ENGLISH :
Athanase Vantchev de Thracy
Tonight.
Athanase,
I’m looking at your books
Scattered on my table.
Books I’ve read and reread again and
again,
Books whose nectar,
Like the juice of a succulent fruit,
Never seems to run dry.
I feast on your poetry
Watered by a million springs,
Like the Pactolus carrying the
liquid gold of words,
A torrent eroding life’s rough
edges.
You are the melodist in love with
our language
Which you sing
Like the lark at dawn.
I read your classical lines
Supple as ballerinas beneath their
tight lacing,
Your haiku, unerring arrows of mots
justes.
I see you pass from the ode to the
tanka
From the sonnet to the epigram
And make your free verse dance,
You the tightrope walker of the
Word.
You leap from the most intimate tenderness
To the grandest epic of men of faith
And of fighters against all
injustice!
Ferryman of poetry,
You can take the soul and the breath
of your peers
And make us feel and love
All the bards of elsewhere!
Translated from the French of Marc
Galan by Norton Hodges
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