Notes sur la traduction
Ma langue d’usage est le français mais j’écris de la poésie en anglais.
Ça amène mes idées à des endroits que je ne maîtrise pas toujours et
transforme les images que j’invoque. Comme une langue altère anyway, mon
anglais medium sert d’altérité express — de co-writer.
Quand il a été question de publier un recueil de mes poèmes, les
éditions Burn~Août ont suggéré de rendre ces textes accessibles à un
lectorat non-anglophone.
La question de la traduction vers le français, langue dans ma poche, ne
pouvait se résoudre en une édition bilingue qui mettrait formellement
les deux versions sur un pied d’égalité.
Dans ce livre, le passage au français est ainsi le résultat d’un dispositif particulier.
J’ai fait traduire chacun de mes poèmes par des amixes qui, n’étant ni
professionnelxles, ni toujours très familièrxes de l’anglais,
s’approprient les textes singulièrement.
Ces traductions ont toutes été réalisées à l’oral, vers par vers, en
direct et ont fait l’objet de captations vidéos. Leur retranscription
constitue la version française non-versifiée que vous lirez sous mes
poèmes.
Comme des notes de bas de page, ces interprétations souvent approximatives sous-tendent une optionnelle sortie de texte, un sous-titrage,
l’intimité d’une première approche, un secret de fabrication.
Je remercie Iris, Fanny, Sarah, Thomas, Juliette, Élise, Emma, Louise et
Lucille de vous être renduxes vulnérables, fortxes, hot et tendres dans
ces moments de traduction et dans nos amitiés — lesquelles parlent des
langues glissantes et écrivent des poèmes sans mot.
HOW TO DRY
Grab a round water glass upside down
Stick three fingers in
my left palm hosts the wet bottom
in a red checkered rag
rotates back and forth
I press a bit inside
my thumb stays out and hold it tight
right
as it rotates
suddenly the three fingers inside
straight up together
The middle finger
dries small circles
the glass doesn’t move anymore
only the ghost-dressed fingertips
haunt the wet bottom
in the white and red rag
the edge is gently dried
sometimes what I think is mist inside
is just glue from an old sticker
outside
-------------------------------
Grab a wine glass
Pinch the foot but care the bulb
like you hold a wheel
it forms a heart to move your hands like that.
Pinch the foot, go down the leg
coat it — it’s safe
—
I’ve always loved being covered by a duvet during
sex absorbing wet, bringing it in.
We started one day to wash them twice
because the machine was half-functioning.
I wash by hand then I smell then wash in the machine then smell again
then dry
Eventually I broke 16 of them
and so many times I cut myself and put blood on the rag that needs to
stay perfectly clean.
I started to list every time having more money would have save me from
getting hurt
there is way more than 16 lines
in a palm —
Wrap your leg in the duvet
I put two fingers in the wine glass
I make my arm goes around carving it — it’s safer like
that I find it fine to let the bottom wet
-------------------------------
Grab a flute glass
I must accept to let the half bottom soaked
long fingers can dry them fine
piano
i’m not that used to champagne
— smsmsmsmsmqs —
when i try to type Q and M at the same time
from the thumb to the pinky on a letter keyboard —
unreachable and fragile
has for a while
been my half-empty cup of tea
-------------------------------
Grab a shot glass
just a dry pinch like a clumsy flirt
— check your breath —
Be certain
it won’t break
My boss gave me a box of small candies
There is a word written on each of them
I pick the first two
— no
— good
It’s called Tic Tac
melts fast
tastes like wasted time
-------------------------------
Grab a pint glass
I stick four fingers in,
first I know I can put more
— every night I give them five
when they arrive
one by one
they don’t need words and don’t want it
they ask for my fist to say hi and I give it to them —
A client enters the restaurant
My boss puts his hand on my shoulder and
— La banque — he says, smiling
I can’t get rid of his smile
that sticks on my face
scratch the bottom of a glass but realize it is mist
I stick my fist to the max
makes me feel I work on the other side
-------------------------------
After my time
stays this glass I don’t wash because it’s too late
the small round one that I fill with alcohol and give to the chef.
To find it sticky
gives the assurance to the morning ones
that yesterday ended.
I cross the street and have a beer in the bar.
I watch them wash glasses
the waitress smile sticks on my face
I can not check if it’s mist
everyone here likes me for free.