Poetry

We conquered the mountains and the seas,
We were born beyond the bounty of the Earth's orchards
Our conceit without this unsatisfied,
We extended our state of siege from the Urals to Patagonia,
Wherever our gaze fell we delighted in possessing,
Wherever our hand rested, the hour of the bell tolled,
This nature which was then fertile tarnished into an arid soil,
We did not know how to reason with ourselves,
We didn't know how to ration ourselves,
We have raised our most trivial needs to the top,
Caught up in the mad rush of this mercantile idyll,
Goods are only good for a season,
Whose variations we are constantly expanding,
What matters the sweat of valiant workers,
Held by the hope of brighter days,
What matters is that we harvest beyond the reserves,
That we resurrect by the use of artifices that in no way harm us,
In this world things are only worth a short moment,
Time to stage oneself in a futile chimera,
We have passed into the art of being victorious,
From this fruitless happiness,
Tired of this life of abundance,
We were on a quest for meaning.

Then in this imminence the air froze,
At the edge of our homes,
Coming out of its lethargy our humanity awakened,
Coming to innervate multiple initiatives here and there,
This feeling of being united beyond our cities,
United in this uncertain destiny,
Will we have the courage to build this tomorrow,
On foundations in cohesion with being,
Our last chance to be reborn.
Reaching the quintessence of our humanity,
Give up to love better,
Give up to leave all its place to the living,
Be silent to listen to this song again,
Of melodious birds,
To be able to promise our children,
That tomorrow they will know a blue sky,
Just breathe,
This air that we might miss,
If I had to sum it up, it would be to have today,
The courage of our survival.

Julie Colleoni May 5, 2020

At the foot of the building where I lived in Hong Kong, I could see the shaky boat of this fisherman who inspired this poem.

The Sailor's Loneliness

Mussée in the warmth of my home,
My gaze stops on this boat
Staggering at the foot of my tower,
Where the sea licks and shears its contours.

I open the window and immerse myself in this other life,
The humidity of this misty air takes hold of me,
My fingers freeze as I grip the cold metal surround,
I hear the profiteering seagulls laughing at the fisherman's labor,
The sea spray rushes into my nostrils, my senses in turmoil,
Rejoice in this testimony of existence.

Everything seems to be movement and silence at the same time,
Winter graces us with its cold,
I shudder for this man embarked on this drunken boat,
Sympathetic for the fight he is fighting.
This body will pitch from port to starboard,
Swaying to the rhythm of the levees,
The surf is getting stronger and stronger,
Speeds up, determined to capsize him.
He eagerly pulls up his nets of damaged ropes,
But as if struck with anathema,
In a cry of pain and hatred,
He casts his web again.
No railing can protect him,
From the fate that Pontos has reserved for him,
The tarpaulin shelters it thinly with its sail.
Free from chatter he sets to work, reforms a flawless net,
His skin, reddened by the work, turns into scales,
He also gradually becomes an inhabitant of the world he attacks.

Then I hear the rattling of the chains,
Who come to crash against the bow,
The elements are raging;
“Soldiers, aim!”
The ocean cries to the sea,
"We will not give up any inhabitants!"
And here the waves repeat
Boarding in cohorts of banns.
Under repeated assaults,
His boat coughs up thick clouds of smoke,
She has become this pitfall,
Ocean Complaints Collection,
He, entangled in this galley, faces it alone,
Like sailors from another time.

Julie Colléoni, 2017

Urban Sylve