I build crystal cathedrals
then I take a special delight
in destroying all of them.

I like when sharp shards
hurt my child heart.
I love when it aches and bleeds.

Yes, I have to concede
I’m a bit of a masochist.
Besides, Someone told me

you are your own worst enemy.
But what wouldn’t I do to grasp
the beauty of suicide poetry?

© Frédéric Georges Martin


illustration: the Death of Ophelia
(Odilon Redon, 1905)



Avril. Train de banlieue.
Dernier printemps, ton hiver.
1980. Au revoir Isabelle :
ton âme n’est plus éternelle.

Novembre. Le temps a passé
et nos parents sont au ciel.
Infini bleu, soleil couchant :
le monde est couronné de lumière.

1980. Sombre éternité.
Mais je suis resté ton frère.
Lumière, autre nom de l’Amour.
Lumière, et ta vie recommence.

© Frédéric Georges Martin


April. Suburban train.
Last Spring, your Winter.
1980. Isabelle’s farewell.
Her soul has gone.

November. Many years later.
Our parents in Heaven.
Blue Infinite. Sunset.
A world crowned with Light.

1980. Dark eternity.
But I’m still your brother.
Light. Another word for Love.
Light. And your life begins again.

© Frédéric Georges Martin


llustration: Ophelia (John-William Waterhouse, 1889)