About three, no; four or five weeks ago; we were given an assignment in my French Class to write a story or a poem about life, fictitious or otherwise. The idea was that you had just turned 100 on the day, and were looking back in your life with no regrets and refrain.
It’s one of the few things I’ve written this year and I am quite happy with my work, so I decided to post it up here as penance for not posting so long. I did take some liberties on the English translation as to clear off its excessive kookiness; so I have to apologise about that though I tried my best to keep it true to its original version. It’s also still far from complete though, I passed it up unfinished and I don’t think I want to add anything else. Though maybe I will. One day. When I’ve lived that far.
My parents had raised me (well)
-in a small little house,
with a herb garden
and a cat called Saffron.
I was surrounded by stacks of shelves,
of English literature and quotations by Beaumarchais,
nuclear physics; Japanese poetry,
we also watched documentaries on Saturdays.
When I was an adolescent,
as you are now, Vincent;
we didn’t have much money,
but what I had, a good part of it,
was spent on second hand vinyl,
from a small record store-
opposite the cafe
where I fell in love
for the very first time.
At thirteen I was full of faith,
at sixteen I no longer knew what to believe,
faith and pragmatism I straddled,
at seventeen I read a book of Simone de Beauvoir’s leaf.
I had been born into this world a 100 years ago,
on one cold day in February,
but I find that my real birth was
at the age of 24
between the shelves in a dusty bookstore-
when I decided to travel
and it was time for me
to be free.
Mes parents m’elèvée (bien)
dans une petite maison,
avec un jardin avec de l’herbe
et un chat qui s’appellait <<saffron>>.
J’etais entourée d’étagères,
de litterature anglaise et citations de Beaumarchais,
la physique nucleaire; la poèsie Japonaise,
les Samedis – nous regardions des documentaires.
Quand j’etais adolescent,
(comme-toi Vincent)
nous n’avions pas beaucoup d’argent
mais mon argent, la majorité,
était-dépensé
pour acheter des
vinyles d’occasion
dans un petit magasin
en face du café
où je suis tombée amoureuse
pour la prémier fois.
Ayant 13 ans j’etais fidèle,
puis à 16 ans je ne savais plus à quoi je croyais
être à cheval sur le pragmatisme et la fois,
à 17 j’ai lu Simone de Beauvoir.
En fait, je suis née il y a 100 ans,
un jour froid de février,
mais ma vraie naissance a été
à 24 ans,
dans un librairie, quand j’ai decidé;
de me lib̩rer Рalors, je voudrait voyager.