Créer un thème personnalisé
1
Ígitur perfécti sunt cæli et terra, et omnis ornátus eórum. ~ Genesis ii,1
Je suis parfait aussi dans mon petit domaine,
Gérant production d’une petite haleine.
Je respire une fois, j’exhale un souffle aussi.
Tout devoir dans cet acte, alors, est accompli.
Un moment seulement d’expiration guette,
Résout la piège encor que philosophes mettent.
Parfois la terre en bas ainsi que le ciel haut
Énoncent d’une voix le parfait du chaos.
Respirant dans mon sort, je rends aussi service,
Fonction en petit, mais sans motif factice.
Étant parfait, le ciel, en ornements gazeux,
Compte surement sur un temps mystérieux.
Tout est illuminé dans cet instant de rose.
Je m’attends à gagner l’heure où je me repose.
Si l’univers parfait est orné de soleils,
Un moment dans ma vie est orné en pareil,
Non pas de soleils vifs, mais d’un sapin en fuite.
Tantôt je me rappelle un peu de ses mérites,
Comme le bonbon rouge attaché par le cœur
Angoissé sur l’épine encor figé de peur.
Éternellement trop jeune pour rendre compte,
Le bébé en moi tend un petit doigt sans honte.
Je vois l’arbre brillant en lieux de l’argentin
Et plein de son mystère en secrets de sapin.
Tous les jours de ma vie reviennent à cette heure
Troublée de l’espérance à l’humaine demeure
Et au grand vide qui chuchotent aux sapins.
Rien n’est promis en fait, il n’y a point de gain,
Rien n’oblige personne à saisir la praline,
À s’empoigner au fond de son âme divine
Et échapper le temps. Car le moment passant
Trouve toujours sa place en levant et haussant
On ne sait quelle hache et on ne sait quelle arme.
Mais dans mon cœur d’enfant qui n’a pas peur des larmes,
Notez chevrotement devant l’enclume en fer.
Je suis ébloui par le rouge de l’enfer.
Si les boules de gomme, après ces années brèves,
Ont toujours à mes yeux l’apparence de glaive,
Rien ne m’empêche encor de me saisir du poids.
Naturellement tout enfant manque de foi.
Autour de moi le monde est plein de ses commerces,
Tout le monde en travail déménage et s’exerce.
Une extase de cœur me fige au bon moment.
Si tout autre en jouit, je suis sans mouvement.
Éternité devant une boule de gomme
Orange et rouge, ainsi en deviendrais-je un homme?
Regardant paradis de mon Noël premier,
Une vie entière en moi déroule un passé.
Moi, je reste et regarde un sapin argenté.
Complevítque Deus die séptimo opus suum quod fécerat : et requiévit die séptimo ab univérso ópere quod patrárat. ~ Genesis ii,2.
Completed are the days and years, the ways
Of heaven and earth deserving of my praise.
My praise is small and comes in desert showers
Produced on rare occasions in brief powers.
Link follows link from day to day each week
Entirely unconscious of what I seek:
Vain obligations fraught with food and fare,
I turn the soil six days or not laid bare.
The seventh day is blessed, the Sabbath day,
Quite set apart, distinguished in its way,
Untitled sure, no prince, and yet a queen
Ensconced upon the week and each week seen.
Demanding neither work nor progress nor
Exacting any toil to produce more,
Unbending in return of sun or rain,
Snow falling silent on day without gain.
Denounced by every wakened bird of shame,
I tend my rest and folly without blame,
Each moment of my Sabbath rest unbowed,
Sunk not in labours of the unallowed.
Escape from work and slavery, yet how few
Perceive that grace and grace alone on cue
Tumbles down from the sunset that ignites,
Ignites the Sabbath eve with blessed lights.
My childhood was marked by the prophecy
Of Jesus’ second coming in a spree
Of conflagration of the world in might,
Padded with fear that I might never quite
Uphold the necessary to be found
Seated upon the saved on heaven’s ground.
Sabbath, by contrast, was a better breeze
Unfolding in its lovely prayers on knees
Upheld by Psalms and hymns of joy to cast
My eyes on morning glories at half-mast.
Quite filled with terror at the world’s last fate,
Unmade by nightmares strewn across them late
On visions of the clouds and fires to fill
Damned souls with terror death can never kill,
Filled with that fear, I met the Sabbath day
Eager to find return to where I pray.
Care of the child is gone, no more do I
Enter the fateful sleep where children cry
Run over by the prophecies of fear,
Attacked by nightmares always that appear.
Those days are past and as I face my end,
End that is unknown to both foe and friend,
The fears have turned to Sabbath rest I wait.
Reminded of the best of childhood’s rate,
Engaged in Sabbath recitation of
Quiet Psalm and the Torah that I love,
Undone by my repentance of the week,
I stop to celebrate Sabbath and speak
Entering life and promise for no day
Void of the gain of the creation’s sway.
I touch the garment of the queen who lights
The Sabbath candles on the sky’s delights,
Done with the toil of heart and hand and show,
I enter in the inner cave and glow.
Ept in my daily work, I set aside
Such banners that engage me in toil’s pride,
Escape into the rest of Jesus’ heart,
Persuaded that the Mahdi does his part.
Though days may be fulfilled in greater sin,
I come repenting and see Sabbath win,
My spoils reduced to naught and all my frays
Of conflict stilled in Sabbath prayer and praise.
A donkey gray and slow and stubborn too
Before the stretch of things I have to do,
Unbuttoned and unbloused from the first day,
Not having any merits for my pay,
I rush into the rest that I’ve not earned,
Victorious for what I never learned.
Especially on sixth day I return
Remembering the fruit I did not earn,
Succumbing to the blessing that is laid
On every human being in parade
On the sixth day, and find in congregation
Prayer in prostration a greater elation.
Exactly six days lie between the two
Remembered Sabbaths bright in sun and dew.
Exactly six days and no more in view,
Quick to the heart, I cannot bide delay
Until I enter in the roundelay
Of Sabbath sweet to hand and heart and tongue,
Done with the efforts of my human lung.
Preach to me, if you will, of faith and works,
Attack my busy rush that never shirks
The path into the Sabbath joy and rest.
Remind me by such words Sabbath is best.
Around the dervish ring I prance each day
Returning week by week to Sabbath’s sway
And rising with each circuit to the night
That covers all oblivion’s delight.
- M. de Saint-Michel aime ceci
Dixítque Deus : Ecce dedi vobis omnem herbam afferéntem semen super terram, et univérsa ligna quæ habent in semetípsis seméntem géneris sui, ut sint vobis in escam : ~ Genesis i,29.
Done with creation in the absolute,
I turn my taste to leaf and fruit and root,
Xanthatic store of garment and of dish,
I eat with boldness and dress as I wish.
The rayon fads are over, and the leaf
Quite well suffices for food without grief
Unto the human multitude as well,
Except it is animal food in spell.
Does anyone bring ridicule on me
Eating the salad in illegal spree?
Useless it well may be then to retort
Such people eat dead carcasses in sport.
Enough of rabbit food is here today
Clutched in the garden basket in the sway
Controlled by snail and caterpillar’s roost
Entirely consuming some leaves to boost.
Dominion of mankind is well defined
Enclosed in dinners braised as well as wined.
Dominion is to eat the fruit and nut
I find along with grain and to the glut.
Vain is the cry dominion can survive
On vegetation green to keep alive,
By eating root and flesh at hunger’s call.
I lose dominion in such diet’s thrall.
So many readers and expositors
Of Genesis think that the open doors
Made clear in this text gives them room to stand
Not equally with animals on land,
Ensconced in fruity lust, but rulers there
Made kings of all the beasts and all their share.
How much in depredation and in pain
Endured by fauna of the world in vain
Rises from the foul reading of this text
By priest and preacher and president vexed!
All man’s dominion and the woman’s too
Makes nothing more than the good food in view.
All animals are given for their share
Food in the plot of the next verse that’s there.
Food for the population of the earth,
Earth filled with goods when not destroyed by dearth,
Remains the only power in hand of man:
Each one must have his food and so by plan.
None may usurp the power of other breeds
To go beyond legitimate in needs.
Elastic laws today destroy the whole.
Mankind has lost dominion and control
Sipping his leafy wines and eating flesh
Enough to bind him in unholy mesh.
My loss perhaps it is, but I too fail
Eating the leave and muscle with a wail
Not to mention the root. Potatoes are
So good with salt and butter, yes, by gar.
Upernavik, of course, provides excuse,
Provides good reason for nature’s abuse.
Eternal snows prevent banana’s growth,
Rain only one day in the summers, both
Take from the soil but little fruit and seed
Extensive enough for the human need.
Reside in Greenland, lose dominion’s own,
Ripe oranges there simply are not grown.
Along the path I walked to work in time
Made distant by my years and by my rhyme
Emerged the breadfruit trees in height sublime
To shade my way and bear green balls and hard.
Under the trees a leaf fell like a card
Not rarely as a I walked, and skidded past.
I sometimes startled at the shadow cast.
Voices of breadfruit leaves still meet my ear,
Ear faded with the sounds of love and fear,
Remembered and remembering at last
Slow days of work and study in the past.
All that is gone, obliterated now.
Long years have cast a furrow on my brow.
I know the trees have fallen down as well.
God made nothing eternal in this swell.
No tree nor man will stand forever here
Although the nourishment of each appear.
Quick is the course of life and fleeting too
Until one comes into the grave as due.
All that I eat of fruit and seed and nut
Enters the earth and then the door is shut,
Hinged on the declaration of all time,
All creatures eat a moment and that crime
Before the throne of sun and moon lies down,
Eternally forgotten without frown.
Nothing but the eternal face of God
Trembles upon the screen of sky and sod
In an eternal rate. All others pass
Nearby or far, but back into the mass
Stripped of all light and hope: into the night
Eternal of creation and its plight.
My soul, whether eternal or made bare
Encased in body with no other share,
Touches its fate whatever that may be
In moments and in glances of beauty.
Politely she may stand aside to let
Some other living thing emerge and get
In fleeting moments some existence met.
Such courtesy is all that can be found
Simply upon an earth that may be round.
Each thing existing in the light and dark
Makes motion from beginning to the stark
Eternal weight and dense black of the night,
Night glowing for a moment to ignite
The fallow hopes of universe in light.
Entrance into the realm of fruit and seed
Make happiness enough for human greed.
God is an aspiration far too high:
Enough to have something for teeth to try.
Now that my teeth have broken seed and pod,
Escaped the aspiration to be God,
Renounced the hope of false eternity,
I patiently wait for the final spree.
Someday adventures out above the stars
Shall slack my soul eternal of its bars
Until the fading energy I feel
I pluck again to make renewed appeal.
Under the round of universe I go
To taste the fruit of every tree I know.
Some are of poison taint, so the verse slow
Inspires Russian roulette to let me show
Not only how brave it is to be born
To life and nut and seed and fruit unshorn,
Vanquished by simple place and time and brew
Of waiting for a better ship and crew,
But to stand up and shout in beauty’s perch:
I am a flash and glint though caught in lurch.
Some stay to hope for heaven or to fear hell:
I feed upon the breadfruit, leave the shell.
No wandering deprives me of that task.
Each turn of the wheel begs questions I ask.
Some go down to the silence with a shout.
Can any know the place of roundabout?
All I ask is an apple for the way,
My packed lunch is my happiness and pay.
Et cunctis animántibus terræ, omníque vólucri cæli, et univérsis quæ movéntur in terra, et in quibus est ánima vivens, ut hábeant ad vescéndum. Et factum est ita. ~ Genesis i,30.
Entranced am I to see the Vulgate’s word
To make no difference and undeterred
Conclusion on the rate of what to eat
Under the grand regime of the effete.
No difference is made here of the diet
Considered human and animal riot.
To eat the fruit and seed and nut is right
I see for man and beast and without fright.
So though the Masoretic word gives man
A portion of his nourishment by plan
Not with the beast, but separate in store,
I find the Vulgate opens both the door
Made sweet with fruit and seed and nut galore.
All things are given for creatures to eat
Not shedding blood or leaf or root in treat
To make diminish life of even plant.
I find this non-violent meal a grant,
Boon of the pleasant, peaceful hope of man
Upon the earth as well as woman’s plan.
So what’s the grand dominion of the earth
To take for humankind above beast’s worth?
Each has his food in store by right of birth,
Renouncing it cannot be contemplated.
Remind me then to what we are instated.
All power is given to this humankind
Encroaching not a bit on bestial blind.
Out of time I remember of days past
My eating of the leaves that came to cast
Not merely salads but the herb in store
I found growing about my cabin door.
Quite willingly I tasted every one
Until I knew the flavor of the sun
Each bore beneath the eastern sky aloft.
Vetch and the violet and when I coughed
Only a pinch of coltsfoot for my dream.
Lovely it was to quaff of nature’s cream,
Until I understood dominion’s lost
Consuming leaf and root among the mossed.
Right teaching of unfaithful watchers this
I have imbibed and bent further to kiss
Clay of the field and smell blossoms in bliss
Among the dandelions, leaf and root.
Each magic moment held me by the boot.
Long were the days I chewed on sassafras,
I plucked the four forms of its leaves to pass
Entranced by the soft stems between my teeth
To taste the better portion of the wreath.
Under its toes the root of course rang true
Not failing to seduce me where it grew.
Vice for the taste of sassafras indeed
Entered my very soul as though a need.
Reading the King James and the Hebrew text
Sometimes I thought dominion of perplexed
I found in giving man a special meal,
Something the animals in their appeal
Quite simply had no right to for their weal,
Until Vulgata and Douay corrected
All errors in my thinking unselected.
Emerging from the soil the root and leaf
Make no one’s meal in appetite or grief.
Of seed and fruit and nut and squashes fine
Vouchsafed for man and beast for very wine
Each is to find his food and place revealed.
No one is left bereft in wood and field.
Touched with this fine simplicity I go
Under the wheel of fortunate below,
Ripe with the divine will and the command,
I take the seed and nut and fruit in hand.
Nourished this very morning this way I
Take hold of my dominion under sky.
Eating my oatmeal porridge cooked indeed
Raisins too in the pot, my fruit and seed
Remind me that I chose dominion’s way
All without trampling animals in sway.
Each man who thinks he’s king of animal
I deem imposter in creation’s thrall.
No one can share a meal and then go out
Quite enemy or master: meals make flout
Untroubled tyrants. So to share with beast
I make myself its equal at the least.
Both man and beast, both woman and the bird
Untiringly about the earth have stirred
Strung out in seeking equally to eat,
Eat all that is to be found there for treat.
Such baking my own grandma used to make
To taste like honey-comb, her bread in stake
And all the juicy treats from oven taken
No one has ever after that forsaken,
I trow, her fancies having such things tasted.
My memory of course may have been basted.
Among the pots and pans of that small space,
Voice lifted in a hymn or two with grace,
I still recall the scents than vied with sound,
Voice calling me to come and taste what’s found.
Each art and craft and craving as well too
Notes that the memory has in its view
Some sweeter and some greater thing to say
Under the light of memory in sway.
To taste is good but to recall the taste
Has double power, which is why there’s no waste
Among the aged who can hardly know
By their dulled senses the bread’s taste and glow.
Each taste is magnified by memory.
All things grow sweeter in the days that flee.
Now that I’ve tasted both the seed and leaf,
Though eating leaf’s inherent to man’s grief,
All things created stand up in my mind
Donned with the golden sheen of the refined
Vanguard of memory. Creation’s blind.
Escaping memory at last, I’ll shake
Such myths that human minds always must make.
Candle and starlight still rise to ignore
Each great achievement of science in store.
Nuthatch and jay both grab the seed and take
Down notes on which trees the better seeds make.
Unsung for their discoveries, they vie
Making the air resound with every cry.
Example of the jay, of the nuthatch.
Touched with the madness of such souls to catch,
Forth go I on the earth and in the air
And even on the puddles not to spare,
Chanting and cantillating in my joy
To eat the fruit and nut and to employ
Ungraciously the seed to make my bread,
My porridge and my dinner as I’m led.
Etched on my brain and on my mind fulfilled
Such visions of my nourishment unstilled
Take flight above the meadow and the wood.
I’d follow such bird flights then if I could.
Today created things around me bound
And I remain a quandary in sound.
Vidítque Deus cuncta quæ fécerat, et erant valde bona. Et factum est véspere et mane, dies sextus. ~ Genesis i,31
Vin perdu dans les jours d’une vie incomplète,
Indique-moi toujours l’heure arrivée de fête.
Donne-moi donc ta main, ô toi, soleil brillant.
Je me suis réveillé par le son de tes gants.
Toi qui te mets tes gants parfois sous le tonnerre,
Qui vois sans œil le sol et tout rampant par terre,
Unique, tu te vois comme un soleil caché
Et en silence crois que c’est le jour dernier.
Donne-moi ton regard, ô toi, lune insolite
Et grossière en tout lieu, et comme une marmite.
Un regard seulement et je serai content
Sous ton obscurité et avec ton serment.
Content, je l’avoue bien, content toujours à l’être,
Un crapaud non sanglant et toujours sans un maître.
N’est-ce pas une fin considérable, cher,
Cher ami, donne-moi ta main, laissons l’amer.
Toute création ensemble est plus fidèle
Avec sa symphonie que la part immortelle.
Que la lumière soit et que l’obscurité,
Une ombre dans la foi, soit aussi belle in spe.
Après le firmament, après le sol, ensuite
Épais et ondulant, l’océan qui s’agite.
Fruits et herbes sur sol, je regarde le tout
Et je m’appuie par terre et regarde en dessous.
Comme une grande étoile auprès de son nuage
Et tout à fait au poil, je nie aussi mon âge.
Rendu enfantin, moi, je me vante en mon sort.
Avec le cœur tout plein, j’essaie de faire efforts.
Toute une vie en six journées sur-créatrices
Et je me bats de voir un jour et sans supplices.
Tandis qu’un jour produit ses oiseaux, ses poissons,
Et tandis que cette âme énonce en grâce tons,
Remarquez, cher lecteur, que l’être humain écoute
Avec audiophone encore et avec doute.
Niez, si vous voulez, le Dieu le Créateur.
Toute la foi qui va de l’homme débiteur
Va pour se dissiper. C’est plutôt la foi grande
Auprès du cœur divin qui vaut quelque demande.
La foi de Dieu en moi me console par tout.
Depuis le premier jour je vois le monde sous
Énormes firmaments. J’attends aussi, j’espère
Bonnes nouvelles, car les grands cieux et la terre
Ouvrent devant mon œil abondantes couleurs.
N’ayant pas plus en vue que l’amour dans mon cœur
Avec mes chants conçus aux profondes ténèbres,
Est-ce que la merveille en le créé célèbre
Tend une vision plus glorieuse en soi ?
Foutu dans mon fauteuil, je perds l’espoir en foi.
Alors, je me souviens que tout autour de l’ère
Contient création meilleure qu’un mystère.
Tout déclaré très bon doit être bon aussi,
Une exposition créatrice en profit.
Même si ce qu’on voit abondant dans le monde
Émerveille par poid de vilenie profonde,
Sa promesse revient encore et au retour
Tout bout de plombe en or changeant de jour en jour.
Vendue le vendredi, l’âme est obscure et blanche.
Et après l’angélus, l’espoir tourne au dimanche.
Si quelqu’un peut me dire en toute vérité
Pourquoi création est dite en sa beauté
Énormément vaillante et très bonne à comprendre,
Rougissant, je dirai que le tout peut s’étendre
Entre le ciel de Dieu et le sol des humains.
Écarté par la foi, banni quand je la crains,
Tout mon être comprend l’échec connu des anges.
Ma foi! Ils sont déçus et par le grand mélange.
Ainsi le monde beau retourne à son chaos.
Non, au commencement le bon Dieu fit tout beau.
En commençant encore au bout de la semaine,
Dieu fait création répétition vaine,
Ignorée et absurde au moins que l’être humain
Entré dans son espoir ne pousse un cri d’airain.
Si tout est très bon, vois qu’aussi l’âme de terre
S’est éveillée encore et échappée de guerre.
Ensuite, après mon cours de solfège et de foi,
Xerxès aussi m’appelle à mon sabbat de choix.
Tout en silence doux, je vais là où je trouve
Un repos et un sort plus beau que l’on éprouve
Sur le pont submergé sous la grâce et la loi.
BOOK II
PARADISUS
Ígitur perfécti sunt cæli et terra, et omnis ornátus eórum. ~ Genesis ii,1
Je suis parfait aussi dans mon petit domaine,
Gérant production d’une petite haleine.
Je respire une fois, j’exhale un souffle aussi.
Tout devoir dans cet acte, alors, est accompli.
Un moment seulement d’expiration guette,
Résout la piège encor que philosophes mettent.
Parfois la terre en bas ainsi que le ciel haut
Énoncent d’une voix le parfait du chaos.
Respirant dans mon sort, je rends aussi service,
Fonction en petit, mais sans motif factice.
Étant parfait, le ciel, en ornements gazeux,
Compte surement sur un temps mystérieux.
Tout est illuminé dans cet instant de rose.
Je m’attends à gagner l’heure où je me repose.
Si l’univers parfait est orné de soleils,
Un moment dans ma vie est orné en pareil,
Non pas de soleils vifs, mais d’un sapin en fuite.
Tantôt je me rappelle un peu de ses mérites,
Comme le bonbon rouge attaché par le cœur
Angoissé sur l’épine encor figé de peur.
Éternellement trop jeune pour rendre compte,
Le bébé en moi tend un petit doigt sans honte.
Je vois l’arbre brillant en lieux de l’argentin
Et plein de son mystère en secrets de sapin.
Tous les jours de ma vie reviennent à cette heure
Troublée de l’espérance à l’humaine demeure
Et au grand vide qui chuchotent aux sapins.
Rien n’est promis en fait, il n’y a point de gain,
Rien n’oblige personne à saisir la praline,
À s’empoigner au fond de son âme divine
Et échapper le temps. Car le moment passant
Trouve toujours sa place en levant et haussant
On ne sait quelle hache et on ne sait quelle arme.
Mais dans mon cœur d’enfant qui n’a pas peur des larmes,
Notez chevrotement devant l’enclume en fer.
Je suis ébloui par le rouge de l’enfer.
Si les boules de gomme, après ces années brèves,
Ont toujours à mes yeux l’apparence de glaive,
Rien ne m’empêche encor de me saisir du poids.
Naturellement tout enfant manque de foi.
Autour de moi le monde est plein de ses commerces,
Tout le monde en travail déménage et s’exerce.
Une extase de cœur me fige au bon moment.
Si tout autre en jouit, je suis sans mouvement.
Éternité devant une boule de gomme
Orange et rouge, ainsi en deviendrais-je un homme?
Regardant paradis de mon Noël premier,
Une vie entière en moi déroule un passé.
Moi, je reste et regarde un sapin argenté.
Complevítque Deus die séptimo opus suum quod fécerat : et requiévit die séptimo ab univérso ópere quod patrárat. ~ Genesis ii,2.
Completed are the days and years, the ways
Of heaven and earth deserving of my praise.
My praise is small and comes in desert showers
Produced on rare occasions in brief powers.
Link follows link from day to day each week
Entirely unconscious of what I seek:
Vain obligations fraught with food and fare,
I turn the soil six days or not laid bare.
The seventh day is blessed, the Sabbath day,
Quite set apart, distinguished in its way,
Untitled sure, no prince, and yet a queen
Ensconced upon the week and each week seen.
Demanding neither work nor progress nor
Exacting any toil to produce more,
Unbending in return of sun or rain,
Snow falling silent on day without gain.
Denounced by every wakened bird of shame,
I tend my rest and folly without blame,
Each moment of my Sabbath rest unbowed,
Sunk not in labours of the unallowed.
Escape from work and slavery, yet how few
Perceive that grace and grace alone on cue
Tumbles down from the sunset that ignites,
Ignites the Sabbath eve with blessed lights.
My childhood was marked by the prophecy
Of Jesus’ second coming in a spree
Of conflagration of the world in might,
Padded with fear that I might never quite
Uphold the necessary to be found
Seated upon the saved on heaven’s ground.
Sabbath, by contrast, was a better breeze
Unfolding in its lovely prayers on knees
Upheld by Psalms and hymns of joy to cast
My eyes on morning glories at half-mast.
Quite filled with terror at the world’s last fate,
Unmade by nightmares strewn across them late
On visions of the clouds and fires to fill
Damned souls with terror death can never kill,
Filled with that fear, I met the Sabbath day
Eager to find return to where I pray.
Care of the child is gone, no more do I
Enter the fateful sleep where children cry
Run over by the prophecies of fear,
Attacked by nightmares always that appear.
Those days are past and as I face my end,
End that is unknown to both foe and friend,
The fears have turned to Sabbath rest I wait.
Reminded of the best of childhood’s rate,
Engaged in Sabbath recitation of
Quiet Psalm and the Torah that I love,
Undone by my repentance of the week,
I stop to celebrate Sabbath and speak
Entering life and promise for no day
Void of the gain of the creation’s sway.
I touch the garment of the queen who lights
The Sabbath candles on the sky’s delights,
Done with the toil of heart and hand and show,
I enter in the inner cave and glow.
Ept in my daily work, I set aside
Such banners that engage me in toil’s pride,
Escape into the rest of Jesus’ heart,
Persuaded that the Mahdi does his part.
Though days may be fulfilled in greater sin,
I come repenting and see Sabbath win,
My spoils reduced to naught and all my frays
Of conflict stilled in Sabbath prayer and praise.
A donkey gray and slow and stubborn too
Before the stretch of things I have to do,
Unbuttoned and unbloused from the first day,
Not having any merits for my pay,
I rush into the rest that I’ve not earned,
Victorious for what I never learned.
Especially on sixth day I return
Remembering the fruit I did not earn,
Succumbing to the blessing that is laid
On every human being in parade
On the sixth day, and find in congregation
Prayer in prostration a greater elation.
Exactly six days lie between the two
Remembered Sabbaths bright in sun and dew.
Exactly six days and no more in view,
Quick to the heart, I cannot bide delay
Until I enter in the roundelay
Of Sabbath sweet to hand and heart and tongue,
Done with the efforts of my human lung.
Preach to me, if you will, of faith and works,
Attack my busy rush that never shirks
The path into the Sabbath joy and rest.
Remind me by such words Sabbath is best.
Around the dervish ring I prance each day
Returning week by week to Sabbath’s sway
And rising with each circuit to the night
That covers all oblivion’s delight.
Et benedíxit diéi séptimo, et sanctificávit illum, quia in ipso cessáverat ab omni ópere suo quod creávit Deus ut fáceret. ~ Genesis ii,3.
Either the donkey must await the morn,
The day after the promised and the sworn
By God Himself, or else be possessed by
Enough Jews to get holiday and high.
No one seems to care that the day was blessed
Except the Jewish crowd among the best,
Down in the Ethiopian corral
I find a few who also give the pal
Xenolithic recognition of what
I find most blessed in Sabbath’s symmetry.
There are some Muslims too who doubtlessly
Do mind the sacred hours as Friday ends
In feasting and in family amends.
Each to his own. My Huguenotic soul
Is also blessed to rest against the pole.
Sabbath is blessed, a day of blessing taught
Each week among the seekers who have sought.
Perhaps for humankind the Friday’s best
That say the human soul and body blessed
Instead of days and hours. One never knows
Much beforehand as a dead man’s life shows.
On Sabbath days when I was just a child,
Each Sabbath was a joy, if a joy mild.
The Sabbath school was joy, because my friends
Sat in the little chairs the Sabbath lends.
Among the children in that far off day
None came to church in jeans and such display
To disrespect God without suit and tie.
I had a little suit and every guy
Found something of the kind to wear there too.
I never saw at church a suitless crew.
Content with putting fingers in the sand
As soon as teacher turned her head unplanned.
Vexed with the prohibition of sandboxes,
I was a good lad among swains and coxes
To keep my fingers safe out of the sand.
I thought the teacher knew all things and planned
Like angels all the stories and the plight
Linked to the truth eternal without night.
Until I grew to manhood and beyond,
My mind was shut to what the world had spawned.
Quick-witted I may well have been, but I
Understood not a bit of evil sly
In heart of man and woman on the earth
And what they each do to each other’s worth.
I strayed an innocent upon the field,
Not realizing churches too revealed
In all they did the errors of men’s ways.
Praise is not all there is on churchly days.
Some Psalms are also couched in the dissent
Of plaint and of petition as they went.
Come penitence, and the four are all done,
Enough the four prayers here under the sun.
So Sabbath too can be feasted with wrong.
Sabbath can be spent in a worldly song.
All Sabbaths are not sweet, I live to know.
Vice does not stop to see the Sabbath show.
Each heart on Sabbath day from eve to eve
Remains the same and in need of reprieve.
At Sabbath eve I take my slowing way
To mind my childish ways and childish play.
At Sabbath dawn I wake to sing the Psalm
Both to the struggle won and to the calm
Of night of rest, like any other night.
My days forget their difference in sight.
Now as I come toward the greater rest,
I lay my tools aside and so invest
On all the sums of the six days of toil
Preparing for the Sabbath with my spoil.
Exact in measure, the stars of the sky
Revolve around the pleasure to deny
Each budding lot forgetful of the day
Sabbath affords for every creature’s pay.
Urged on by all the powers of good I see
On the pause to lift axe upon the tree
Quite motionless before the respite done
Unfounded, I load up holster and gun.
Oh, let me not forget the early years
Demanded of a child in flowing tears,
Contrived to set the Sabbath in my sight.
Remember me, O fragrant Sabbath night!
Endangered species, it seems that we are,
All we who keep the Sabbath by the star.
Vain are the hopes that many share repair
In sacred duty to find beauty there.
Those who keep Sabbath seem to be a lot
Dedicated to mischief in their plot.
Every man thus fails in the divine love
Undone by toil or by the busy shove
Stitched on their days and nights until they die.
Enormous questions rise to wonder why.
The Sabbath should make men a better breed
From cruelty set free as well as greed
And lust. But no, the earth in single round
Come daily to find all remains in sound.
Each Sabbath of my life seems short, I find,
Remembered truly in the weekly bind.
Each Sabbath of the world returns to be
The beacon of more promises set free.
Istæ sunt generatiónes cæli et terræ, quando creáta sunt, in die quo fecit Dóminus Deus cælum et terram, ~ Genesis ii,4
Je suis né dans un bois d’un paradis fécond
Sous l’arbre de la vie et de la connaissance :
Toute la connaissance en moi, l’être profond
Accroché au jardin, est d’une âme en plaisance ;
Et toute la vie douce en moi que l’on revit
Se submerge en ma foi au bord du crépuscule.
Un chant inouï prend première place ici,
Non pas pour être grand ni pour sainte férule.
Toute l'humanité doit vivre et doit savoir
Gérer ses jours et mois dans un cher hédonisme.
Entre la connaissance en ville et en comptoir
N’est guère insouciance au lieu du colorisme.
Entrez, entrez, mon vieux ! Regardez ce que fait
Roi de terres et cieux ! Voyez, voyez ces arbres
Au milieu du jardin, les princes de leurs prés !
Tous les gens vont choisir entre les fruits de marbre.
Je ne peux pas avoir les deux sortes de fruits.
On n’a guère d’espoir devant le choix de risques.
Nombreux les anges frais, nombreux oiseaux aussi
Énoncent sur les brins chants nouveaux de leurs disques.
Sur les toits et les seuils des maisons en ce lieu
Cèdent les larmes à la voix de la lumière.
Alors, je suis né, moi, comme croyant en Dieu.
Est-ce beau, cela, beau? Moi, j’aime la prière,
Lâche, si tu veux, mais de grands yeux sur ma foi,
Je ne m’empêche pas de tomber dans l’église
Et y boire à l’autel un bon vin, béni soit.
Tendres, tendres, je vois, fleurs blanches des cerises.
Tous les cerisiers blancs au bord du chemin blanc
Évoquent l'espoir blanc pour l’avenir visible.
Reconnais bien, mon fils, que le but d’un tel plan
Règne sur tout cœur comme une mouche nuisible.
As-tu compris le cas? Je parle du passé
Et je prends dans ma coupe une goutte luisante
Qui m’empoisonne vite en me montrant son gré.
Une chose de plus : c’est plus doux, en attente,
Arranger les bons pains qu’abriter les loups saints.
Nul connaît maintenant la lueur pernicieuse
Des brusques imprévus d'arbustes sur les brins.
Ô dieux des mœurs en temps de ma vie précieuse,
Consacre tous mes jours au choix de ses couleurs !
Rentre au cours des moments entre les véritables
Et les beaux et les bons pour choisir les sauveurs
Avec de beaux chapeaux. Les chapeaux sont capables,
Tous à faire le bien pour ceux qui vont manger
Avec un gros cuiller, avec une fourchette.
Si j'aime la façon des dieux à tout créer,
Une dame en voie s'est endormie en banquette.
N'approche pas, disait son mari en riant,
Tandis qu'elle ronflait dans la nuit et sans honte.
Il rigolait toujours et derrière un gant
Nul son ne dépassait les bords de ce qui compte.
Demande, si tu veux, l'adresse de ces deux
Invités dans le train. En vain tu le demandes
Et en vain je réponds. Attends, attends un peu.
Qui peut vivre si tôt et payer les amendes ?
Un vent fétide encore est passé par l'esprit.
Ô dieu des immortels, tu ne regardes guère.
Fais-je ce que veut, ils sont morts y ci-gît
Et ils sont passés par l'oubli de ma prière.
Comme un souffle oublié, ils sont les disparus
Indiqués par le vent oublié par la suite.-