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Guillaume Apollinaire

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OiseauIll Autumn Oiseau

From Françoise
Christiane's Translation © 2009 Original Below

Autumn ill and loved
You will die when the storm blows in the roseries
When it snows
On the orchads

Poor Autumn!
Die in the whiteness and the riches
Of the snow and the ripe fruit
Deep in the sky
The sparrow-hawks glide
Over the sprites with green hair and the darves
Who never loved

In the far tree-lines
The stags daimed
And how I love O season! How I love your mumurs
The fruit falling that no-one gathers
The wind and the forest that shed
All their tears in Autumn, leaf by leaf
The leaves that we tread on,
A running train
Life flows away


Automne Malade

Automne malade et adoré
Tu mourras quand l'ouragan soufflera dans les roseraies
Quand il aura neigé
Dans les vergers

Pauvre automne
Meurs en blancheur et en richesse
De neige et de fruits mûrs
Au fond du ciel
Des éperviers planent
Sur les nixes nicettes aux cheveux verts et naines
Qui n'ont jamais aimé

Aux lisiéres lointaines
Les cerfs ont bramé
Et que j'aime ô saison que j'aime tes rumeurs
Les fruits tombant sans qu'on les cueille
Le vent et la forêt qui pleurent
Toutes leurs larmes en automne, feuille à feuille
Les feuilles
Qu'on foule,
Un train
Qui roule
La vie

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