There is Sunlight In the Street

There is sunlight in the street
I like the sunlight but not the street
and so I stay at home
waiting for the world to come to me
with its golden towers
and it's white cascades
with its voice of tears
and the songs of happy people
or of the people who are paid to sing.
And in the evening a moment will come
where the street will become something else
and disappear beneath the plumage
of a night full of perhaps
and of the dreams of those who are dead
So I go down to the street
she waits below, just until dawn
a chimney smokes so close
and I walk amidst the water
water born of the cool night
and soon the sun will return.

- Boris Vian
Transl by me
Oct 1st, 2009
Montréal

A Naked Man Was Walking

A naked man was walking
his garment in his hand
his garment in his hand
Perhaps it wasn't clever
but it made me laugh
his garment in his hand
his garment in his hand
Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
A completely naked man
Walking down the street
His costume in his hand

- Boris Vian
transl by me
Oct 2nd, 2009
Montréal

When I have the Wind In My Skull

When I have the wind in my skull
When I have the wind on my bones
Perhaps then, I'll believe in the dull
Editions of my future tomes.
How I will miss it
My elemental plastic
Plastic tic tic
and my face devoured by rats
this pair of lips
eyebrows, eyelids
my thighs and the ass
upon which I sit.
My hair, my fists,
my pretty blue eyes
my hooded eyes.
So I bequeath to you
my roman nose
my heart, my liver, my spleen
all my admirable nothings
for which I was so admired
by Dukes and Duchesses
By Popes and Popesses
Abbotts and Abbesses
and tradespeople.
And more, I'll no longer be
this moist, radiant
brain which served me
which imagines me dead ;
the green bones, the windswept skull,
Ah, how I hate to grow old.

- Boris Vian
transl by me,
Sept. 30, 2009
Ottawa

There Was a Brass Lantern

There was a brass lantern
which burned for many years.
There was a magic mirror
and in it was seen the face
the face which would one day be
upon the golden bed of Death.
There was a book of blue leather
where slept the earth and sky
Water and Fire and the Thirteen Mysteries
An hourglass marked the time
upon its sliver of dust.
There was a heavy lock
which held its hard way shut
a heavy door of oak
closed the tower for all time.
In the round room, the table
the hearth, the window
of glass, gilded and stained.
Rats ran in the gutters
around the tower of stone.
Where the sun no longer shone.

It was really terribly romantic.

- Boris Vian
transl by me
Sept. 30, 2009
Ottawa

Life Is Like a Tooth

Life, is like a tooth
at first, you don't even think of it
you are content just to chew
and then, it is suddenly rotten
It's yours - it hurts you
You baby it and you suck on it
but to be really cured
you have to rip it out, Life.

- Boris Vian
transl by me
Sept. 28, 2009
Ottawa

I No Longer Want

I no longer really want
to write poetry.
If things were as they were before
I would do it more often,
but I feel very old
I feel very serious
I feel conscientious
I feel lazy.

- Boris Vian
transl by me
Sept. 28, 2009,
Ottawa

I Would Love
I would love
I would love
To become a great poet
and for people
to place
many laurels on my head
But, there it is.
I don't have enough
taste for books
and I enjoy life too much
and I think too much of people
to ever be content
with having written nothing but wind.

- Boris Vian
transl - by me
Sept 28, 2009,
Ottawa

Why Should I Live ?

Why should I live ?
Why should I live,
for the golden leg
of the blonde woman
leaning against the wall
in the full sunlight,
or the billowing jib
of a sailing ship
with its shadows on the shore,
the iced coffee
we drink through straws,
touching the sand,
seeing the backdrop of the water,
which has become so blue,
which has sunk to such depth,
with the silent fish,
the fish that swim
through the silent depths,
flying below,
the seaweed horses,
like slow birds,
like blue birds,

why should I live ?

Because it is beautiful.

- Boris Vian