La nuit les morts viennent dans ma chambre (en anglais)

ENGLISH :

At Night, The Dead Come Into My Room

To Daniel Varoujan

At night, the dead come into my room,

In my heart their hearts are never silent,

They come, bringing blades of green grass

And thin hawthorn branches,

Sit delicately near my bed and sing,

In the caressing coolness

Which floats around their night faces,

Songs of an inimitable sweetness.

Through the open window comes the clear wind,

Which knows so well how to soothe away my grief

And fill my open eyes with legends.

In the sleeping courtyard, under the aspen tree,

White sheets flap on the tall clothes dryer

And sow a vague stupour on the emaciated face of silence.

The familiar moon, with its youngest beams,

Spreads over us its ancient friendship.

Then, uttering light harmonious sighs,

Calm, friendly, docile, my deaths leave me

On their fingertips.

And there is something beautiful, lithe and young

In their measured movements

Bathed in a gentle and profound light.

Then the river of sleep finally flows in me

And my imperious consciousness

Of my luminous duties towards my dead

Envelops me in its living tenderness

And prevents my own death!

Translated from the French of Athanase Vantchev de Thracy by Norton Hodges