeways beyond the walls'.
This is a sympathetic, empathetic portrait of a woman working in a factory and enjoying her daydreaming lunch-hour.
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