poet Yves Bonnefoy

Yves Bonnefoy

The house where I was born (01)

I woke up, it was the house where I was born,
Sea foam splashed against the rock,
Not a single bird, only the wind to open and close the wave,
Everywhere on the horizon the smell of ashes,
As if the hills were hiding a fire
That somewhere else was burning up a universe.
I went onto the veranda, the table was set,
The water knocked against the legs of the table, the sideboard.
And yet she had to come in, the faceless one,
The one I knew was shaking the door
In the hall, near the darkened staircase, but in vain,
So high had the water already risen in the room.
I took the handle, it was hard to turn,
I could almost hear the noises of the other shore,
The laughter of the children playing in the tall grass,
The games of the others, always the others, in their joy.

Poem Submitted: Monday, October 23, 2017

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Comments about The house where I was born (01) by Yves Bonnefoy

  • Lungelo S MbuyaziLungelo S Mbuyazi (5/15/2018 3:24:00 PM)

    The chosen words could easily draw a picture in my mind...lovely imaginary poem.

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  • Fabrizio FrosiniFabrizio Frosini (5/15/2018 11:33:00 AM)

    La maison natal - 1

    Je m’éveillai, c’était la maison natal,
    L’écume s’abattait sur le rocher,
    Pas un oiseau, le vent seul à ouvrir la fenêtre et fermer la vague;
    L’odeur de l’horizon de toute parts,
    Cendre, comme si les collines cachaient un feu
    Qui ailleurs consumait un univers.
    Je passai dans la véranda, la table était mise,
    L’eau frappait les pieds de la la table, le buffet.
    ...

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    Lungelo S MbuyaziLungelo S Mbuyazi(5/15/2018 3:29:00 PM)

    These are real choice of words inscribed in this poem... obrigado for sharing another way of putting this poem

    Lungelo S MbuyaziLungelo S Mbuyazi(5/15/2018 3:29:00 PM)

    These are real choice of words inscribed in this poem... obrigado for sharing another way of putting this piem

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  • Fabrizio FrosiniFabrizio Frosini (5/15/2018 11:33:00 AM)

    ...
    Il fallait qu’elle entrât pourtant, la sans visage
    Que je savais qui secouait la porte
    Du couloir, du côté de l’escalier sombre, mais en vain,
    Si haute était déjà l’eau dans la salle.
    Je tournais la poignée, qui résistait,
    J’entendais presque les rumeurs de l’autre rive,
    Ces rires des enfants dans l’herbe haute,
    Ces jeux des autres, à jamais les autres, dans leur joie.

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    Lungelo S MbuyaziLungelo S Mbuyazi(5/15/2018 3:27:00 PM)

    Thanks for giving us another view of this poem..

    8 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
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