Photo: Collingwood, one of those scenes that forces you to live in the present moment.
It was this light,
grey, I suppose,
that filled all my eyes
with the present moment.
I tire in the past,
I get lost in the future,
but if I grasp it, I do not get tired of the present.
Yet I constantly escape from it.
photo : Collingwood, une de ces scènes qui force à vivre l’instant présent.
c’était cette lumière,
grise, je suppose, qui
emplissait tous mes yeux
de présent
Je me fatigue dans le passé
je me perds dans l’avenir
et quand je le saisis
je ne me lasse pas du présent
pourtant
je m’en échappe constamment
photo : Collingwood, feeling like you are somewhere else, far, but also here, there are a few places like this one in Golden Bay, New Zealand
To be elsewhere, like another here, that one learns to know, like the morning of the sea, one can smell the rotten seaweeds, one will find a sky, almost recognises the salt, and the sand, that sticks to numb knees, a here like any other, an elsewhere that resembles a here, we will agree on the price.
Être ailleurs,
comme un autre ici
qu’on apprend à connaître
comme le matin de la mer
on sent les algues pourries
on retrouve un ciel
on reconnaît presque le sel
et le sable qui colle
aux genoux engourdis
un ici comme un autre
un ailleurs qui ressemble à ici
on s’entend sur le prix
photo: Collingwood, Golden Bay, ces oiseaux invitent à la réflexion
but this rhythm, this rhythm, which haunted her
in the gravest hours
and even certain seconds of the night,
words would have to be put on this cadence,
words from a strange language,
deep language, words from the shadow
which were not without joy but had to
follow a different rhythm, that of consciousness
