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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Drogman*, Translation of Pierre Emmanuel’s Drogman by T. Wignesan My mother, illustrious in the kingdoms of the Orient Is seated surrounded by water The water forms a belt around her, a boat. This’s the threshold of infancy The step which leads into the past Is filled up by the sea. You’re accoutred as a very old princess In dire age-old poverty A sack tied to the small of your back An ashen camisole. The odour of the humus in autumn Tames me into accepting your disappearance. Your face is the wind that blows on me Another wind blows past the back of my eyes. Since you are now eternally Impenetrable and black Impenetrable and black. Even with stars twinkling from time to time The way out was impossible. Now that you are dead some twenty years I understand that my dreams Speak in your voice. My premonitions indicate to what extent I loved you I who was ashamed Of your derangement. Heavy are the tears of love flowing in me Huge and tenderly And it’s like a change in the seasons The change in reason All that was atrocious and absurd to me Makes some sense to me now. Mother, you wished that your son Became a drogman in the kingdoms of the Orient In order to be able to explain your plight. Today as a sleeper I return To the brink of an infancy Which is my death Perhaps I assume this truth. My dreams form the crest of your discourse Their coherence is their ocean Your shadow, lonely seagull and savage Is my spirit • Don’t quite know what this word means, unless its etymological origins are to be found in the Arabic « tarjuman », meaning « translator ». (Tu, O.C. t. II, p. 531) © T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
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