allez, une deuxième note !

à chaque fois que je sens mon asthme monter, m'étouffer progressivement, machinalement, stupidement je m'arrête de respirer pour mieux le sentir, pour mieux reprendre mon souffle, pour haleter davantage au fond. à chaque fois ce poème me vient en tête. une de ces nombreuses références qui m'entretiennent doucement dans l'idée une bribe de littérature pour tous les moments.

I am listening to the change of pain

The way she’s fitting into something I can stand

I feel her smart arabesques on my neck

Her vivid dance with my bones wrecked

I wait for the surf to verge

For the pack of yellow sea to rise

And roll all over my backbone

I could feel a pea under a hundred mattresses

Though my skin is no satin

Small arachnid, my brain shrinks

And withdraws into some grounded land

From where I stand

Watching the ocean

Move

Till he comes

And seizes me

I wait for the barbarians

For their strength

Till it bursts

And rapes me

Dividing me in two

Million hundred pieces

That blinds me – dashing vision

Of blackness and blankness

And speed too

I’m in a fuss to feel all this

This being alive, through pain and pain

A kind of hapax

This sleepy agony

When you take up your breath

To feel each detail

The way he penetrates you

The way you burst and die

Life and death

Agony and resurrection

Through pain and pain

Each pain going further, deeper, softer…

All is just a kind of pain

And whether you’re accustomed to it

Or build an addiction to blind it

In dazzling white,

The blind colour…

Saoirse Mac Cann

Mai 1935.