From “Black Holes”
Translated By Emilie Moorhouse
To name a wound
before it festers
Everywhere the object of contempt
bleeds and blisters
deliberately
To name the pink infamy under her lacework
before she imposes
Everywhere man takes a knee
cries and sweats
withered by the solitary grief
Everywhere uneasiness blooms
The empire of the corpse spreads
To name a grave once it’s covered
to sew acorns on it
and go on your way
because death is contagious
and her name will soil your lips
your lips your tongue your mouth
your wound
In an all grey world
A woman choked by her flesh
Screams her loneliness
Two hands crackle
In an ink mirror
A mouth full of meat
Curses and screams
The mayonnaise sours
And blurs the windows
The gold and the storm
Thunder outside
The woman eats to make herself known
And dies with her mouth open
In front of the erect sex
Of a night warden
Last upheaval of bulimia
The door is locked from the inside
I’m an hour late
Thin sailboats line up along the walls
Their anchors at rest
Their sails in mourning
A fat finger basks on the sofa
With a light charcoal he draws the outline of a feminine face
Signs of virginity other than the hymen
I am haunted by the absurd shreds
Of a scarcely heard phrase
Primitive spelling in the night of lost time
Anguish holds the heart
with its small iron hand
In the belly of the giant the mud
tosses and turns
The man with a crocodile head
chews the bowels
of the human
vine
Black worms fall in love
White worms stuffed with flesh
make bubbles
Where are the old men of the sea?
May he remind you
of the evening hour
where swam in the distance
islands laughing
of our love
May he remind you
of the white dog
the chalky eyes
the flemish muzzle
thirsting for power
under the bandaid of fear
May he remind you
of the pearls of the sun
thrown on the sand
like so many deep pits
in the painful fat
of sliced flesh
May he remind you
alas my love alas
of the surroundings of these walls
where whispers the frothy mouth
of the beautiful buried death
May he remind you
of the sequence of horrors
of the night
Translated from the French
Notes:
Read the French-language original, from “Trous noirs.”
This poem is part of “When Can I See You Again: The Poetry of Joyce Mansour,” translated by Emilie Moorhouse. You can read the rest of the portfolio in the June 2023 issue. All the English translations of Joyce Mansour’s poems are from Emerald Wounds: Selected Poems, edited by Emilie Moorhouse and Garrett Caples. Translations copyright © 2023 by Emilie Moorhouse. Reprinted with the permission of City Lights Books. For more information, visit www.citylights.com.
Source: Poetry (June 2023)