 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
| Poetry in English | Poetry in Translation | Culture News | About Us | Write to Us |
|
In the Sante Guillaume Apollinaire - France
I Before I got into my cell I had to strip my body bare I heard an ominous voice say Well Guillaume what are you doing here
Lazarus steps into the ground Not out of it as he was bid Adieu Adieu O singing round Of years and girls the life I led
II I'm no longer myself in here I know I'm number fifteen in the eleventh Row
The sunlight filters downward through The panes And on these lines bright clowns alight Like stains
They dance under my eyes while my Ears follow The feet of one whose feet above Sound hollow
III In a bear-pit like a bear Every morning round I tramp Round and round and round and round The sky is like an iron clamp In a bear-pit like a bear Every morning round I tramp
In the next cell at the sink Someone lets the water run With his bunch of keys that clink Let the goaler go and come In the next cell at the sink Someone lets the water run
IV How bored I am between bare wall and wall Whose colour pales and pines A fly on the paper with extremely small Steps runs across these lines
What will become of me O God Who know My pain Who gave it me Have pity on my dry eyes and my pallor My chair which creaks and is not free
And all these poor hearts beating in this prison And Love beside me seated Pity above all my unstable reason And this despair which threatens to defeat it
V How long these hours take to go As long as a whole funeral
You'll mourn the time you mourned you know It will be gone too soon like all Time past too fast too long ago
VI I hear the noises of the city In the turning world beyond me I see a sky which has no pity And bare prison walls around me
The daylight disappears and now A lamp is lit within the prison We're all alone here in my cell Beautiful light Beloved reason.
|
|
|
|
 |
 |
|
|