Istanbul Literary Review - January 2009 Edition (#13)
Istanbul Literary Review - January 2009 Edition (#13)
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5 letters to Saïda
by
Denis Emorine
Translated from the French
by
Brian Cole

1

J’ai pris
le chemin de l’exil
en abandonnant Moscou
mais je traîne
la mort de l’ami
comme une ombre portée.

La tristesse oubliée
se réveille parfois.
Je ne voudrais plus la
déployer
ni la souiller de boue.
ou d’indifférence.

La pantomime des jours
est si  lourde à porter….

 

I took
the road of exile
abandoning Moscow
but I bear
the death of my friend
like a shadow on my back.

Sadness forgotten
sometimes awakes.
I no longer wish to
display it
nor to foul it with mud
or indifference.

The pantomime of days
is so heavy to bear ...

 

2

Je sais les chemins de
l’ attente.
Je ne distingue  pas toujours
ta silhouette dans la clarté des jours
je la devine en devenir..

Je sais épeler ton nom
même en ton absence,
en détachant soigneusement
les syllabes à mi-voix.

Et afficher ton sourire
Pour mieux le faire reluire
au soleil
partagé.

Je n’ai  à t’offrir
que mes mains tendues
soigneusement  débarrassées
de la mort.

 

I know the paths of
waiting.
I do not always discern
your silhouette in the brightness of day
I perceive it as it develops ...

I can spell your name
even in your absence,
carefully pronouncing
the syllables softly.

And add your smile
so that it shines more brightly
in the shared
sunshine.

I have nothing to give you
but my outstretched hand
carefully cleansed
of death.

 

3

Il y a
ce regard lancé vers toi
lorsque tu pars
ton épaule que je voudrais
presser pour te dire
reste

mais les voies du monde bifurquent
toujours.

L’amitié se fige
à la croisée des chemins.

 

There is
that look sent after you
when you leave
your shoulder that I would like
to press to tell you
to stay

but the paths of the world divide
always.

Friendship congeals
at the crossroads.

 

4

Pourquoi annoter ma vie
de mots illisibles ?
Il suffit de te regarder
pour
comprendre que j' ai perdu
trop de temps
en ratures.

Je marche seul
perdu dans ma tête
dans un monde
qui ne me reconnaît plus.

Je me heurte parfois
aux idées d' avant
à une odeur de suicide
qui s' échappe de quelque rue
déserte.

Ma langue maternelle ne me
réjouit plus.
Je voudrais la vomir
à la face des jours anciens
day by day
with a strange
smile dedicated to
an unknown dead person.

Who is she? I don't care*

 

* En anglais dans le texte.

 

Why annotate my life
with illegible words?
It is enough to look at you
to
understand what I have lost
too many times
in erasures.

I walk alone
lost in my head
in a world
that does not recognise me.

Sometimes I stumble on
ideas that precede
an odour of suicide
that escape from some
deserted street.

My mother tongue no longer
pleases me.
I would like to vomit it
in the face of the olden days
day by day
with a strange
smile dedicated
to an unknown dead person

Who is she? I don’t care *

* Translator’s note : In English in the original

 

5

Qu’ est-ce que
l’indicible ?
La distance abolie
entre toi et moi
parce que nous avons gravi toutes
les marches  qui mènent
à la rencontre.

Je me brûlais aux mots brandis
comme des armes
par d’ autres.
Ai-je fait de même ?
Sans doute.

Avec toi
je saurai
détourner les yeux
de  la mort
qui rôde.

 

What is
the inexpressible?
The distance abolished
between you and me
because we have climbed all
the steps that lead
to a meeting.

I burned myself with words brandished
like arms
by others.
Have I done the same?
No doubt.

With you
I shall be able to
avert my eyes
from death

as it prowls.
Denis Emorine
Denis Emorine
France
Denis Emorine is the author of short stories, essays, poetry, and theater.  He was born in 1956 and studied literature at the Sorbonne (University of Paris).  His works have been published in France, Belgium, Luxemburg, Romania, India and the USA . His theatrical output has been staged in France and Russia.. He has a great interest for Eastern Europe
Istanbul Literary Review - January 2009 Edition (#13)