Thursday, March 5, 2015

Barbara - My childhood

Original Title: "Mon enfance"
I was wrong, I came back
In this town, far away, lost,
Where I had spent my childhood,
I was wrong, I wanted to see again,
the hillside where glides the evening,
Blue and grey, shadow of silence,
And I found back, like before,
a long time after,
The hillside, the tree standing
Like in the past,
I walked, the burning temples,
Thinking I was smothering under my steps
The voices of the past which haunts us,
And comes back to toll the knell,
And I lied down under the tree,
And it was the same scents,
And I let my tears flow,
My tears,

I put my bare back against the bark,
The tree gave me strength back
Like in the time of my childhood
And for a long time, I closed my eyes,
I think I prayed a little,
I was finding my innocence back,
Before the evening came up
I wanted to see,
The house florished under the roses,
I wanted to see,
The garden where our child's shouts,
were bursting out like clear springs
Jean, Claude and Régine and then Jean,
Everything was becoming like yesterday again,
The heavy perfume of the red sages,
The fawn dahlia in the path,
The well, everything, I found everything back,

War had thrown us there,
Others were less happy, I think,
At the pretty time of their childhood,
War had thrown us there,
We lived like outlaws,
And I liked that, when I think about it,
Oh my springs, oh my suns,
Oh my crazy years lost,
Oh my fifteens, oh my marvels,
How it hurts to be back,
Oh the fresh nuts of September,
And the scent of the crushed blackberries
It's crazy, everything, I have found everything back,

One must never come back,
To the hidden time of the memories,
Of the blessed time of my childhood,
Because among all those memories,
Those of childhood are the worst,
Those of childhood tears us apart,
You, my dearest, Oh my mother,
Where are you then, today,
You sleep in the warm of the earth,
And I, I came back here, to find back your laugh,
Your angers and your youth,
But I am alone in my distress,

Why did I come back,
and alone, at the bend of these streets,
I am cold, I am scared, and the evening leans over,
Why did I come here, where my past crucifies me,
It sleeps forever my childhood.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Léo Ferré - Arthur Rimbaud - We are not serious when we are 17 years old

Original Title: "On est pas sérieux quand on a 17 ans" Text: Arthud Rimbaud We are not serious when we are seventeen years old...