Dialogue between the Tree and the young poet

automne
« The young man: – Noble Lord,
you who live peacefully here as elsewhere,
and always on the move,
of the sailor-poet, only the anchor will remain

The tree: – I rallied to everything that is silent.
I collect the words scattered around the world
by him who was loved like a tree,
in the fire of every being.

The young: – The poet
got into what poetry means.

The tree: – Solar nourishment.
His saying swirls in the unknowable.
Peter, Flesh and Pulpit.

The young man: – But the poet is one of those scissors that cuts through despair.
Never stopping, always rhythm and breathing.
Not agreements,
only the beat of a drum.
The poet is gone.
Only once will I be able to follow him.

automneThe tree: – I withdraw to meditate in the tiny seed,
and I come back,
together with the great egrets,
shudder the rhymes that we, the trees, will receive from the poets,
since five stars attached by a chain,
to young lovers,
Sun.
I grew flower braids
so that the child-poet can swing there.
I will never be overcome by waiting,
since I am a tree that has seen the birth of a poet.
So it was time for my time.

The mother – a statue supported by the light of a stained glass window.
The young person: – The man,
land sown with words.
Singing,
even in the cataract rustle of twilight. »

 

Poem from the collection Artisans de l’invisible , published by Marsa Éditions in 2020.
You can order this collection on the marsa@free.fr website
See also: www.revue-a.fr