Mortal
Infliction
I
think of Polyphemus bellowing his lowly woe
seated high on a cliff
sun-tight legs dangling into the sea
his fumbling hands grappling his burnt eye
And I think he will remain like that
because it’s impossible for him to die—
Ulysses is dead
by now he’s dead
And how wise was he
who blinded a thing of immortality?
seated high on a cliff
sun-tight legs dangling into the sea
his fumbling hands grappling his burnt eye
And I think he will remain like that
because it’s impossible for him to die—
Ulysses is dead
by now he’s dead
And how wise was he
who blinded a thing of immortality?
Mortel
Supplice
Je
pense à Polyphème braillant son humble détresse
haut
perché sur une falaise
ses
jambes raides de soleil pendant dans la mer
ses
mains tâtonnantes saisissant son œil brûlé
Et
il demeurera ainsi je crois
car
il lui est impossible de mourir —
Ulysse
est mort
il
est mort désormais
Or
était-il vraiment sage celui
qui
aveugla créature d'immortalité ?
Gregory
Corso, Le Joyeux Anniversaire de la mort, traduction par Blandine
Longre, Black Herald Press, 2014.
Un
des poèmes que j'ai lus (en français, hein) vendredi soir.
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