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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required First Day of the Year, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Premier de l’an by T. Wignesan Each moment of waking up is an act of giving birth I use the iron tools myself on the mother To death Myself : Who is this myself ? Am I somebody else other than the weight I bear Who resists who clings refuses To be born ? This weight deliberately reinforces itself Through its heaviness It wouldn’t want ever to be anything but matter Half-conscious half in a state of stupor Root before being stem Seed which pushes upwards through the ground Without being pulled out Meanwhile it fathoms its false state of sleepiness its burrow (And) in delving into it it expels proportionately All its skin goose-pimply to the touch Hairiness of anguish enormous world She kneads it more and more into the narrow passage Her own abdomen compresses in vain his anguish Towards the interior and the exterior at the same time An every day happening that’s always impossible The act of giving birth This first day of the year nineteen seventy-three Aged fifty-six years and eight months Once again after twenty-thousand times more I knew I have to be born I do not want to. I cry out to Someone who is stronger than me That he might pull me out of my old fears originating from my mother* That they put me on this earth So that I might walk towards my end once and for all in my stride With my dead elder-sister for company On this earth of living beings Someone who is I right at the end of the route Up above Puts aside with might the thin-lined horizon So that I might be born One day the more. • See his poem : « Now to be flesh of a man and a woman » (Sophia, O.C., t. II, p. 416) © T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
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