Hey, we’re expecting a big & fun day out here in the hinterlands, with yours truly playing the local Farmer’s Market late morning thru early afternoon, & then Eberle & I are off to the Council Chamber of Commerce banquet. I expect I'll be posting more about these events tomorrow.
In the interim, the Weekly Poem, another of my translations from Guillaume Apollinaire’s Alcools, one of the most perfect books of poetry I know. In fact, I’m almost positive this is the first Apollinaire poem I ever translated (tho it’s undergone some tweaking over the years), & it’s certainly one of my favorites among his short lyrics; it's a poem that is often somewhere in my head when I’m writing, & practically always in my head when I see roses. Although the roses haven’t bloomed here yet, the air is awash with birdsong & pollen—it’s high spring, & there’s something about that backdrop that makes this poem almost unbearably poignant. The gentle humor & the understated tone also contribute to this.
I truly love this poem. Because it’s short, I’m posting the original French below the translation. Hope you enjoy it.
Annie
On the coast of Texas
Between Mobile and Galveston there is a
Big garden brimming with roses
It also contains a country house
Itself a big rose
A woman often strolls
All alone through the garden
And when I walk past on the road that's fringed with lime trees
We look at each other
Because that woman's a Mennonite
Her rosebushes and her garments have no buttons
Two are missing from my jacket
The lady and I observe almost the same rite
Apollinaire
translation © John Hayes 1990-2009
Annie
Sur la côte du Texas
Entre Mobile et Galveston il y a
Un grand jardin tout plein de roses
Il contient aussi une villa
Qui est une grande rose
Une femme se promène souvent
Dans le jardin toute seule
Et quand je passe sur la route bordée de tilleuls
Nous nous regardons
Comme cette femme est mennonite
Ses rosiers et ses vêtements n'ont pas de boutons
Il en manque deux à mon veston
La dame et moi suivons presque le même rite
Apollinaire