His Friend Pierrot (Son ami Pierrot)

 

The Night before we left
I had such a beautiful dream.
I dreamt I flew in the moonlight
and played among the stars.

I also met my father.
He said I was his Friend Pierrot
and hugged me.
I still remember how deeply I felt

his Heart beating against mine,
and even the way I rose up in the sky.
But last Night I didn’t go so far.
Please, see the light of stars in you

and believe my father’s friend.
Some Dreams are truer than Life
and some Words,
stronger than Death.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

La nuit avant notre départ,
j’ai fait un si beau rêve. Je volais
au clair de lune. Je jouais parmi les étoiles.
Et puis j’ai rencontré mon père.

Il m’a dit que j’étais son ami Pierrot.
Il m’a serré contre lui, si fort
que je pouvais entendre
battre son Cœur contre le mien.

Et je me souviens même comment
vers le ciel j’ai pris mon élan.
Mais je ne suis pas allé si loin.
Voyez en vous la lumière des étoiles

et croyez l’ami de mon père :
certains rêves sont plus vrais que la vie,
et certains mots,
plus forts que la mort.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

This is not a Dream

This is not a dream.

We often go through
the small iron door,

we often walk around
the garden of treasures.

What we say, you hear.
What you see, we see.

The oak leaves rustling in the wind
and the gleam of the Moon

and the blackberry bush,
the birds and the violets.

Everything’s so nice
in the silent twilight.

For Children of the Night
always remember the Truth,

this is not a dream.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

A Crack in the Sidewalk

Back from the past
I’ve seen cornflowers
growing from
a crack in the sidewalk.

Did the shadows behind
the windows of decrepit houses
smile at my broken dreams?
Walk your way the flowers said.

The lies of July make
the truth of Summer heard:
the darker the Night
the brighter the Stars.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

A Garden in the Sky

When poets die they go to
a Garden in the Sky.
A garden full of flowers
whatever the season.

It is like a mountain peak
emerging from the clouds,
the peaceful shore of a lake,
the beginning of a Dream.

And they do not awake
until the Sun
has smiled lovingly
upon them.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

I’m happy to let you know that two of my poems are now published : Forgotten Sandcastles and Between Chatou and Croissy. Thanks to John Looker and  Bennison Books I have had the opportunity to take part in the beautiful anthology “Indra’s Net: An international anthology of poetry in aid of The Book Bus”. The Book Bus is a charity which aims to improve child literacy rates in Africa, Asia and South America by providing children with books and the inspiration to read them. The book is available on Amazon UK or Amazon US. Royalties will be given to the Book Bus. Thank you for reading & vive la Poésie!

Elsewhere

Planets revolve around their star,
the wind blows as the sun sets
trees sway, sapphire rivers flow,
somber flames start to dance.

And the Night mist reveals
deep and hidden things,
and the Moon watches over dreams
until unaware shadows flee,

then bodies wander the world.
But the Hearts still beat as One
for the Soul lives
Elsewhere.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Fields Of Fog (Eyvind Earle, 1990)

Lettre au Marchand de Sable / Letter to the Sandman

Cher Marchand de Sable,

puisque je dois mourir,
je peux bien tout vous dire.
J’étais l’enfant de la mer,
roi de royaumes immenses.
Mais le vent a tourné
et mon coeur
tel un bateau de cristal
en mille éclats
sur le récif s’est brisé.
Mon rêve est une île trop lointaine,
je ne vois plus l’étoile du Berger.
Ce soir Dieu m’abandonne,
alors, sans aucun regret,

mon âme, je vous la donne.

~

Dear Mr Sandman

because I have to die
I can tell you everything.
I was the Child of the Sea,
the King of infinite realms.
But winds were harsh
and unforgiving. The tide turned,
and like a crystal boat
running aground the reef
my heart shattered
into a million pieces.
My dream is an island too far,
I lost sight of my lucky star.
Tonight God has forsaken me
and without any regrets

I give you my soul.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

In a Place of Peace

In a place of peace
I buried Hope with my own hands
I looked for heather in bloom
but could not find any flowers I like.

So I made a cross from twigs and ivy,
and my soul stood there,
naked in the wind, under onyx stars,
till the break of Dawn.

My sweetest Dream has gone,
I will not live on!
The truth has been left untold
and the sunlight looks so cold!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: The Cemetery Entrance
(Caspar David Friedrich, 1825)