Dent de lion / Dandelion - ScholarWorks@UMass Amherst

Transcription

Dent de lion / Dandelion - ScholarWorks@UMass Amherst
mOthertongue
Volume 16 Spring
Article 13
2010
Dent de lion / Dandelion
Pierre Magdelaine
University of Massachusetts Amherst
Follow this and additional works at: http://scholarworks.umass.edu/mot
Part of the Fiction Commons, Illustration Commons, Photography Commons, and the Poetry
Commons
Recommended Citation
Magdelaine, Pierre (2010) "Dent de lion / Dandelion," mOthertongue: Vol. 16 , Article 13.
Available at: http://scholarworks.umass.edu/mot/vol16/iss1/13
This Multilingual Prose is brought to you for free and open access by ScholarWorks@UMass Amherst. It has been accepted for inclusion in
mOthertongue by an authorized editor of ScholarWorks@UMass Amherst. For more information, please contact [email protected].
.
Dandelion
by Pierre Magdelaine
looked
It really
like
scattered randomly,
snow, or mavbe cotton.
downy and round.
On the green field, white
Earthly constellation.
spots
The wind —
the
wind
rocked them, sometimes tore them apart, not harshly, and sowed their feathers
away on the next ones. Blades of grass bowed under the dew's yoke. To the East,
white light pierced the azure
dawns, stirred only by the
And
suddenly the storm,
young
thunder of
folly,
sky. Pastel.
frail
laugh and a
was that of these countrysides'
silence
breeze and the
feet, in haste;
a
The
fields'
whisper. There, a bird's
cry.
yellow gusts, two dresses. Rumble of a run,
fall.
.
.
nothing more, for a moment, and then
Impetuous steps — jumps? — the trampled
laughter, again, ethereal.
a
grass' shiver.
.
shouts thrown to the wind, and silence anew.
A girl crouches, suddenly mute. Before her eyes — grey? — one thousand dandelions
sway in rhythm. A sharp cry makes her look up, her lips torn in a slight smile.
Briskly her
brown
her short
The
hand dives
in the wild grass, plucks a blade. First blood: vermillion
fingers. Raises
her hand to her mouth,
salty taste,
and
on
fleshy taste.
blade of grass plucked between her fingers, before her teeth she whistles.
Strident
toward
-
a
laughter answers, a few words.
.
.
maybe?
A
few
Her hand draws
steps.
stem, which she curtly breaks before bringing the flower to her
lips.
Burnt
umber.
The wind
drops.
She upraises for
a while the perfect orb, stands up, earth
her eyes, and her figure tenses as she concentrates
meditation.
And
— not
then she opens her eyes; slowly her
on her
a
knees. She closes
sound
lips stretch
to disturb her
forward. She
blows.
One by one
Whish
the florets are torn off and
bearing. Forlorn.
.
.
fly
to the vagaries
away.
of
White
a first,
She dances. Her bronze arms embracing the wind.
She
23
sings.
and
stars
blown
last, flight.
to the
air.
Dent de
lion
by Pierre Magdelaine
On aurait dit de
la
neige,
ou du coton,
Sur l'etendue verte, des taches
plutot.
blanches parsemees au hasard, duveteuses et rondes. Constellation terrestre. Le
-
vent
le
vent
les bercait, parfois les dechirait,
Les brins d'herbe ployaient sous
aigrettes sur leurs voisines.
Test
pourtant sans rudesse, et semait leurs
une lueur blanche percait
Le
l'azur. Pastels.
de campagne, trouble seulement par
Et puis brusquement Forage, des pas, precipites
Grondement d'une
un
frisson
Une
instant, et puis
un
rire,
de l'herbe pietinee.
fillette
A
de ces aubes
des champs. La,
.
.
des
cris jetes
pissenlits.
en un leger
en arrache un
brin.
Un
sourire.
sel,
devant ses dents,
Stndente
Quelques
porter
la
une chute.
elle siffle.
pas.
au vent, un nouveau
Devant
cri
— bonds
tout a
ses
yeux
coup
Brusquement
gout de
chair.
— un
Sa main se tend vers une
fleur a ses levres. Terre
.
plus
— impetueux,
?
le
lever
— oscillent en
coin de
la tete, le
main plonge dans
l'herbe
et bruns.
Le brin d'herbe pince entre
rire lui
.
silence.
— gris
lui fait
sa
?
Premier sang - vermilion sur ses doigts courts
Porte a sa bouche, gout de
etre ?
bourrasques jaunes, deux robes.
encore, aerien. Les pas
s'accroupit, soudain muette.
ses levres se tord
;
cavalcade, course folle, tonnerre d'un rire et
cadence des milliers de
vive,
murmure
rosee.
la
d'un oiseau.
le cri
rien,
poids de
silence, c'etait celui
legere brise et le
la
le
repond, quelques mots.
ses doigts,
.
.
peut-
sechement avant de
tige, qu'elle brise
de Sienne.
Le vent tombe.
Elle considere
ferme
les
un temps
yeux, et ses
trouble sa meditation.
l'orbe parfait, se releve, de la terre sur les genoux. Elle
traits se
Et puis
tendent alors qu'elle se concentre
elle
ouvre
les
yeux
;
doucement,
—
pas un son ne
ses levres s'etirent
vers l'avant. Elle souffle.
Une
a une, les aigrettes se
detachent et sen vont. Etoiles blanches soufflees au
Porteuses de souhaits. Abandonnees.
.
.
aux aleas d'un premier,
loin.
et dernier, vol.
Elle danse. Ses bras d'airains etreignant le vent.
Elle chante.
24