MAURITIAN KREOL TRANSLATIONS

BY VATSALA RADHAKEESOON-THANK YOU!

The Cards Spoke

On the day no one was looking,
everyone aged,
only by a day,
but that day went fast,
as the cards were shuffled so quickly.
It was as if
a parlor trick was being presented.
And people wept, knowing
the chance to slow down time
had eluded them.
The clock’s hands would spin.
When no one was listening,
life spoke secrets
for earning immortality,
long lost knowledge was confessed.
and all were deemed unlucky.
The flip of the cards
was so loud that they drowned out
any chance to catch the words.
And people wept, knowing
that to live forever
had eluded them.
That last day would come.

Bann kart finn revele


Enn zour personn pa ti pe gete,
zot tou ti vieyi,
zis dan enn zour,
Me sa zour-la li finn pas vit,
parski bann kart ti bate bien vit.
Li ti koumadir
enn vre trik ki ti prezante.
E bann dimounn finn plore, kan konn
lasans fer letan pas dousman
finn anbrouy zot.
Zegwi revey ti pe marse.
Kan personn pa ti pe ekoute,
lavi finn revel bann sekre
pou gagn imortalite,
konesans perdi ti konfese
e zot tou ti sorti malsanse.
Batman kart
ti telman for ki zot finn touy
lasans resezi bann mo.
E bann dimounn finn plore, kan finn kone
ki  lide viv pou touzour
finn deles zot.
Dernie zour pou vini.

MAURITIAN KREOL TRANSLATIONS

BY VATSALA RADHAKEESOON-THANK YOU!

Pulse

Through a net of dreams
engraved in memory,
I sensed the tempo of love
between us, redolent kisses
beyond midnight that kept me
yearning.  I dreamt your music
was all I could hear from where
your gentle spirit sung the psalm.

At the start, I had no music.
Only a plenitude of need to learn
the lilt of love,
performing.
Then, came awakening,
rhythm, rhythm,
within sinews, into our very cells.

Now, the pulse breathes
on and on
for as long as time itself.

We will be, for as long as time itself.

Pou

Par enn file rev
grave dan memwar,
Mo resanti kadans lamour
ant nou, bizou dou
apre minwi ki les mwa
anvi sa. Mo finn  rev to lamizik
ti tou seki mo ti kapav tande depi kot
to nam dous sant Psalm.

Avan, Mo pa ti ena lamizik.
Zis enn dezir konple  pou aprann
fason lamour,
performe.
Apre, finn ena levey,
ritm, ritm,
dan misk, dan nou selil.

Aster, pou respire,
kontinielman
ziska ki letan exziste pou nou.

Nou pou la, ziska letan pou nou exziste.

MAURITIAN KREOL TRANSLATIONS

BY VATSALA RADHAKEESOON-THANK YOU!

Temple Moon

In Heaven, memories fade.
This is why the dead do not visit.
They no longer remember.

God remembers real sin
he took from us.
Angels he sends try to change things.
They aim to help you
understand why it is that you live.

Heart and Earth,
within and without,
Earth and space,
up and down,
sky and graves.

The esoteric scent
of sage and incense.

We, as builders.
Who are the teachers of the builders?

The Earth spoke to the moon.
The moon spoke to the sky.

Has the need for temples passed?
For teachers?
For builders?
For angels?

Why then do we still have death?

Tanp Lalinn


Dan paradi, bann memwar efase.
Lakoz sa bann seki mor pa vizite.
Zot nepli rapel.

Bondie rapel vre pese
li finn pran ar nou.
Bann anz li avoye sey sanz kitsoz.
Zot lintansion se ed zot
konpran kifer zot viv.

Leker e later,
avek e san,
Later e lespas,
anba lao,
lesiel  e tonbo.

Parfin ezoterik
saz et so vre sans.

Nou, kouma konstrikter.
Kisanla profeser bann konstrikter?


Later finn koz avek lalinn,
Lalinn finn koz avek lesiel.

Eski nesesite tanp finn pase?
Pou profeser?
Pou konstrikter?
Pou anz?

Kifer sinon nou touzour ena lamor?

MAURITIAN KREOL TRANSLATIONS

BY VATSALA RADHAKEESOON-THANK YOU!

A Street Prayer

I lay this rose
above you.
I leave my prayer
for you.
I ask the angels
to guide you.
I will write
all manner of pen
that those who threaten
your brothers and sisters
will choose
to lay down
their weapons
and take up
the arms of righteousness,
and find valiant deeds
better suited to their days
than blind hatred
of different colors of scarves and shirts.

Enn lapriyer lor sime

Mo les sa roz la
lot twa.
Mo les mo lapriyer
pou twa.
Mo demann ban anz
gid twa.
Mo pou ekrir
dan tou fason ki kapav
pou ki tou seki menas
to frer e ser
pou swazir
depoz
zot zarm
e pran
dan lebra zistis,
e fer bann aksion brav
ki amelior zot lavi
olie viv dan laenn aveg
pou bann diferan kouler foular e semiz.

MAURITIAN KREOL TRANSLATIONS

BY VATSALA RADHAKEESOON-THANK YOU!

Lumen

Feel the flame in your bones,
a miracle invited,
When seeking light.
learn ancestry without greed.
Study where the voyage takes you.
The simplicity of
your soul will become
celestial bliss.

Lalimier

Resanti laflam dan to lezo
enn mirak dan ler
Kan rod lalimier.
Konn orizin san gourmandiz.
Obzerv kot vwayaz-la amenn twa.
Sinplisite
to nam pou vinn
boner ki bondie pou done.

MAURITIAN KREOL TRANSLATION BY VATSALA RADHAKEESOON

-THANK YOU!

Schadenfreude

The crows refuse to turn away
from the carnage.
The broken and bent frames
of machine and man
thrill them.
Across the road is spilled
dreams and desires,
never to be realized,
and the crows flap their wings
with glee.

Schadenfreude (Plezir malsin)

Bann korbo refiz aret
masak.
Bann parti kase e kabose
masinn e imin
fer zot plezir.
Lor larout finn eparpiye
rev e dezir,
ki zame pou realize,
ebann korbo bat zot lezel
dan lazwa.

English Poems by Linda Imbler

French Translation by Vatsala Radhakeesoon-THANK YOU!

Guitars Galore and Big Boots

Up and down the sacred corridors
of the Country Music Hall of Fame,
is shared an evolutionary picture,
of those who never grew tired
of hurting as their years passed.
Those who were once young enough to know it all,
and many now old enough to have lived it all.

Words sung, torn from male tongues:
The whiskered rhetoric of Willie Nelson
to the shadowed loudness of Brad Paisley,
even work of the virtual poet,
Bob Dylan, is displayed here. (Nashville Skyline)

Enter into this universe,
female gambits,
once seen in thorny kinships
with men who ruled the slide guitars.

These performers,
now a binding cult,
including the electrifying falsetto of Dolly,
and folk women like Emmylou.
Patsy Kline built such a bridge!

Guitars galore and big boots,
exhibited as memorials
to the roots of the American heart.

Those born of mountains,
Those born of hills,
Whose daddies worked as miners,
And labored within the hot sawmills.

Des guitares à gogo et de grandes bottes


Le va-et-vient des couloirs sacrés
du Country Music-Hall of Fame ,
se partage en un portrait évolutif,
de ceux qui ne se sont jamais lassés
d’être blessés dès que les années passaient.
Ceux qui étaient jadis assez jeunes pour tout savoir,
et beaucoup d’entre eux actuellement assez vieux d’avoir tout survécu.

Des mots chantés, brisés par les voix masculines :
De belles paroles moustachues de Willie Nelson
au intensité sonore  assombri de Brad Paisley,
même les œuvres du poète virtuel ,
Bob Dylan y est exposées. (Nashville Skyline)

Entrant dans cet univers,
des gambits féminins,
autrefois en affinités épineuses
avec les hommes maitrisant les guitares slide.

Ces artistes,
maintenant devenu un culte contraignant,
y compris le fausset électrisant de Dolly,
et les femmes folkloriques comme Emmylou.
Patsy Kline établit un tel lien !


Des guitares à gogo et de grandes bottes,
exposées comme monuments commémoratifs
traçant l’origine au fond de la Culture Américaine.

Ceux natifs de montagnes,
Ceux natifs de collines,
Dont leurs pères travaillaient comme mineurs,
Et peinaient dans les scieries surchauffées.

                                                                            Photo Courtesy of Shari Johnson Edwards

English Poems by Linda Imbler

French Translation by Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Cathedral

Bells are ringing
around both thieves and priests.
Those bespoke to the below,
those contracted to the heavens.

Electrified guitar plays
as the carillon of a cathedral,
within this sacred theater.
The licks and strums of Old Man Rivers.

And while Wichita slow dances
and sways to the music,
we recall the discarnate push and pull
of yesteryears’s greatest songs.

Knowing that Old Man Scratch
enjoys a good riff from a Gibson,
as well as angels, thieves, and priests
and the Savior Himself kept such company.

La Cathédrale


Les cloches sonnent
autour de tous les deux, cambrioleurs et prêtres.
Ceux personnalisés sur terre,
ceux embauchés au Paradis.

Des guitares électriques jouent
comme le carillon d’une cathédrale,
dans cette salle de spectacle sacrée.
Les coups de langue et grattements  d’Old  Man Rivers.

Et lorsque Wichita danse lentement
et se balance à la musique,
nous nous souvenions du pousser et tirer désincarné
de meilleures chansons d’antan.

Sachant que Old Man Scratch
se réjouit d’un bon refrain de Gibson,
aussi bien que des anges, voleurs et prêtres
et le Sauveur lui-même leurs tient compagnie.  

English Poems by Linda Imbler

French Translation by Vatsala Radhakeesoon-THANK YOU!

The Shaping of Clouds

At dawn I recall
the shapes of yesterdays’ clouds,
each one at variance, a differing

outline, and how we argued about
their shape and the wispiness of
that cruciform shape that disbursed

right in front of our eyes, before we
could settle the debate and come to an
agreement on how it had really appeared

to us. As the sun rises, I
notice the sky is cloudless and
your chair is empty too.

Later in the week as I look
at the clouds alone, it does not
much matter their shape nor that they
even exist. By tomorrow,
I’ll no longer feel like looking.

La formation des nuages

A l’aube je me souviens
des formes des nuages de la veille,
chacun d’eux en opposition, un différend

contour, et comment nous nous discutions à propos
de leurs formes et de la légèreté de
cette croix qui se dispersait

tout droit devant nos yeux, avant que nous
puissions trancher le débat et parvenir à
un accord s’agissant de comment il paraissait vraiment

à nous. Dès que le soleil se lève, Je
constate que le ciel est sans nuage et
ta chaise vide aussi.

Plus tard durant la semaine quand je regarde
les nuages toute seule, je ne me rends
pas vraiment compte de leurs formes ou
même s’ils existent. D’ici demain
je ne voudrai plus les voir.

English Poems by Linda Imbler

French Translation by Vatsala Radhakeesoon-THANK YOU!

Tower of Bones

A parade seen
from the perspective
above the clavicles of a king among men;
or lengthy fields of bluebonnets,
or guitarists on stage.

He counted train cars aloud to me as they passed.

Now as I stand at ground level
and watch his funeral procession go by,
I long to once more
climb that tower of bones,
to view the majesty
of this life’s moment
while perched atop my father’s shoulders.

Tour Des Os


Un cortège vu
du regard
au-dessus des clavicules d’un roi parmi les hommes ;
ou de vastes champs de lupins,
ou des guitaristes sur scène.

Il me comptait les wagons à haute voix dès qu’ils passaient. 

Maintenant, lorsque je me tiens au ras du sol
et regarde son cortège funèbre passer,
Je veux à tout prix encore une fois
grimper cette tour des Os,
pour mieux voir la Majesté
à cet instant de la vie
en se perchant sur les épaules de mon père.

 

English Poems by Linda Imbler

French Translation by Vatsala Radhakeesoon-THANK YOU!

All Those Chairs in the Field

Rapturous orchestral maneuvers
performed by bees and butterflies.

One to each symphonic chair,
they sit upon these colorful structures,
measuring each refrain
with the beating of wings.

I lie at the edge,
enchanted by this euphoric ensemble
that plays out the course of life
while perched upon nature’s own soft seats.

Toutes ces chaises dans le champ


Ravissantes manœuvres orchestrales
réalisées par les abeilles et les papillons.

Une créature pour chaque chaise symphonique,
elle s’assied sur ces structures pittoresques,
évaluant chaque refrain
avec les battements des ailes.

Je m’allonge à l’extrémité,
éblouit par ce groupe euphorique
qui démontre le parcours de vie
en se perchant sur leurs propres sièges de la nature.