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NEW PATCHWORK 17 / LIFE IN WINTER

Publié le 2 Octobre 2010 par Doctor S.F

Catégories : #Roman ou nouvelle

" Of the grey summit of the snowy hill

We contemplated the immense white area

Of the valley of the big fleshless poplars

And high sloping roofs in the white tiles

Impressed by the hard rigor of the winter

You blotissais you under your thick white coat

And you assailed me with your soft bitter glance

Soft glance become oblique and attractive

Numb by the cold we advanced

Slowly the one towards the other one and frankly

The senses(directions) in narrow complicity of souls

Well then the winter was not any more really the winter

We forgot to look at the world

To console us with the coolness of the winter

I copied out this poem which you sent me last autumn, in answer to my letter. I may not hide you the pleasure which gets me our epistolary reunion. I know pertinently that you composed it in November, at the approach of the new season, and that you imagine that one yourself in my company. Can you intend to mean staying at Aubel? You will see me delighted.

By the way, why I say to you "you"? After all, it is going to make on almost one year that we did not see each other any more and you will have crossed only a single night to me. Well, thus I decide to say vous you again. Your poetry seduced me and I tried some difficulty resuming some distance with regard to your text.

You so implied me there that I try some fear. For what do you thus expect from me? What are your intentions? You love me, I do not doubt it. But why did you leave so abruptly, without saying to me even goodbye?

Feel reassured, I am not irritated with it. However, to avoid some risky speculation by the truychement of such a platonic relation, I deeply prefer that you mean seeing me to Aubel. You know my address. I see no inconvenience you meaning visiting me. I am going to stay all winter long to me; so you no fear have of having; you will not find the door closed. Looking forward to meeting you very soon, I kiss you. "

I am very sad after this correspondence to understand the logic of these events which were linked of season in season, my dear Espéranza. After I told you her little common disappearance in the last spring, I wonder to announce you sincerely how this exchange. It is not the fact of making you display of our physical then virtual relations that gets me some embarrassment. Those do not prevent our friendship, naturally. And when I resumed my newspaper, the day before yesterday, to report you all which arrived at me since I met Elise Clermont in the last spring, I really understand why I made the effort to look back us on our adventure on this desert island, this summer.

Ah! The summer! The summer! What a season! Openly, I always think that the winter makes very weak face(figure) in comparison! Here is a very inferior paradox you will say to me, but it is necessary to face the evidence that it is about a season very difficult there to live. My God! I do not dare to imagine what would have been able to arrive at you over there in winter, only, lost on this island. Fortunately that the smugglers returned to it and found you, waiting in the heat of a big campfire, alone on the beach. What a jopie to know you safe! It is a real happiness! I feel a real pleasure.

Openly, I am happy to have found you both there this end of year. It is necessary to admit that these two adventures will really have been little commonplace. And what coincidences! Finally, to know you living beings comforts me, even if you are far from me. Madrid, Aubel: I wonder in this century when we live how you could indeed meet both! Anyway, you know Aubel only of name, and it is far!

Things being what they are, I did not still clear up the mystery of claimed disappearance of Elise Clermont. She wrote me just like that, as if nothing had taken place. Besides, she( wonders of what it took for a hasty departure. It is a very strange paradox. Openly(frankly), you will consider at me a little intoxicated, dear Espéranza, but I have difficulty in conceiving still the absurd situation that I lived with her in the last spring. However, it is bizarre, I do not dare to tell her my story. I smell good that there was been mistaken my part at some point, but it, I regret it, exceed my understanding.
Yes, I wonder when I think again about it if I do not become crazy. Fortunately that she wrote me! I tried a pleasant sensation of reassurance. But the mystery, I regret it, whole rest. I am very going to return soon to Aubel, as she proposed it to me. Then I can try to reconstitute the story in the public garden in its presence. Go, dear Espéranza, I wish you a happy New Year and good-safe a merry christmas. Bye for now!

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Mrs here is now on the road of Flanders, in carriage. The journey is long but tomorrow morning we shall not be any more very far from Aubel. I wrote one month ago to Espéranza and I did not see spending time. Tomorrow evening, it is safe, I shall belong to Aubel in spite of the small snowflakes which begin to fall. I am simply afraid that there is too much fog. By the way, the coachman just said to me right now that the travelers were not still safe on this road. There are naturally traffic accidents, but worse, since the beginning of the winter occurred several attacks of diligences. It is disturbing but it is necessary to exorcise the evil spell and to hope that we shall not be the next victims of these exactions so dreaded, especially in winter.

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NEW PATCHWORK 17 / THE DRUID AND THE BRIDGE

Publié le 1 Octobre 2010 par Doctor S.F

Catégories : #Poésie

Things being what they are, as I have the honor
To say it to you, I go, sir,
In language of real
Contesse, to try to put to sleep you
By the end of this one. You
You will thus remember, if it you
The surprise of the druid pleases,
When he lives the extraordinary bridge
That we avoit built on the riviere.

But before passing besides, it is
Good to warn you, that in the respect
Of the width of this riviere and of
The length of the bridge(deck), one you
Lied of seven or eight hundred leagues,
Both for the rarity of the fact and
For the convenience of the rhymes, and
That the Lord of Herbay, far
To be as well huge as you could
To imagine him(it) to you, étoit everything
In most that once so big and
Once so foolish as our friend S.

The druid, who to put sound
Castle and his daughter outside insult,
Avoit surrounded with a wide
Ditch full of water, was only surprised
When he lives the effect of a delight
Against his;
He believed to have enough to laugh
Of all the bridges and all
Giants of the world; he was only
Embarrassed to guess who could
Be the author of this bridge.

Estimating
Not enough his neighbor d'Herbay for
Consider it charming,
He hastily runs to go through his books
To clear up of the fact, and
To knock down the bridge less
Of tems that he had raised:
But when all the books that he
Opened taught him nothing, it was
In a big embarrassment; embarrassment
Which is converted in a sadness
Strange, when he lives that he cherchoit
Pointlessly the one who contenoit
All the secrets of his art.
It defended the reading in his
Girl, to whom he never had anything
Defended that it, and some soûmise
That she had always be in her
Wills, he was afraid that the curiosity
For a matter expressly
Forbidden, had taken him
On his obedience. It was in
These allarmes that he found her as is
That we left her.

He awakened her
Quickly to ask her
Short stories of this book
If need be her intentions: but
It was to teach it to her indeed
Others than she spoke. Of
The maniere of which she came of
Fall asleep, I would have sworn that in sound
Awakening she went address in
Druid, by saying to him: big commander
Believer but
Her distraction changed object,
And throwing in her foot : my father,
She says, I lost him, and if you
Return it to me, you will see me
Die from despair, because it is
More tems to hide my foiblesse,
Nor to hide my murder. Yes
I lost it . what! Exclaimed
Druid, not only, Girl,
You broke me: but you
Lost what was me most
Dear to the world after you!

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