fingers of a year


Nadia Tuéni
Oh Nocturnal weavings,
the Voyagers of the Orient count your courtesies
upon the fingers of a year.

The wind and its allies
open themselves up just like a woman.
And all speaks of all.
The sounds I imagine are rivers or sobs.
Oh night sun as free as death,
as at that instant when each observes the other.
That is why I have stolen away underneath my tongue a land,
and kept it there like a host.


O Nuits élaborées
les Voyageurs d’Orient comptent vos politesses
sur les doigts d’une année.

Le vent et ses alliés
s’ouvrent tels une femme.
Et tout parle de tout.
Les bruits que j’imagine sont rivière ou sanglot.
O soleil de la nuit libre comme la mort,
on dirait cet instant où chacun se regarde.
Aussi ai-je enfermé sous ma langue un pays,
gardé comme une hostie.

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