'Nightfall' by Christiane Conésa-Bostock | States of Poetry Tasmania - Series Two

States of Poetry Tasmania - Series Two

'Nightfall' by Christiane Conésa-Bostock | States of Poetry Tasmania - Series Two

States of Poetry Tasmania - Series Two

Claude Monet Circa 1865–70

It is my life. I must recognise
the future is called the past.
I turn around to contemplate my youth.

My destiny resembles you
and your shadow follows my body.
You are walking in the garden of my eyes.

I owe you everything.
I am no more than your dust
a fine particle of your step.

This dark intimate abyss which rests within me.
It would be so simple to bring it to an end.
My love do you hear this blasphemy?

In each tree a swaying hangman
to each leaf a tear of blood.
The wash of night brushes the roofs.

I shall make death as I made love
my eyes shut and in the groin of the wind
with the ghostly hammer of regret.
I shall read in the skies
the timeless stars caressing your soul.

And as one would lay
a bouquet of jasmine and lilac in bloom
upon a wall of music
you surrender yourself to a moribund love
in the mirror of my closed eyes.

Night has fallen in love.
I have fallen in night.

Christiane Conésa-Bostock

[French version]

Au tomber de la nuit

C’est ma vie. Je dois me résigner
le futur se conjugue au passé.
Je me retourne pour contempler ma jeunesse.

Ma destinée te ressemble
et ton ombre escorte mon corps.
Tu flânes dans le jardin de mes yeux.

Je te dois tout.
Je ne suis que ta cendre
une fine particule de ton pas.

Cet abîme noir et intime qui repose en moi.
Il serait si simple d’y mettre fin.
Mon amour entends-tu ce blasphème ?

Dans chaque arbre un pendu qui oscille
à chaque feuille une larme de sang.
Le lavis de la nuit revêtit les toits.

Je ferai la mort comme je fis l’amour
les yeux clos et dans l’aine du vent
avec le maillet spectral du regret.
Je consulterai dans le ciel
les étoiles éternelles qui caressent ton âme.

Et comme l’on déposerait
un bouquet de jasmin et de lilas en fleurs
sur un tympan de musique
tu t’abandonnes à un amour moribond
dans le miroir de mes yeux clos.

La nuit a succombé à l’amour.
Je suis tombé en nuit.

Christiane Conésa-Bostock

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