19 août 2008
Chanson de moi-même (Walt Whitman)
Song of Myself
LII
The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. |
I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, |
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. |
The last scud of day holds back for me, |
It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds, |
It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk. |
I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, |
I effuse my flesh eddies, and drift it in lacy jags. |
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, |
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. |
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, |
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, |
And filter and fibre your blood. |
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, |
Missing me one place search another, |
I stop somewhere waiting for you. Il dit lui-même qu'il est intraduisible ... car trop "queer" ??? que tu auras du mal à savoir qui je suis ??? |
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