In judgement

In Judgement

Judgement no judgement
Both need schooling grooming with
Board chalk and duster

Stalker

Stalker

Is there a place where

The sky stops stalking for then
Silence rests in peace

La beauté by Yves Bonnefoy translated

Yves Bonnefoy Poèmes

nrf Poésie / Gallimard © Mercure de France, 1978. © Éditions Gallimard, 1982

La beauté [from Hier régnant désert; page 136]

Celle qui ruine l’être, la beauté,

Sera suppliciée, mise à la roue,

Déshonorée, dite coupable, faite sang

Et cri, et nuit, de toute joie dépossédée

– O déchirée sur toutes grilles d’avant l’aube,

O piétinée sur toute route et traversée,

Notre haut désespoir sera que tu vives,

Notre cœur que tu souffres, notre voix

De t’humilier parmi tes larmes, de te dire

La menteuse, la pourvoyeuse du ciel noir,

Notre désir pourtant étant ton corps infirme,

Notre pitié ce cœur menant à toute boue.

English translation by Supratik Sen

Beauty

The one that depraves the being, beauty,
Tormented, confined to the wheel,
Disgraced, defined guilty, seeps ​​
And hollers, and night, dispossessed of all ecstasy
- O ruptured on all grilles before sunup,
O stomped on all road and cruised,
Our towering despair that you may live,
Our heart that you droop, our voice
To denigrate you in your weeps, to tell you
Liar, director of the ebony sky,
Our longing withal your tottering carcass,
Our pity this heart shepherds through the sludge.

Note:

While doing my research in France, I was exposed to many wonderful poets, and authors. 

Yves Bonnefoy was certainly one of them. But I must also quickly add that I could penetrate into his world (if I dare to think so), thanks to my professor Madame Renée Ventresque.

Birth

Birth of a pure cry

What is painful doesn’t pain
Eyes behold smell smile

Liar

Profit money gain

Work stops shuts down easy slow
Liar! Sky did not fall

Friends

Bombs are like babies

Unaware of their pranks sounds
Patience O my friends

The unstoppable

Growth speed style pelf work

All kept in the dustbin yet
Fruits flowers plants bloom

Spoilsport

Rushing for meeting

Cars splash mud on the shirt face

Cells crying in pain

Leisure-pleasure

Sheets of rain pouring

Town washed out of gear no ride
Paper-boats sailing

Hope

Leaders’ hands are tied

Those who are led are tongue-tied
Head tide clears the knots