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The Frog, Translation of Etiemble’s quintet: La grenouille by T. Wignesan 

(This quintet rhymed: ababc might in its propos -
perhaps in its imagery and allusion - be based on some family history involving the tragedy 
over a son and the subsequent adoption of a daughter. If I’m wrong I offer my profoundest 
apologies in advance.)

Lime-stuck last night by the frozen water of the pond,
frog boxed in glass window fending off thickening waters,
it’s our naked daughter, heart of cold gold, shivering
recumbent statue hardened: withstanding the rigours of 
                                                             our wars:
stuck the other night by the cold of its/her times.


This’s our hardened son who plays the frog and to                  
                                                          himself lies,
caresses sharks, courts a female cosair
puts trust in spurious air which entices and captures,
flimsy trapped game strangling us by the collar,
frogs petrified by the fright of our times.

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014

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