Psalm 12 for Australia
The Faithful Have Vanished – Psalm 12 for Australia
12 Help, Lord, for there are no more godly folk;
for the faithful have vanished from among human beings.
2 Every Canberra crony utters lies to his neighbour;
with flattering lips and a double heart they speak.
3 May the Lord cut off all flattering lips,
the tongue that makes great boasts,
4 those who say, “With our tongue we will prevail,
our lips are with us; are the Australian people our masters?”
5 “Because the poor are plundered, because the homeless lament,
I will now arise,” says the Lord;
“I will place the disadvantaged in the safety for which they long.”
6 The words of the Lord are pure words,
like Kalgoorlie gold extracted from tonnes of rock, leached in cyanide
and purified with acid.
7 You, O Lord, will keep the needy;
you will guard us from this generation forever.
8 On every side the wicked prowl,
as vileness is acclaimed among the Canberra cronies.
(Based on English Standard Version)
Claude Beausoleil’s WINTER
Claude Beausoleil’s Winter
Translation by Ted Witham
First published in Azuria #5 (Autumn 2016) by Geelong Writers Inc.
on the white river a whistling complaint in words
is torn from the fallout of a winter’s night
the city is shaking
the city is creaking
and the city is shivering
on this white river pale cries of smoke rise
blotting out the buildings
from a sky in the grip of the north
to this sky you ask who speaks in this silence
for how many centuries
from what mythical place
with what energy
you who watch the wind
do you know her quests her headings and her deviations
her fantasies and her festivals do you recognise yourself there
beyond the snow driven like explosions in tornadoes
the soul of your cold
city
without melancholy when rubbed does it tremble
into the white lines of a new beginning
clamouring for a story
in which is pronounced naked the word winter
and the season carries it away in its mad spinning where lures
give birth to a book that pulverises the memories of the freeze
***** ***** *****
Claude Beausoleil (born in Quebec in 1948) is a French-Canadian poet and novelist writing mainly in French. He holds Masters and Doctoral degrees in literature and teaches literature. His poetry is influenced by the Beat poets, gothic themes and a strong sense of Quebec, its landscape and culture. The author of Black Billie has won many prizes and honours; in 2013 he was a finalist in the Académie Française’s poetry prize.
***** ***** *****
L’HIVER de Claude Beausoleil
sur le fleuve blanc de mots siffle une complainte
arrachée aux séquelles d’une nuit hivernale
c’est la ville qui chancelle
qui claque
et qui frémit
sur ce fleuve blanc se hissent
des fumées en cris pâles détachant les immeubles
d’un ciel en proie au nord
à ce ciel tu demandes qui parle en ce silence
depuis combien de siècles
depuis quel lieu mythique
avec quelle énergie
toi qui regardes le vent
connais-tu ses quêtes ses lignes et ses errances
ses délires et ses fêtes t’y reconnais-tu
par-delà la poudrerie de tensions en tornades
l’âme de ta ville
froide
sans mélancolie tremble-t-elle frottée
aux courbes blanches d’un recommencement
réclamant un récit
dans lequel se prononce nu le mot hiver
que la saison emporte dans ces vertiges où des leurres
naît un livre pulvérisant les mémoires du gel
The Reed and the Spring – H. Bosco
The Reed and the Spring
On the cape the worlds of this kingdom disappear,
Invisible vessels that towards Him you steer,
When will we see your light-house flood the space with light
And banish before it the sombre squadron of night?
What celestial map showing how to take the promontory
Are you carrying with you as you race around eternity?
And when will you reach the stopover of prayer
to pick up the Eternal One if the harbours won’t let you there?
When on the sheltered docks of love and unreason
Did you load onto the admiral’s nave
Some fugitive demon a dream on the run from prison,
The chief of stars, pilot in the starry wave?
In heaven’s calm expanses disappear
The ephemeral wakes of vessels of prayer.
Has the ship’s astrologer hoisted the beacon of humanity
Far from earth on the Holy Spirit’s firmity?
Translation into English by Ted Witham 2014
Le cap sur ce royaume ou les mondes s’effacent,
Invisibles vaisseaux qui gouvernez vers Lui,
Quand verrons-nous vos feux illuminer l’espace
Et chasser devant eux l’escadre de la nuit ?
Pour affronter le cap quelle carte céleste
Avez-vous emportée en vous courses du Ciel ?
Et quand toucherez-vous, si nul port ne vous reste,
L’escale de prière où l’on prend l’Éternel ?
Avez-vous embarqué sur la nef amirale
Aux darses de l’amour et de la déraison
Quelque démon du songe évadé de prison,
Chef d’étoiles, pilote en la mer sidérale ?
Dans les grands calmes du ciel où s’évanouit
Le sillage évasif des vaisseaux de prière
L’astrologue du bord a-t-il loin de la terre
Hissé le feu de l’homme au mât du Saint-Esprit ?
H. Bosco, ‘Le Roseau et la source’, Poèmes,
Paris : Gallimard, 1949, pp. 266-267
Beach Walk — Haiku
Our “Good mornings” thrown
jauntily into the air
like brightly coloured frisbees.
Ted Witham, September 1, 2013
Jesus Aviator
Translation from the French poet Guillaume Apollinaire. Forthcoming in Ezra: An Online journal of translation. Apollinaire, of Belarussian background, was a contemporary of Pablo Picasso, Jean Cocteau and Eric Satie.
Christ (not the Wright Brothers) was “First in Flight”,
Ascended like a rocket to a record height.
Apple Christ of the eye
Twentieth favourite of the centuries he flies comprehending,
This century like Jesus has changed into a bird ascending.
The devils in the abyss lift their heads to see him dash.
They said he was imitating Simon Magus wanting cash
They shout that if he is so light he can steal into the sky, they must have caught him stealing.
The angels dance around the dancer’s dizzy wheeling
Icarus, Enoch, Elijah, Apollonius from Thyana’s philosophy scene
Float weightless around this first flying machine
They spread out from time to time to let those go past
Who get carried away by the Holy Eucharist
These priests who go up eternally elevating the bread
The plane alights at last its wings wide spread
Then the sky is full of millions of swallows
Swiftly the crows the falcons the owls all follow
From Africa arrive the ibis the flamingos the marabou storks, all sky-dwellers,
The Roc bird celebrated in talks by poets and story-tellers
Held flat in the greenhouses Adam’s skull the first head
The eagle from far-flung horizon shrieks to wake the dead
And from America are with wings blurred
macaws roadrunners little hummingbirds
From China the Pihi birds long and supple
Who have only one wing each and fly as a couple
Now watch the immaculate spirit-dove advise
As it is escorted by the lyre-bird and the peacock full of eyes,
The phoenix this flaming pyre which is of itself begotten
In an instant all his burning cinders fall forgotten
Sirens leaving the dangerous straits and dire
All three arriving singing beautifully in choir
And eagle phoenix Chinese Pihi all remain
To fraternise with this fascinating aeroplane.
Guillaume Apollinaire – Alcools – extrait de “Zone”
C’est le Christ qui monte au ciel mieux que les aviateurs
Il détient le record du monde pour la hauteur
Pupille Christ de l’oeil
Vingtième pupille des siècles il sait y faire
Et changé en oiseau ce siècle comme Jésus monte dans l’air
Les diables dans les abîmes lèvent la tête pour le regarder
Ils disent qu’il imite Simon Mage en Judée
Ils crient s’il sait voler qu’on l’appelle voleur
Les anges voltigent autour du joli voltigeur
Icare Enoch Elie Apollonius de Thyane
Flottent autour du premier aéroplane
Ils s’écartent parfois pour laisser passer ceux que transporte la Sainte-Eucharistie
Ces prêtres qui montent éternellement élevant l’hostie
L’avion se pose enfin sans refermer les ailes
Le ciel s’emplit alors de millions d’hirondelles
À tire-d’aile viennent les corbeaux les faucons les hiboux
D’Afrique arrivent les ibis les flamants les marabouts
L’oiseau Roc célébré par les conteurs et les poètes
Plane tenant dans les serres le crâne d’Adam la première tête
L’aigle fond de l’horizon en poussant un grand cri
Et d’Amérique vient le petit colibri
De Chine sont venus les pihis longs et souples
Qui n’ont qu’une seule aile et qui volent par couples
Puis voici la colombe esprit immaculé
Qu’escortent l’oiseau-lyre et le paon ocellé
Le phénix ce bûcher qui soi-même s’engendre
Un instant voile tout de son ardente cendre
Les sirènes laissant les périlleux détroits
Arrivent en chantant bellement toutes trois
Et tous aigle phénix et pihis de la Chine
Fraternisent avec la volante machine
– Guillaume Apollinaire, France 1880-1918, Alcools : poèmes, Gallimard 1944, pages 8-9
