Hello dear ones,
With such a brief interim left before I leave Texas and start university in Angers, I’ve (temporarily) diverted my attentions from poetry and devoted most of my free time to preparing for placement exams and ameliorating my French as much as possible. Every day I’m astounded by how much there is left to learn and by all of the subtleties of the language (there’s an entirely different set of tenses used exclusively in books, and I don’t know whether to venerate this literary complexity or just shake my head and ask the progenitor of the passé simple, But why?). On the whole, I’m incandescently thrilled to begin this period of unprecedented adventure and growth in just four days.
I really hope that moving to Europe and all of the experiences it entails will help me rediscover and revitalize the words that have been relatively dormant since I left Austin. Throughout my first year, my repertoire of poetry proliferated and diversified, and in a matter of months this craft became an indelible part of my heart. God, I ache for that urgent press of words on my fingertips, a fervent denouement ushered onto the page, the profound gratitude of having something to say and a way to say it. The words came easily there, where I found myself in a truly exquisite place of wisdom and humanity, among peers and professors who strive and hope for the triumph of compassion over the malignity of apathy. Whenever I left campus, which was quite often, the city’s grit and pervasive struggles against poverty and violence at once broke my heart and fortified my desire to equip myself in such a way that I may, in some way, be a part of the solution. And all of it, the urban vitality and the fevers, bus rides and strangers, library books and sidewalk prophets, drove me to the pen over and over. Away from university and that strange city, far from many people that I love, the paper has become cold and most of my attempts at poetry, contrived. So during this interim, I’ve dedicated myself less to producing and more to taking in whatever I can learn from other writers, philosophers, historians, theologians, and linguists, with the hope that cultivating my general knowledge and global comprehension will lend more depth and cogency to my own work. And it’s been wonderful to have the chance at so much independent study, but I believe it’s nearly time to pick up the pen again.
Now on the cusp of a new voyage, I cannot fathom what I’ll find in Angers, but I sincerely hope that I use my time there in the most proactive and compassionate ways possible. This is also a time to explore language more intensively than ever; August is devoted to an intensive French program, and in September I will begin Spanish and start volunteering at the city’s anglophone library. So in anticipation of this great lingual exploration, I attempted to translate one of my older poems. Some of you who have been with me for awhile may recognize it. Thanks for sticking with me this far, and I can’t wait to share with you all what’s to come.
Après la tempête
Ombre velouté qui voile
le bourgeon naissant de printemps
le couvrit en solitude épaisé
et l’enveloppe dans le linceul
Viens, dans la maison, mon fils
et chauffe cette merveille fragile
Car l’hiver acharné a laissé
mais la baume de ta caresse
fait precieuses ces iniquités.
After the Storm
Velvet shade that shrouds
the fledging bud of spring
coats it in gentle solitude
and wraps it in opaline garb
Come, into this house, my son
and warm this fragile pulchritude
for the pinched freeze has left its scar
But the balm of your caress