In this excerpt from La nuit du dedans, the poet reflects on the secret corners of his home.
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Who will tell the sun about my land
my harried medlar tree
my springtime without nervures
my helpful hand
Who will recount my rootless
garden
and my door open
to all comers
my night of faraway sounds
my wheat that absorbs
the hours
Who will cure me
of my sequestration
and sweet secret
—my monochrome dream
my space gone gray at the temples
the barter of my frenzy
the slumber at the edge
of my well of fever
My steppe with an abundance of laughter
Perhaps it would be enough . . .
But I watch
time passing
"La Nuit du dedans" © Djamal Amrani. Translation © 2019 by Marilyn Hacker. All rights reserved.
Extrait de La nuit du dedans
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Qui dira ma terre au soleil
mon néflier harcelé
mon printemps sans nervures
ma main secourable
Qui dira mon jardin
sans raciness
et ma porte ouverte
à tout venant
ma nuit des bruits lointains
mon froment qu’absorbent
les heures
Qui me guérira
de ma séquestration
et de mon doux secret
—mon rêve monochrome
mon espace aux tempes grises
le troc de mes délires
le sommeil
à la margelle
de ma fièvre
Ma steppe à profusion de rires
Il suffirait peut-être…
Mais je regarde
venir le temps.