I make a stop in the morning light,
I’m in the countryside,
In the place where, as a child, I experienced the full presence of the world,
In the place where I heard, one midday,
Near my grandfather’s well,
The happy voice of Thalia.
It was there I once loved
The virginal song of larks,
The friendly mewing
Of Buttercup, the little cat.
This is a world one can never forget
A world which has now become other,
Not flesh of my flesh,
But word, shiver, image, poem,
A world where whole of beauty met all the fullness of a soul
Attentive to thrilling reflections,
To murmurs full of an exultant sweetness,
To satin shadows, to elusive figures
Which throw into focus the underlying finality
In the nature of things.
Have I read The Nichomaean Ethics
And Aristotle’s Protepticus too many times?
O the intimate luxury
Of childhood memories!
The urgent necessity of superfluous things!
Translated from the French of Athanase Vantchev de Thracy by Norton Hodges 04.03.12.