Did you hear
the voice of the stars in darkness?
Did you grasp
the nature of daylight?

The Light is the Mother of Light
as Love is the Father of Love,
and we can get through the night
without any fear
for we see in every man’s
and every woman’s eyes
their bright reflection.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

Avez vous dans les ténèbres entendu
la voix des étoiles?
Avez vous compris
la nature de la lumière du jour ?

La Lumière est mère de la lumière,
comme l’Amour est père de l’amour,
et nous pouvons aller sans peur
à travers la nuit
car nous voyons dans les yeux
de chaque homme et de chaque femme
leur éclatant reflet.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

The song of forgotten springs have reached
the dreamer’s heart:
today is the first day of a dream in color.

Last to arrive and last to go is the pale rose’s way.
When it fades butterflies and light will perform
a wonderful mime.

Autumn! Even though we both die at the end
something deep in me will love you
till the end of time!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: Afternoon Light, Dogwood (Thomas Kinkade, 1985)

in your Spirit I see the Dream
in the Dream I see the Night
in the Night I see the Light
in the Light I see your Heart
in your Heart I see Love
in Love I see the Spirit of God
since ever and forever
your Spirit

© Frédéric Georges Martin

dans ton Esprit je vois le Rêve
dans le Rêve je vois la Nuit
dans la Nuit je vois la Lumière
dans la Lumière je vois ton Cœur
dans ton Cœur je vois l’Amour
dans l’Amour je vois l’Esprit de Dieu
depuis toujours et à jamais
ton Esprit

© Frédéric Georges Martin

en tu Espíritu veo el Sueño
en el Sueño veo la Noche
en la Noche veo la Luz
en la Luz veo tu Corazón
en tu Corazón veo el Amor
en el Amor veo el Espíritu de Dios
desde siempre y para siempre
tu Espíritu

© Frédéric Georges Martin

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.

Trees weigh words and light,
and colors drown in the river.
Summer has lost its memory
but gardens remember Spring.

How strange! It seems to me
I am one thousand years old
and I feel like playing again
hide-and-seek with Fall.

I love those ember days
in the breath of the sun.
My soul was born in September:
today is forever.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: Bridge at Montfoucault (Camille Pissaro, 1874)

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.