Showing posts with label modern french women poets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label modern french women poets. Show all posts
Friday, July 05, 2013
My Love, Therese Plantier
My love
Because I felt the first smell of summer
I thought I'd live a thousand years
with you
but I was late there have been
to train your eyes
then down against the road
among the burdock and nettles purple
beat the bushes drumming
above with palms wool
cardée by brambles
future undertook to undeceive me
vira blue-silence
while the pods of broom to sweep
crashed into dry on the sky
bent to the left in the smell of your fingers.
Therese Plantier
more on Therese Plantier
Tuesday, May 07, 2013
Andree Chedid
Andrée Chedid is a poet and novelist, born in 1920 in Cairo from Lebanese parents. When she was ten, she was sent to a boarding house, where she learned English and French. At fourteen, she left for Europe. She then returned to Cairo to go to an American university. Her dream was to become a dancer. She got married to a physician when she was twenty-two, with whom she has two children: Louis and Michèle. Her work questions human condition and what links the individual to the world. Her writing seeks to evoke the Orient, but she focuses more in denouncing the civil war that destroys Lebanon. She lives in France since 1946. Because of this diverse background, her work is truly multicultural. French is her native language and her choice for her writings. However, her first book was written in English: On the Trails of my Fancy. She has commented about her work that it is an eternal quest for humanity.
The Final Poem
A forge burns in my heart.
I am redder than dawn,
Deeper than seaweed,
More distant than gulls,
More hollow than wells.
But I only give birth
To seeds and to shells.
My tongue becomes tangled in words:
I no longer speak white,
Nor utter black,
Nor whisper gray of a wind-worn cliff,
Barely do I glimpse a swallow,
A shadow's brief glimmer,
Or guess at an iris.
Where are the words,
The undying fire,
The final poem?
The source of life?
by Andree Chedid
Biography from: Wikipedia.org
The Final Poem
A forge burns in my heart.
I am redder than dawn,
Deeper than seaweed,
More distant than gulls,
More hollow than wells.
But I only give birth
To seeds and to shells.
My tongue becomes tangled in words:
I no longer speak white,
Nor utter black,
Nor whisper gray of a wind-worn cliff,
Barely do I glimpse a swallow,
A shadow's brief glimmer,
Or guess at an iris.
Where are the words,
The undying fire,
The final poem?
The source of life?
by Andree Chedid
Biography from: Wikipedia.org
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