Attention! Je m'excuse d'écrire plus que la moitié de ce poème en espagnol et anglais. Le lecteur doit trouver le français au long du chemin quelque part.
Sed et serpens erat callídior cunctis animántibus terræ quæ fécerat Dóminus Deus. Qui dixit ad mulíerem : Cur præcépit vobis Deus ut non comederétis de omni ligno paradísi ? ~ Genesis iii,1
So now I take up pen to keep on going,
Entranced by the grand epic I am showing.
Do not imagine I shall stop at twelve.
Some may prefer to live and dig and delve,
Especially the ones wearied with words.
Right now, I digest words with Kurdish curds.
Perhaps a serpent is still wiser than
Each other beast beneath the global ban.
No one here now believes in truth, I think,
Some deity made serpents on the brink.
End of all faith has come upon the earth.
Right and wrong are no longer things of worth
And presidents themselves are prone indeed
To think that repetition is truth's seed.
Come to the park and I will show the way
A president or serpent come in sway
Laughs off the strong restrictions of a God
Left in commandments on a barren sod.
I see all liars still quote in their speech
Dead letters of a God beyond their reach.
I see them prance and slither on their limb
Out of the reach of dire terrorists grim.
Respect for women was still in the mode
Come serpent to Eve and Adam's abode
Under the fatal tree where they both stood,
Not fearing any serpent as they should.
Can anyone today doubt preachers' speech
That quote the LORD Almighty as they preach?
I see that none do. All have their own priests
Secular as well as religious beasts
And all hear words divine as quoted here,
Not fearing snakes in the grass that appear
In scented fruit trees with a siren hiss.
May all the gods help me to miss the kiss
And doubt the cunning word that's published by
No other than the serpent come back sly.
Thomas the doubter is my name and game.
I love no preacher. I hold all in blame.
But let my old prediction fail that earth
Unwinds in just a few years from my birth.
Such is the fate of prophets and their sons
That cumber the world in their fleshly tons.
Each has a quaint prediction and a dire,
Reminding humankind of hellish fire,
Reminding every beast of human ways
And human reasons not to share their praise.
Each one says with the serpent to the wife
Quite happily beneath the leaf and knife,
Unless He has prohibited, has not
A God of love supplied your fruit a lot?
Each wife replies before the man can speak,
Fished out of silence by a pole of teak.
Each man hears stirred without a word of warning
Canniptions of the serpent in the morning.
Except I turn away from tree and all,
Reject both man and wife and snake in stall,
And toe a different line and hear a drum
That echoes in a mind beyond the numb,
Dumb arrogance shall fill my pinching soul
Out of its depth beneath the tree as goal.
My throat is parched, my stomach makes a sound.
I throw my crust upon the dusty ground,
Not hoping for more than a sweet fruit now
Under the greening tree, under the bough.
So Satan speaks to woman, not because
Dumb women are more tender to his claws
Entrenched in flesh, but simply for the fact
Under oath that matriachy's in tract.
Some think the man was far away, so he
Quite simply did not hear and did not see.
Up to no good, the woman wandered far.
I think that is a failure at the bar.
Do not forget the words, the words of myth
Evoking everything one is born with.
X is for Christmas and the spot is known.
I think the man's responsible, full grown.
The woman stood beside him at the tree
And heard the serpent speak and speak freely.
Down through the ages, stories have been told,
Much scolding has been heaped upon the bold,
Untidied Eve for her departure from
Life to gain better knowledge of the sum.
I too would address woman in the choice.
Enough of chauvinism to rejoice.
Return, I say to Satan's matriarchy
Enjoyed after a grandfather's last larky.
Much as good Socrates, the serpent starts
Count with a question made up of true parts
Unriddled by desires of common men,
Repainted with the hopes of gods again.
Prépare-moi les fruits, c'est bien moi qui le dis.
Rends-nous une beauté dans le jour, dans la nuit.
Après le long voyage autour de la rondelle
Et de l'écran perdu, je béquète avec zèle.
Comme un enfant exclu, je regarde en le nu
Et j'espère avant tout avoir attaint le but.
Pardon, monsieur, je suis entré un peu trop vite,
Je croyais vraiment beau que la chambre m'invite.
Tout n'est pas déchiré à l'arbre en serpenté.
Vous serez enchantés par le feuillage gai.
On n'entend jamais plus langues colubrineuses
Bavardant sous le bois, pentes vertigineuses,
Intentions au ciel incrédule et lointain,
Si l'on a la parole en tête et pas en vain.
Dans la bataille vont les chevaux et les hommes
Et personne n'y croit, sauf ceux qui ont la gomme.
Une fois dévoré, le fruit comme le pain
Se perd dans une nuit tombée avant le gain.
Una noche de amor, insiste la culebra,
Todo mi espíritu en la esperanza celebra.
Nadie me prohíbe la paz de certitud.
Otra vez me dará el patrón de la salud.
No es cierto, digo yo a la muchedumbre baja.
¿Cómo puede saber antes de la baraja?
¿O mujer perdida, qué respuesta darás?
Mi tesoro lleva la tierra sin compás.
Evidencia crece en árboles encontrados.
Domingos dominan peligros desperados.
Entre los dos hombres se encuentra la mujer.
Recuerda que los dos son culebras a ver.
En la noche oscura nadie ve lo que ocurra:
Tantas esperanzas y la manzana emburra
Islas con las luces y ojos con la miel.
Si me digas, respuesto que todo es infiel.
Do not use French rules, my dear, when you try
Entoning alexandrines on the sly
Of Castillian verses. Follow instead
Most august Lope de Vega, who led
Not only his countrymen but the crowd
In Latin America that sings loud.
Laugh it off, I say, and try it again.
I think poetry irritates all men
Gone out to the tree forbidden by God.
No one here recites poems with a nod.
On a whim, I believe you, my dear, so I will
Place my hope in Castillian on the hill.
Alors, une à la fois, je dis de mes étranges
Rimes en langage aux oreilles des anges.
Alors, si vous voulez, je le répète enfin
D'une voix de serpent d'un air argentin,
Je regarde l'arbre et je me demande encore
Si je trouve aujourd'hui le serpent que j'adore.
Je ferme la bouche et je ne bois pas le vin.