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Marie Etienne Translated by Marilyn Hacker
INSTRUCTIONS FOR WEEPING
In the sky there are birds flying in place While grouped together as a shaft of light Casts very gentle beams against all those Bodies in movement but fixed nonetheless The violet sea then a boat Its sail A single one is rounded like a cheek Powdered to seem fairer (The garden gate)
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(Powdered to seem fairer) The garden gate Opens on the river the air is thick Because of summer because of the heat The city grumbles around the ancient Hangars From a grocery comes opaque Light displayed on the shelves we see apples And we can smell them (Far from the pathways)
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(And we can smell them) Far from the pathways We wait for a surprise when we stop like A hare the hunter takes his stance his features Are somewhat heavy his face is all smiles Amidst the leaf*ge he has turned his head Towards the horse’s bridle and exhibits His cropped hair and his slender neck the image Is terrifying (His movement is curved)
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(Is terrifying) His movement is curved His hand holds a hammer ready to break The mirror hanging under the staircase Its face to the light so it can gather The day There is no image only the Outline lasts its force due to the presence Of the frame (Huge room near a garden)
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(Of the frame) Huge room near a garden Like those around which houses once were built The walls and the floor set with cream-colored Tiles a row of washbasins on one side From the high window to the right there comes A fragmentary shaft of moving light
Tennis players are on the court downstairs And as they play one begins to notice A stain on the window-pane or is it Mildew begun to spread across the green
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Who are these people coming? They line up On the sidewalk sometimes one of them gets Annoyed they stay there all night long when I Wake up in the morning they all have gone
I ask myself again what it can be They want they’ve gathered in a group they watch Me from the street up through my window they Imitate figures on a frieze they have Enough air to breathe I have all the light
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Now the people are seated with their backs To me in the high loges on the first Floor and contemplating St. Theresa Carved in an attitude suggesting sin
Despite the darkness a wall panel or A pillar can still be seen on either Side there is a bed the one on the right Is empty the one on the left I guess Is occupied because of the face which Is white (A good man is giving food)
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(Is white) A good man is giving food To a woman while another relieves Herself loving the man who’s facing her
“Yes I thought she was crazy!” he pretends To be breaking bread into crumbs above The nestled body The old woman wags A finger “Tell me what you want I swear You’ll have it” he recoils into the room It stretches far back its ceiling is high
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Objects have accumulated they are Shaped like hats the pile is large ---He climbs All that’s needed is his head placed on top Body stapled to a ladder one can Watch through a skylight in between the bars Reminded of the spider and its prey Above she is insatiate --- below She is content and glorious Meanwhile The daughter is sucking her thumb seated On the ground the mother makes piles of salt
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As for the woman she’s wearing heavy Shoes and her hand grips a cane while her head Is leaning against the window her skin Joyful in the sunlight her hair hangs down
She had been drying her tears with the steam Iron like that laundress who could never take Off her eye makeup in the evening Because during the night her husband Wanted her painted (Close to the shut door)
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(Wanted her painted) Close to the door shut On a luminous source whose Scintillation surrounds the wall panels Her silhouette is seen in profile—soaked By a waterfall centered just on her Outside this cone the air’s dry and burning The vision effaces itself there was A violence that remained comical I forget what it was The fire starts we Feel nothing at last we’ll love each other
MARIE ETIENNE translated by Marilyn Hacker first published in Poetry London
![[image] [image]](http://shayepoet.com/conference/authors/marieetiennes.jpg)
MARIE ETIENNE is the author of ten collections of poems, five novels and two books on the theater. She spent her childhood in Indochina, in what is now Viet Nam, during the Second World War. These origins are the basis of two of her novels, Sensó: La guerre, and L’Enfant et le soldat, kaleidoscopic impressions of the war and of the multiple displacements of a child between cultures. Her own education continued in France and in Dakar; returned to France, she was assistant to the experimental theater director Antoine Vitez. Her most recent poetry collections are Dormans (2006) and Roi des cent cavaliers (2002). Marilyn Hacker’s translation of the latter, King of a Hundred Horsemen, was the recipient of the first Robert f*gles Translation Award of the National Poetry Series, and will be published in November 2008 by Farrar Strauss and Giroux.
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MORE:
Translation and Writing: A Conversation With Marilyn Hacker Interview by Jennifer Dick http://tinyurl.com/4hdaev
and
Marilyn Hacker on "The Most Engaged Form Of Reading" http://tinyurl.com/3vebm8
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