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