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Jamme, Franck André: Tu viens souvent

Portre of Jamme, Franck André

Tu viens souvent (French)

Tu viens souvent avec ton oiseau sur le poing. Enfin, on le voit. Tu viens et tu attends. Lui ne te ressemble pas, s’impatiente assez vite, gratte le gant de son maître, commence à y planter ses serres. Alors s’il s’agite de trop sous sa coiffe de cuir, c’est qu’il a senti une brèche et tu n’as plus le choix: tu lui ôtes son masque, desserres le fil de sa patte et le voilà parti. La moindre chose qui brillait ne fait jamais long feu. Et tu sais avec sûreté ce qu’il repère et tue, car il te le ramène. Mais ce qu’il a vraiment vu, là-bas, la chose hurlant de vie et de lumière, toujours tu la méconnaîtras: tu ne pourras jamais que décrire la prise qu’il dépose à l’instant à tes pieds—qui marmonne encore, c’est vrai, mais déjà de l’autre berge. En somme, tu es un aveugle. Ta chasse, une simple cueillette. Et pourtant, cet oiseau, tu n’as pas le plus petit souvenir de son bruissement dans l’air, ni de la courbe de son vol. Pour la raison qu’il est en toi. Tu n’as jamais pu repérer précisément où, mais tout cela se passe en toi.



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Often You Come (English)

Often you come with your bird on your wrist. That is, it would seem so. You come and you wait. He doesn’t resemble you, loses patience quickly, scratches the glove of his master, starts to sink his claws in. When he grows too nervous under his leather headpiece, it means he has felt an opening, and you don’t have any choice: you take off his mask, undo the wire from his foot, and there he is, off. The least thing shining somewhere won’t last long. And you know quite surely what he finds and kills, for he brings it back to you. But what he really saw over there, that thing shouting with life and light, you’ll always see it wrong: you can only describe the prey he lays down right now at your feet—still murmuring, true, but already from the other shore. In short, you are blind. Your hunt, just a simple gathering. And yet, this bird, you don’t have the slightest memory of his rustling through the air, nor the curve of his flight. Because he is in you. You have never been able to find exactly where, but it all happens in you.



Uploaded byP. T.
Source of the quotationhttp://www.scribd.com

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