Le Printemps. (Translation) . Poem by Michael Walker
Le Printemps. (Translation) .
Toute la journee la pluie noire est tombee
Et maintenant, a l'heure de la lumiere
Le fleuve livide et le lac sont gonfles;
La chaine des collines qui etaient brillantes
Et rouges de leur tapis de poussiere
Se dissoudent. Bientot il n'y aura
Pas d'abri: encore une fois nous devons
Emballer et partir a la recherche d'une campagne plus gentille.
Alors recommencera cette migration affreuse
A travers les deserts sans vue, et la terre silencieuse
Qui reflechit la maladie a nos yeux, l'inanation
Gonflant les enfants de sa main grotesque.
Et ne sachant jamais quel cote soit le meilleur
Pour y mettre le pied parce que les perils qu'on rencontre
Ne peuvent etre ni prevus ni completement devines,
Car qui peut savoir quel couleur de l'air
Arbrite le plus de douleur? Assurement le Printemps
C'est la saison la plus amere de la souffrance.
-' Spring'.Louis Johnson(1924-1988) .
The rain is falling; the river and lake are swollen, and the hills which used to be bright are dissolving away-invisible through the rain. The man and woman have no shelter; they must pack their bags and go in search of 'kinder country'. It looks like Africa or the Middle East, as they have to migrate through tedious desert, starvation bloating their children's stomachs.In addition, they do not know for sure which is the best way to go, because of dangers they might meet.Who could tell which colour of the air has the most pain? Spring should be a season of hope, but for them it is 'the most bitter season of suffering'.
Louis Johnson has caught the voice of migrants very well, perhaps because he and his family moved to different places and countries to live. New Zealand, Papua New Guinea, Australia, then New Zealand again.
A poem which is similar in theme to 'Spring' is 'Refugee Blues', by W. H. Auden. I liked Auden's poem the first time I read it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/22/2024 9:14:17 AM # 1.0.0.1119
All day the black rain has fallen and the hour of light will glow soon. The chain of hills that were brilliant as perception gives us notice. This poem is excellently and brilliantly penned.This is sweetly translated by your kind self. Thank you very much for sharing this poem...10
This is a poem about spring, which is different from most, and I like it. Yes, the rain obscures the hills. Thanks.