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Venaille, Franck: Now They Tell Me (Maintenant in English)

Portre of Venaille, Franck
Portre of Caws, Mary Ann

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Maintenant (French)

Maintenant ils me disent que je ressemble aux enfants du mois d’août qui creusent des fossés dérisoires contre un château qui s’en effondrera. A peine enlevé le sable glisse, gicle, petite pluie qui me traverse et j’abandonne bientôt, yeux brûlés, les épaules recouvertes, les enfants pensent à la curée prochaine. Je n’ai même plus la force l’envie de tenter le dialogue Trahi désemparé que peut l’alcool sinon hâter l’échéance les coups de pelle vont pleuvoir J’aborde à la douleur que je narguais du haut de mon bonheur factice ils vont bientôt m’interroger, réclamer des éclaircissements je leur confie la date de mon suicide sans cesse reportée depuis neuf ans. Solitaire, guère solidaire je me débats mais je n’insulte personne (il faut dire que le sable commence à m’étouffer) la plage oscille ils vont bientôt enfumer mon terrier. Je t’aimais Un lit n’est qu’un lit et le sable ne grince pas, voici les cris les coups, cette fois-ci je suis définitivement blessé.

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Now They Tell Me (English)

Now they tell me I’m like those August children digging ridiculous ditches next to a castle that will collapse from them. Scarcely is the sand taken away when it slides, spurts, scattering a light rain over me, and soon I give up, my eyes burned, my shoulders covered over, and the children are thinking about the next quarry. I don’t even have the strength the desire to try any dialogue. Betrayed, vulnerable, what can alcohol do except hasten the moment when the spade will rain its blows upon me? I land in the pain that I was mocking from the height of my factitious happiness they are going to question me soon, demand clarification I hand over to them the date of my suicide which has been endlessly put off for the last nine years. Solitary, not at all companionable, I struggle but don’t insult anyone (I must say the sand is beginning to stifle me) the beach is wavering soon they will smoke out my burrow. I loved you A bed is only a bed and the sand isn’t creaking, here come the cries the blows, this time I am definitively wounded.

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