Not far from the sea
we’ll live in a place of light
and gentle peace.
Behind whitewashed walls
I will plant wild lavender
and myrtle,

and sometimes before
fire angels open
the gates of dawn
shiny stars will fall
from ebony skies –
I saw them in a dream!

Thus we’ll grow old and wise
and neither Night nor Death
shall be able to separate us.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Non loin de la mer
nous vivrons dans la lumière
et dans la paix.
Derrière des murs blanchis à la chaux
j’aurai planté des lavandes sauvages
et du myrte,

et parfois,
avant que des anges de feu
ouvrent grand les portes de l’aube,
de brillantes étoiles tomberont
des cieux d’ébène.
En rêve, je les ai vues !

Ainsi nous vieillirons ensemble
et ni la Nuit ni la Mort
ne pourront nous séparer.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

My garden, my heaven,
I wonder who will listen
to the cherry tree spirits.
Will the rain quench your thirst?

And who will see the wandering
soul of the purple blue thistle?
My garden, my heaven,
I remember Winters. I remember Summers.

How brave snowdrops were!
How worthy the lily was!
But the hour is fast approaching:
I will soon be leaving

and I must pray for you.
May seasons be sweet. May children
marvel at your many wonders.
May you become

their Garden, their Heaven.

Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Daubigny’s Garden
(Vincent Van Gogh, 1890)

Désespérées, des fleurs mauves
ont embrassé l’Automne,
et des lumières oranges
ici et là s’attardent.

Ce jardin est un tableau,
et le monde est un faux,
et de mon âme j’ai perçu
la vacillation

quand j’ai reçu
ma condamnation.
Mais je t’aime à jamais
et c’est tout ce qui compte.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Desperate thistles
have fallen in love with Autumn.
Here and there
orange lights linger.

That garden is a painting,
and the world is a fake,
and I feel my soul quivering
for the sentence is Death,

but I love you
forever
and that’s all that
matters.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: thistles on orange (Erin Hanson, 2016)

Je fais souvent ce rêve,
vous venez à la maison,
vous passez le portillon,

nous allons au jardin.
Je vous montre le chêne,
les violettes, les mûres.

Je pourrais presque vous entendre.
Que la lumière est belle
et que tout est joli !

Mais dans la pénombre
tout n’est que silence.
Ce n’était qu’un rêve,

un rêve d’enfant.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

I often have a dream that
you’re coming by the house,
you go through the door,

we walk around the garden.
I show you the oak tree, the violets
and the blackberry bush.

I could almost hear your voice.
“What a wonderful light!
Everything’s so nice!”

But everything’s so silent
 in the twilight.
It was just a dream,

a child’s dream.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Houses in Auvers (Vincent Van Gogh, 1890)

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!

Un soir d’été,
peut-être en juillet,
quand la lumière faiblissante
apaise tout,

après avoir touché la terre
et les arbres,
et senti la brise
s’élever jusqu’aux étoiles,

dans ce fin brouillard bleu,
qui fait la beauté
d’un jardin avant la Nuit,
paisiblement,

j’aimerais quitter le monde.

~

On a Summer evening
maybe in July
when the dimming Light
heals everything

after I touched
trees and soil
and felt the breeze
rising up to the stars

in the blue mist that makes
a garden before the Night
such a peaceful place
I would like to leave

the world behind.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration: Garden of Dreams
(Eyvind Earle, 1990)