The cursed side
Of poetry
Freshly imposes
Itself

Mnemosyne parades naked
Her reign is absolute

With both her feet in the mud
She slowly exits
From the different fields

Behind her trail
Like a plough

The broken up
Old earth

Making the tragic mask
On the face of every poet

Texte : traduction de Peter O’Neill – texte original : Yan Kouton (http://k-yk.blogspot.com/2020/05/vers.html)
Photo : Yan Kouton