The End / Terminé

Will ashes remember the Fire?
Will the Night hear from the Light?
“I” was a play on words
and so were the shadows of the world.

The stars are veiled, the poet has failed:
nothing will remain
but the dark whiteness of Silence.
THE END.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Les cendres se souviendront-elles du Feu
et la nuit, de la Lumière ?
“Je” était un jeu de mot,
de même que les ombres du monde.

Les étoiles sont voilées, le poète a échoué
et rien ne restera
que l’obscure blancheur du Silence.
TERMINÉ.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: White Line on Black (Jiro Yochihara, 1968)

Joyeux Noël !

Résultat de recherche d'images pour "joyeux noël gif animé"

no matter
how far the Evening Star
no matter
how long the Winter

the Bird of Hope
has taken us under its wing
when the Heart is wide open
every day is

Christmas

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Clara’s Song / Chanson de Clara

It’s a huge universe
and a strange hue of blue.
Clara, I mean
I don’t blame you.

With all your being
you loved him.
Clara, that’s  true.
There’s light in darkness.

Deep black silence.
Absence and presence.
Clara. Like a sweet
and luminous laughter.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Que l’univers est grand
et cette nuance de bleu,
étrange. Clara, si loin de moi
l’idée de te blâmer.

De tout ton être tu l’aimais.
Clara, c’est vrai.
De l’obscurité
a surgi la Lumière.

Silence noir et profond,
absence et présence.
Clara. Comme un rire
doux et lumineux.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: Ophelia (Odilon Redon, c1903)

Song for a mourning Heart

She just said a few words
with a gentle smile
as if she wanted to apologize
for being sad and hopeless.

But you had taken an oath!
He reads your closed lips.
He sees the light in you,
and he will give you a sign!

Those we have lost
did not lose us.
Those who are gone
live deeper than we do.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: Girl on a Park Bench (Charle Blackman, 1961)

Roses in Prison

On a clear and sunny Sunday
behind the railings of a bourgeois house
I saw patient roses in prison.

I thought of those caged birds
whose poignant songs grieve
the deep blue sky.

But the roses were not sad at all.
They were dancing slowly
with the old rusty iron bars.

The flowers had freed my heart
from confusion and impatience:
I was the prisoner!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Roses prisonnières © 2019– F.G.M.

Paper Birds

How much do words weigh?
Will Summer find its way?
Could paper birds teach me
the art of asking the right questions?

Someone left the window open
and the Door ajar.
The stars shine over the hawthorn hedge.
The Night brings a wealth of knowledge.

I let the paper birds fly away.
Happiness takes patience.
When they come home,
they will bring me answers.

© Frédéric Georges Martin