When I had found this book and looked within, I fell into a shallow sea and settled into the water, resting comfortably upon wet sand, as if not yet to come back out.
I had not yet read the poems or any books by this author, and I am translating them from French into English, with an online translator and my own sense of the voice of the poems, and then writing many of them by hand. It’s nice to know that the author was a translator, although I would’ve done this anyway to be able to read and share them, and I note her translation work was much more skilled. These are poems I happily sink within and also as if the poet was someone I’d known dearly with the closeness of understanding and appreciation.
My own great springtime flood of poetry has slowed and stopped and begun its interlude. I take a full breath in and out, glad to step back for perspective.
Here is a better link to May Ziadeh’s book, Fleurs de Reve.
I will return to read this poem she wrote aloud next time, and I have written it by hand for you to read.
by May Ziadeh