HISTORY ALWAYS WANTS
TO REFER ME TO YOU,
By / Abdul Kadir El Janabi
Traduit de l’anglais par Alain Joubert
These lines are decicated to
the bandits of the windy city
windows are open
and your becoming is eyed by their curtains.
From under the blanket of unapplied thought
I see you holding a dream
curved between your hands
a phoenix smeared with blond haze rises up
and gives you a sultry look
for you are handsome like “a militant swan”
whose tongue is wading into my enemies’mouths.
Indications of flames you smile
foresights which permit
civilizations to melt into celestial bodies
streets to pile in mobile corpses
and flowers to bleed the four corners of the air.
There is no bird curious to fornicate a wood
the old-timers are of no consequence.
To furbish their sobered call
they kneaded the tongues of a horizontal insomnia
they are priest-ridden dogs
the needle of death is their phallic symbol
and I should say
you have to go down the paper
loaded with a growling anguish
to be hurled on the bedrooms of their visions.
But you come to me never with what they know.
For I see you a woodfire butterfly
cleaving cascades of knowledge
a blazing running water
whose depth is a shape of elsewhere
an epicurean domain engraved on the stone of flesh
with fingers comparable
to the interior convulsions of uneven sounds
then I se you “touching only the heart of things”
and mossy vibration
as a limpid nightfall
tiptoes in my wide-awake sleep.
You “hold the thread”
and I still see a curious childhood
stronger than death
weaving invisible sands.
Implanted in the shores of sleepless mirrors
where the gesture of insurrections
sings its reincarnation.
The poem is a being
and History – the hive of ironies – is in no hurry
to see that a windy city
for your springs.