Friday Poems: The Dining Room
/Oh my goodness, sometimes the stars align just so and my world comes together for Friday Poems.
On Wednesday night, my MIL came over and helped me figure out the best place for my dining table and buffet that I inherited from her. On Thursday, I spent all day working to clear the living room and dining room of boxes so I could move the buffet into position. Last night, I was able to sit in my tidy dining room and snap a few photos.
a little glass of sunshine
Today I went to the library to force myself to rest. I've been lost in France this week and found myself in the foreign language section where I stumbled upon Selections from French Poetry, circa 1965. Next I walked confidently to the international music where I knew there would be a Carla Bruni cd waiting for me. And there was...one single cd, her new one! (That's an iTunes link btw). What a fascinating woman that I am only learning about this week.
Without further ado, notre poésie!
A glimpse of an old dresser, now a buffet
La Salle à Manger
(The Dining Room)
by Francis Jammes (1868-1938)
translated by Joseph T. Shipley
There is a rather dull cupboard here
that knew the voice of my great aunts,
that knew the voice of my grandfather dear,
that knew the voice of my father too;
and to these memories it is true.
You're wrong to think it can only sit,
because I talk with it.
There's also a cuckoo made of wood.
I don't know why its voice is no longer good.
I don't like to ask . . . You see,
the voice might really be
broken, up there in its head,
just like the voice of the dead.
There's also an old buffet
that smells of wax and of conserve,
meat, and bread, and ripened pears.
It's a faithful servant and it swears
'twill all our goods preserve.
Lots of men and women have been here, near it,
who do not believe in such a spirit.
And I smile, when a visitor comes my way,
that he thinks me alone, and starts to say:
"Good morning, Mr. James, how are you today?"
Click here to hear the poem in French!
Au revoir!