2016.12 Trampoliniste

Another #poetrytogo commission, aided and abetted in the last stretch by @MyriamWordmaker and @AnaisBokanovsky:

Lovely girl, you bring light,
A delight in the arc of limbs
Flinging themselves with precision
Across the sky.

Tu éclaires - avant le sommeil
Les mots dansent,
En pages et dans
Ton esprit pétillant.

Childhood's fripperies are
Giving way, inch by inch
Aux dictionnaires, et au sens pratique,
Activities amid the trees.

Mais, dans la forêt,
Et dans tes rêves,
Never forget - love
Colours everything, mon coeur.

---

Another Poetry To Go commission, this time for a seven-year-old child of French and English parents who is very active, practical, and creative.

#30 Ave et Atque

Hello

We shake hands,
Duck and dance,
Try to remember
Do we hug?
A brief scent
A kiss of eyes


Bonjour!

It's so loud
That part of the evening
Where all is rush and flurry
Arms wide
Breath moist on necks
Bending to hear
Those words


Bore Da/ Hylô/ Helô

We had to steal words
From the outside
Until recently
Everything was
About the rhythm of days
Saying bathed in
What kind of light graced us
A whole day together
A whole day apart

Some things translate
Across boundaries
And there's nothing like a smile
To make your day

...

We are mirrors and circles
Turning, starting, ending
Breaking and mending
In the same breath,
Echoing: Again...

Nos da/ Hwyl/ Da bo chi/ Wela i chi

Au revoir

Goodbye

#2 French Swimming Pool

I'm no mermaid -
That chance left long ago
And so I approach l'eau
Avec trepidation,
Celui ci n'est pas courage,
C'est une homage de
Ma copine qui loves it:
Piscine, pristine, cleaving waves
With ease, teasing gravity's grip
And slipping free -
In her element.

It isn't mine -
I'm nervous, always,
At what I see as this perversion -
This is no excursion,
At best a dare,
As I bare my fear and flesh
To this chlorine-choked,
Faux-marine scene.
Pushed past by children -
Rushing, cocky, mocking
The earthbound with
Sure-footed folly over
Smooth wet slabs to splash!
And roll and glide,
Thoughtless.

I'm tired,
I've been translating myself
All week -
Entreating ancient memories
Tugging at understanding
Sometimes just nodding
As I tread awkward water
Until I find my feet.
You are politely plural,
I always turn my head the wrong way,
And apologies are desolate
Until I'm told "C'est ne pas grave!"
Je ne suis pas suave, je crois
Mais ça ne fait rien.
Alors, bien, I'll shrug off
Disappointments and paddle,
Quacking only when I'm crossed.

As I submerge myself,
Trust my skill's suspension,
I find that I can still breathe
My more customary fire
When required,
That, on my own terms,
Not only do I not die,
But I can bob, smiling,
Buoyant for a while -
Un peut plus lentement,
Si'l vous plaît, does wonders.

And I may never now be chic
But I've learned that I can
Slip between these states of being,
These balances of tongue,
And limb, and breath,
And best my terror,
Gentle guest in another's country,
Still myself.