Volume 15:2, Spring 2014
White Thread Black Thread
there are days filled with air
boots of wind
clicking on pavement of Rue Saint-Martin
days of boredom with arrogant lips
I welcome my fears in massive groves
there are azure days
gathering the dazzling marbles of childhood
an entire life in the echo of my tongue
***
there are people of no account
whose names never figure in any log
there are days
when we sigh
I miss your shadow
in order to voice
the beloveds absence
***
there are days when we must be there
in weather good or foul
where my face is pure
as if just emerged from the fountain of youth
a star makes light of my dizzy spell
a lizard rushes to languages low wall
***
there are days when it feels so good
to walk on our native soil
between fig trees and loose stones
cactus and rock
dust and earth
so long as we can tell apart
a white thread from black
to feed the whirlwind of fire
of dawns that come again
Fil blanc fil noir
il y a des jours de grand air
des bottines au vent
martelant les pavés de la rue Saint-Martin
des jours dennui où la morgue aux lèvres
jaccueille mes peurs par bosquets massifs
il y a des jours dazur
qui amassent les billes fulgurantes de lenfance
toute une vie dans lécho de ma langue
***
il y a des êtres de peu dimportance
dont le nom figure sur nul registre
il y a des jours où
lon soupire
tu manques à mon ombre
pour dire labsence
de laimé
***
il y a des jours où il faut être là
par beau temps ou par mauvaise passe
mon visage est précieux
comme sorti dun bain denfance
une étoile se joue de mon tournis
un lézard se rue sur le muret du langage
***
il y a des jours il fait bon
marcher sur son sol natal
entre figuiers et pierraille
cactus et roc
poussière et terre
tant quon peut distinguer
un fil blanc dun fil noir
entretenir le tourbillon de feu
des aurores qui reviennent
Acacia
prince of the landscape
on your dome a goat moves
slender
a thick cloud of ants caresses your roots
while the goat nibbles your loveliest
leaves
the ants shelter themselves from the sun
Acacia
prince du paysage
sur ton toit une chèvre se déplace
gracile
une nuée de fourmis te caresse les racines
tandis que la chèvre broute tes plus belles
feuilles
les fourmis sabritent du soleil
Brief Discourse in the Style of Edmond Jabès
my tree the aloe
my flower the crack in the cactus
my river none in my land
my universe desert basalt
my entourage camelids
my weapon the daggers blade
my shadow is rangy
survival is my lifes work
essential
my landscape the changeless horizon
the dust stirred up by sheepskin soles
the territory still
before me
my guide the desert
my text the sky
each evening regained
my word each stone
each flint
my dream always the same:
nomad fathered
in economy most austere
Petit discours à la manière dEdmond Jabès
mon arbre laloès
ma fleur la fêlure du cactus
mon fleuve il ny a point dans mon pays
mon univers basalte dans le désert
mon entourage des camélidés
mon arme le poignard
mon ombre est longiligne
la survie est mon oeuvre
essentielle
mon paysage lhorizon immuable
la poussière soulevée par les semelles en cuir de mouton
la territoire toujours
devant moi
mon guide le désert
mon livre le ciel
chaque soir retrouvé
ma parole chaque pierre
chaque silex
mon rêve toujours le même:
le nomade enfanté
dans la plus stricte économie
Yesterdays Tales
The feminine lips of the tiger orchid have
nothing to hide. Pitch-black night.
Everything sleeps, even silence.
The bones of the past are here, visible in evening streets.
The laurels weep for their Daphne,
Apollo is off chasing skirts in Abyssinia.
Go, drop anchor further away. Leave the Eritrean Sea
for better skies.
The bard equipped with a sword tells you:
my land is poor, there is nothing for sale.
Black gold, rare wood, azure pearls?
Nothing but wind, migratory winds
mirages of water and dreams of herds.
Our confidence evaporates
like morning dew
sucked up by the eye of the sun.
Black, often. Pink from time to time.
How far weve come from saying yes to abducting the coffin.
Les dits dhier
Les lèvres féminines de lorchidée tigrée nont
rien à cacher. Nuit noire.
Tout dort, même le silence.
Les os du passé sont là, visible dans les rues du soir.
Les lauriers pleurent leur Daphnée,
Apollon est parti chasser les jupons en Abyssinie.
Va, jette ton ancre plus loin. Quitte la mer dErythrée,
les cieux sen porteront mieux.
Cest le barde sabré qui vous le dit:
ma terre est maigre, il ny a rien à vendre.
Dor noir, de bois rare, des perles dazur?
Rien que du vent, des vents migrateurs
songes de troupeaux et mirages deau.
La confiance en nous sévapore
comme la rosée du matin
aspirée par loeil du soleil.
Cest noir, souvent. Rose quelque fois.
Nous sommes loin davoir dit oui au rapt du cercueil.
Nancy Naomi Carlson is the recipient of grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Maryland Arts Council, and the Arts & Humanities Council of Montgomery County. Carlson is author of four books of poems and translator of six books from French to English, including An Infusion of Violets (Seagull Books, 2019), recently named a "New & Noteworthy" title by the New York Times Book Review. A senior translation editor for Tupelo Press, her work has appeared in APR, The Georgia Review, The Paris Review and Poetry. Her website: nancynaomicarlson.com/ To read more by this author: Summer 2005 issue
Abdourahman Waberi is the author of ten books, four of which have been translated into English (three novels and one collection of short fiction). A new bilingual collection of poems, The Nomads, My Brothers, Will Drink from the Big Dipper (Les Nomades, mes frères, vont boire à la grande ourse), from which this selection comes, is translated by Nancy Naomi Carlson, and will be published by Seagull Books later this year. Waberi was born in Djibouti, and has spent a number of years living in France, where he worked as a literary consultant for Editions Le Serpent á plumes and as a literary critic for Le Monde Diplomatique. Honors include the Stefan-Georg-Preis, the Grand prix littéraire d'Afrique noir, and an award from PEN France. Waberi has been a guest scholar at Wellesley College and a visiting professor at Claremont McKenna College. He currently teaches Francophone literature at the George Washington University.