J’ai decidé de traduire le premier et le dernier paragraphe du poème « Nos lèvres et leurs baisers » du recueil « La vie est chaude » page 15 et 58.
« We know to say anything about the death. We talk in a low voice. The least possible. We think of it in secret. It’s always the death of the others. We keep it from a distance. And it’s the world that we distant and unknowingly. The entire alive still be strangers, shadows that we hug for make promises to them, swearing that we’re here forever. Then we get used to their presence, to their love, like if aging was to detach. Make everything straighter, more neutral, more reasonable. We let the life turn off slowly. For fear of losing everything precisely.”
“How to grow up with this momentum that nothing would mess, not live, nor die? How to speak about the death and maybe tame it without fear of it, nor what she withdraws, in thinking at it adds at everything that we miss? How to speak to the others, to the world, for that everyone turns around on his own life and look at us. And if love, was finally seeing. Look the other for the first time.”