poem by Alfred Jarry

 

translation by Anna Gatto

 

I do not know if my brother has forgotten me
But I feel all alone, immensely,
With his dear, beloved head pale
Gone pale in the distance, far away, in the struggles of a memory that lies.

I have his portrait in front of me on the table,
I do not know if he was ugly or beautiful.
The Double is empty, void and in vain as a tomb.
I have lost his voice, his own adorable voice.

Precise and as though pushed to falsetto on purpose.
Perhaps he doesn’t know this, posthumous treasure.
From these words, the voice is suddenly evoked
A broken and caressing feather.

 

 

Je ne sais pas si mon frère m’oublie
Mais je me sens tout seul, immensément,
Avec loin la chère tête apalie
Dans les essais d’un souvenir qui ment.

J’ai son portrait devant moi sur la table,
Je ne sais pas s’il était laid ou beau.
Le Double est vide et vain comme un tombeau.
J’ai perdu sa voix, sa voix adorable,

Juste et qui semble faite fausse exprès.
Peut-être il l’ignore, trésor posthume.
Hors de la lettre elle s’évoque, très
Soudain cassée et caressante plume.

1897

 

 

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