A poem about the encounter of the parents of the famous Imam Abu Hanifa Ibn Târif (767) whose mother was allegorically blind and handicapped.

Translated from the French



The Gardener's daughter

I was a blind woman and groped my way along,
Fancying for my own purpose wind, lightning, ghost,
My window heavy with logics I would have closed
More firmly still than with iron shutters so strong,

If the wind had not brought scents from the fair nearby
Which streamed and shattered all my clumsy litanies.
I breathed in his clothing - elating inquiries,
A thundering mix of scents, which I meant to be sky.

In the void of my dreams dances spun in a ring,
While shreds of night drifted along my blind glances
And the corridors bored with black, sappy trenches
Those thick, deceitful walls against which I'm stumbling.

He said: "I rear a night that is unrulier
Than the glue on your eyes, since it deeply pervades
Chaos and may appear, as a beat, as a flower
So that, if my skill could capture these dazzling shades
The desert would be acquainted with my labour.

If I want on the night to impose my presence,
I disguise my reasons and swim up all the way
To the point where the germ comes up and birth ripens,
And can enslave its strength as far as I obey:
Thus the dreamer prevails, though subjected to night.

I was turned into weed, I spread and filled the space,
Scared the buried fruit that scents the distant morning.
I yielded to it lest my work would leave no trace,
I know that the hawk will be chased by the starling,
The day when the gardener will the garden replace."

Listen, bury my feet, wing me with a calyx,
Let that flesh be rotten which persists in my ruin.
Let the growth overcome and the flower flourish,
The one which remains deep in my darkness alone.

I shall be able to balance the flooding rain
And to become that song which watched before I did.
To till this ghost-garden I drained my dearest vein,
And I superseded my law while I obeyed.

Where is the cripple gone who questioned the doorways
And fancied she could in her hands retain the light?
Like a rag she has sunk. The wave swept her away
To shores where memory will not ever alight.

Because I'm the way which links the star with the earth,
The bridge towards distress and the path leading there,
I'm the flash of lightning between two angry bursts
Or the drowning woman who sinks with her lover.

LA FILLE DU JARDINIER

Aveugle, tâtonnante et par mes mains savante,
Je m'inventais le vent, le fantôme, l'éclair,
Et j'eus clos ma maison et sa vitre pesante
De logiques, plus fort que d'un volet de fer,

S'il ne venait pas tant d'effluves, car la fête
Ruisselait et rompait mes dits laborieux.
J'aspirais son habit - de grisantes enquêtes,
Un fracas de parfums que j'appelais des cieux.

Des rondes tournoyaient au vide de mes rêves.
Des blocs de nuits erraient dans mes regards obscurs
Et les couloirs foraient de leurs fils noirs de sèves
Ce bloc opaque et faux dont je heurte les murs.

Il disait: "Je nourris une nuit plus rebelle
Que la glu de tes yeux car elle plonge au coeur
Du chaos et surgit, fleur et mesure, et telle
Que si pouvait mon art capter cette étincelle
Obscure, le désert connaîtrait mon labeur.

Si je veux à  la nuit imposer ma présence,
Je masque mes raisons et remonte, nageur,
Son cours où point le germe et mûrit la naissance,
Sa force asservissant par mon obéissance,
Tel au songe soumis triomphe le songeur.

Je suis devenu herbe, hantise de l'espace,
Affre du fruit terré qui flaire le matin
Lointain. J'ai dû plier pour que l'oeuvre ne passe
Et sais que le gibier chassera le rapace
Lorsque le jardinier deviendra le jardin."

Enfouissez mes pieds, ailez-moi d'un calice,
Pourrissez tout ce corps à  me perdre entêté.
Que triomphe l'essor et que fleur s'accomplisse
Celle qui gît au fond de mon obscurité.

Je saurai balancer l'océan qui me baigne
Pour devenir ce chant qui veillait avant moi.
Jardinière d'un spectre en qui le spectre saigne,
Pour avoir obéi, j'ai dominé ma loi.

Où fut-elle, l'infirme interrogeant les portes
Et pensant la lumière en ses mains retenir?
Haillon, elle a coulé et la vague l'emporte
Où n'abordera pas même le souvenir.

Car je suis le chemin liant l'astre à  la terre,
Le pont vers la douleur et le cheminement,
La foudre jaillissant pour combler deux colères
Ou l'amante engloutie engloutissant l'amant.









Poetry by Michel Galiana
Read 1193 times
Written on 2008-06-21 at 17:02

Tags Galiana 

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


Brian Oarr
"Thus the dreamer prevails, though subjected to night."

One suspects the influence of Proust, when reading such a beuatiful line. Sans blague, the reading of Galiana brings equal pleasure.

Language: 5
Format: 5
Mood: 5
Overall: 5
2009-04-03


binesh
Good work..
2008-06-21