Le monde, en hiver, se depouille,
attend le retour de la vie.
Et comme la terre, moi aussi,
j’ai soif de l’amour, de la pluie,
de toi, qui seul peut me rempli.
Tu vas, sans parole, dans la nuit.
Je me trouve, sans espoir, dans l’ennui.
Reviens, bienaimé, je t’en pris.
Ne te cache toujours, sans souci.
Photo Credit: kurskroot.com
A Non-Poetic Translation
The Dark Night
The world, in winter, empties itself,
awaits for life to return.
Like earth, I also thirst
for love, for rain,
for you who alone satisfies me.
You leave me, without a word
in the middle of the night.
You leave me without hope, bored.
Come back, beloved, I beg you.
Don’t hide yourself forever, without care.
Fred Rutherford, over at dVerse, has us writing poetry in a foreign language, or using some foreign words or phrases. I tried to recover some of my long-lost French. Forty years ago, I lived in a somewhat monastic setting in France. That’s why this poem took me where it did.
Any of you who know French, please feel free (encouraged to) make corrections! It’s been a long time.
La Tour St. Joseph, St. Pern, France
Victoria C. Slotto, Author 