Jardin de cendres / Garden of Ashes

Dans le jardin de cendres
les fleurs vivent dans le déni.
De leurs vives couleurs
monte un parfum d’insolence :
contre la sombre évidence,
elles ne croient qu’en la Vie.

Dans mon jardin de pierres
je veux vivre comme elles,
mentir à la Mort
et au noir crépuscule oser parler à Dieu
pour lui dire en retenant mes larmes
“le Paradis c’était ici”.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

In the garden of ashes
flowers live in denial.
They have vibrant colors
and a fragrance of insolence:
against the dark evidence
they only believe in Life.

In my stone garden
I want to live like them,
I want to lie to Death
and if I can hold my tears back
at dusk I will tell God
“Heaven was Here”.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: Corner of a Garden (John Singer Sargent, c.1879)

Love is a Garden!

Ornamental grasses
wave seductively in the wind,
flowers dream of freedom
in carefully aligned pots,
cleomes and roses grow
under the wooden arches
and poplars teach maples
how to touch the sky.

Let’s walk on the gravel path!
The place looks like
a wonderfully light-filled painting.
Summer is the painter’s name,
and butterflies can’t keep it secret:

Love is a garden!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Le jardin de l’île des Ibis © 2019– F.G.M.

The Garden of Treasures / Retour

I’ve left the garden
where I used to find peace
and you.

But I’m not really sad.
Flowers bloom.
Butterflies will fly around,

and the Moon shines
and the Night wears
a coat of many colours.

Listen! Birds are calling
the God of Gardeners.
The stars are the same everywhere

and Trees have said a prayer:
tonight I will return to
the garden of treasures!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Le jardin que j’aimais,
je jardin où je pouvais
te retrouver, je l’ai quitté.

Mais je ne suis pas vraiment triste.
La lune brille, les arbres prient,
et la nuit porte un manteau de couleurs.

Partout les étoiles sont les mêmes
et Dieu toujours nous aime.
Alors cette nuit je sais,

je sais que j’y retournerai.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Devonian Garden

the waves
unseen
unplayed strings

all the things
we have
forgotten

what the stars really mean
the strange friendship
between the Shade and the Light

the whispers of water
the Past before the past
the Song before the birds

flowerless ferns
remember
everything

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Parque Terra Nostra (São Miguel) © 2019– F.G.M.

Midnight Light / Lumière de Minuit

I loved you
long before I was born
and you will always be
in my heart.

Gardens of Yesterday,
gardens of Tomorrow,
I see you through
the eyes of my soul.

Midnight Light.
We all stand together
in a world of stars
in a world of Love.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Bien avant d’être né
déjà je vous aimais.
Absents,
vous êtes pourtant dans mon cœur.

Jardins d’hier,
jardins de demain,
les yeux fermés
je vous vois.

Minuit. En Sa lumière
nous sommes réunis
dans un monde d’étoile
dans un monde d’Amour.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

November Poem

It’s not only children of Autumn
who can make a bouquet of Memories
and write a November poem.

When the wind calmed down
I went to the garden.
I started by collecting
burnt orange and red leaves.
I pressed them between
the yellowed pages of an old dictionary.
I watched the trees,
I gazed at the Moon
and I thought of you.
I did not wait very long.
Then I put my ear
to the book.

BEAUTY
was the first word
that came to me.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Autumn Leaves
(Georgia O’Keeffe, 1924)

Garden of Words / Le Jardin

Let there be a Garden.
A Garden of Words
where the breeze blows slowly
and time goes back.

Ivy covered walls and a bench
facing the beautiful sunrise,
jasmine and clematis
climbing up old pear trees,

small white roses
humbly standing in the light
and shy patient ferns
with closed eyes.

A place like this is rare.
But now we can find it.
Please come whenever you like.
I will always be there.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

De ces quelques mots
je fais un jardin.
Un jardin caché derrière
un mur de lierre.

J’y ai planté du jasmin
qui grimpe dans un vieil arbre sage
et j’y ai mis un banc
d’où l’on voit peut voir

le soleil levant.
Et de petites roses blanches,
et de patientes fougères
aux grands yeux fermés.

Viens !
Ce jardin est le tien.
Et toujours tu pourras
m’y retrouver.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Fallen Angel

I am a fallen angel.
In Heaven
I had a good job.
I was a gardener.

But I killed snails
and God fired me.
“They eat flowers!”
I said, but God replied

“That’s no excuse!”

Since that time
I’ve crawled around
the wide world
with my broken shell

and gardens after the rain
are the only place
where I can find
peace.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

God loves Gardens / Dieu aime les Jardins

Men like to build stone temples
with heavy studded doors
that they close properly
when they pretend to worship.

Do they really love each other?
Walk your own way and go
where the gardener kneels
every day,

where the Tree grows slowly,
where the Flower chants humbly
and where the patient Star shines
for every Pilgrim:

God loves Gardens.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Les hommes aiment construire
des temples de pierre
avec de lourdes portes cloutées
qu’ils ferment au jour de la prière.

S’aiment-ils vraiment les uns les autres ?
Passe ton chemin et va,
là où le jardinier
chaque jour s’agenouille,

là où l’Arbre grandit lentement,
où la Fleur psalmodie humblement
et où l’Etoile patiente brille
pour chaque pèlerin :

Dieu aime les jardins.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Stained Glass Window (The Mysterious Garden)
(Odilon Redon, c1905)