a translation of an excerpt from The Journal of Albion Moonlight, by Kenneth Patchen
Nous n'avons pas encore apprivoisé le royaume du mot.
Pour le dire clairement, le mot est illettré.
Le mot est l'appel de la tribu de sou l'eau.
Le mot est la façon dont quelque chose flotte, qui ne peut être vu.
Le mot est la chose qui parle aux morts.
Le mot est la bougie au pied du trône.
Note: This final post is, in a sense, my creative response to the Feast of all Saints. I had been working on something for several days that I simply could not live with (which is saying something, given some of the pieces I've put up here in a potentially misguided effort to keep my word). I came across this short excerpt, in English of course, the language The Journal of Albion Moonlight was written in, thanks to a friend. My piece dealt with language, and the dead, and I was experimenting with writing in French and English, and this piece seemed to say everything I'd wanted to, but infinitely better.
Nous n'avons pas encore apprivoisé le royaume du mot.
Pour le dire clairement, le mot est illettré.
Le mot est l'appel de la tribu de sou l'eau.
Le mot est la façon dont quelque chose flotte, qui ne peut être vu.
Le mot est la chose qui parle aux morts.
Le mot est la bougie au pied du trône.
Note: This final post is, in a sense, my creative response to the Feast of all Saints. I had been working on something for several days that I simply could not live with (which is saying something, given some of the pieces I've put up here in a potentially misguided effort to keep my word). I came across this short excerpt, in English of course, the language The Journal of Albion Moonlight was written in, thanks to a friend. My piece dealt with language, and the dead, and I was experimenting with writing in French and English, and this piece seemed to say everything I'd wanted to, but infinitely better.
