Une petite page de bloc-notes de l’an dernier, retrouvée par hasard ces jours-ci…
Fear not, reader: I am not contemplating a future in English poetry; I just happen to take notes in whatever language volunteers first – oddities and mistakes notwithstanding. This was written a year ago, in Germany, while I was waiting for my flight to Edinburgh. Our friend Hans, from Germany-based Breton music band An Erminig, had kindly taken the time to show me a bit of his Sarre region, including a war memorial site and several crossings of a now-invisible border.
Did they know
Did they hope
The men buried there
Young men, resilient muscles and tendons and skin and hair
With their very own pleasures and projects
All temporarily postponed
Just this incidental nightmare
This cumbersome tax to pay before they could have a will again
Did they have time to understand
And when
That the story would go on
Their story, oh yes it would
Only without them
And that one day
That border which they were seconds away from dying defending
Would be a thing in the air
And that their grandnephew, my friend
Would drive me around, the enemy's great-grandniece
And say « see ? We've just passed it »
And take me to the hill they died on
And it would be a soft Indian summer day
There would be cheery patrons at the inn
Baby strollers around the monuments
The sound of shared music in our ears
Did some of them know
Did some of them hope
Can you go to your death and hope to be dying for nothing ?
(25/10/2018)