Walker of dead streets Poem by Jacques Roubaud

To François Caradec

I am, in Paris, a walker of the dead streets
Of the streets that are no longer, of streets renamed,
Erased, done in, truncated, diminished,
Street of the Social Contract or Street Between-Two-Doors
Where have you gone Sensible Street, Alleyway of the Whippers
Street of the Red Apple, Street of the Milk Can
Alley of the Doormats, Street of the Great Howler,
Lost Street, Gated Street, Petit Four, Little Fart
Oh beautiful disappeared ones, Of The Mushroom Bed,
Alley of the Three Dead People, Street of the Three Racks,
Street Which Too Much Goes So Hard and Street of the Rottenfield
Passages! Dead-ends! Paths! Quays! Squares! Laneways
Ignored pedestrian of the indifferent crowd
I walk alone in the Street Where God Was Boiled

Tanslated by Claire Nashar