Sunday, May 26, 2013


il fallait bien parfois
que le soleil monte un peu de rougeur aux vitres
pour que nous nous sentions moins seuls
il y venait alors quelque souvenir factice de la beauté des choses
et puis tout s'installait dans la blancheur crue du réel
qui nous astreignait à baisser les paupières
pourtant nous étions aux aguets sous notre éblouissement
espérant une nuit humble et légère et sans limite
où nous nous enfoncerions dans le rêve éveillé de nos corps

marie uguay

sometimes the sun
had to raise a bit of red on the windows
for us to feel less alone
then came some feigned memory of the beauty of things
before all settled into the raw white of the real
obliging us to lower our eyelids
still we were on the lookout in our dazzle
hoping for a humble night quickened limitless
where we might sink into the awakened dream of our bodies

(my translation)


  1. elegant flowers in the humble jar, perfect poem to match them. to me, red has always stood for passion. xo

    1. Marion: thank you. i think red means passion in this case, too :-)


  2. beautiful! I was in heaven in the south if france, wild poppies everywhere!!

    1. Marion: i've heard, though i haven't seen ... i'm happy for you (an jealous :-) ...


  3. It is a very beautiful image.

    And then the first line.

    Were enough.

    1. Ruth: thank you. perhaps you are right ... sometimes the smallest gestures are more than any expansion :-)


  4. it is wonderful, again the flowers are staggering but they - again - become so through the light, here the light has a sandy texture and one feels indeed groping within oneself for the memory of the beauty of things...

    i can't say how much i love this poem... and your translation is so good, so good. i am wondering about "quickened", it is the only part which i have doubted first, but after careful pondering, i can see why you would use it, and no, i can't find anything better :-) "alert" could be a solution, but i don't think it fits into the line as well...

  5. Roxana: i sometimes think that we never take pictures of things, but only of the light around things ... and isn't this the key (one of the keys) to memory ... we remember and say, ah, the light on that day, or, how the morning sunlight lived in that window!....

    "alert" for "légère" in this poem? hmmm, i didn't think of that, but i like the idea ... not for the rhythm of this line, no -- but i don't forget these things ... it will probably happen in some other translation!! :-))