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J.V. FOIX (1894-1987)
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(E-translation by Hillary Gardner)
- Alone, and in mourning, garbed in black,
- I have these visions of myself in dark solitudes,
- in pastures unknown or on slopes of stone,
- stopped in my tracks beside pools whose depths astound.
- Where am I? I ask myself. What ancient landscape,
- what dead sky, which silent meads,
- do I foolishly seek? Towards which miracle
- of a long-lost star do my familiar steps lead?
- Alone, I am eternal. A thousand-year old terrain
- entices me, what was strange is no longer strange,
- I was born to this place; desert without oasis
- or snow-capped peak, here I rediscover where
- I have wandered already, and, from God, a legacy
- I can make mine. Or, how to fall to the devil's design.
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(E-translation by Hillary Gardner)
- I like, for no reason, to wander along the walls
- of past eras, and from my dark countenance,
- under a laurel tree or beside a Tuscan font,
- with evening on the way, conjure sieges and old battles.
- In the morning I'm glad to take up my tools,
- to get at the clutch with pliers or wrench,
- to right the axle and without a hitch
- to head down an asphalt highway for a spell.
- Taking the hills or winding through an arbored valley
- or fording furiously the river: what a novel world I'm in!
- I'm glad then also for the gentle shade of the linden tree;
- the enduring museum, its faded virgins
- and the latest extremes of art! Ingenuous whim:
- what's old I adore, what's new elates me.