Posted by: tsopr | February 22, 2014

Denis Emorine, French Poet

Denis Emorine is the author of short stories, essays, poetry, and plays. He was born in 1956 in Paris and studied literature at the Sorbonne (University of Paris). He has an affective relationship to English because his mother was an English teacher. His father was of Russian ancestry. His works are translated into several languages. His theatrical output has been staged in France, Canada (Quebec) and Russia. Many of his books (stories, drama, poetry) have been published in the USA. Writing, for Emorine, is a way of harnessing time in its incessant flight. Themes that re-occur throughout his writing include the Doppelgänger, lost or shattered identity, and mythical Venice (a place that truly fascinates him). He also has a great interest for Eastern Europe. Denis Emorine collaborates with various other reviews and literary websites in the U.S., Europe and Japan both in French and in English. In 2004, he won first prize for his poetry at the Féile Filiochta International competition. His poetry has been published in Pphoo (India), Blue Beat Jacket (Japan), Magnapoets (Canada), Snow Monkey, Cokefishing, Be Which Magazine, Poesia and Journal of Experimental Fiction (USA). His texts also appear on numerous e-zines such as: Anemone Sidecar,Cipher Journal, Best Poems, Mad Hatters’ Review, Milk, The Salt River Review, Istanbul Literary Review, Like Birds Lit,Wilderness House Literary Review, Sketchbook ,Literary World and many others. Emorine’s webpage: http://denis.emorine.free.fr/ul/english/accueil.htm

Featured Poetry of Denis Emorine
(Six untitled poems translated from French into English by Flavia Cosma)

Il y a si longtemps que mon nom
Ne m’appartient plus
Pulvérisé par l’Histoire.
J’erre entre Moscou et L’Oural…
Je hurle à tout vent
La mort m’a choisi
Comme prochaine victime
Mais
J’en fais le serment
Je hurlerai ton nom
Une fois encore
Avant de m’abattre aux portes
Du monde

There is so much time since my name,
Rendered dust by History,
Ceased to belong to me.
I wander between Moscow and The Ural Range…
Hollering out above the wind
Death has chosen me
As its next victim
But I swear to you
That I will shout out your name
One more time
Before falling, crushed
In front of the world’s locked gates

A Ilona W.

Le chemin se reflétait dans tes yeux.
Dès que je prenais ta main,
la vie recommençait.
J’aurais dû inscrire ce trajet en toi,
faire quelques pas dans ton écriture.

Il n’est plus temps.

J’avais peine à te suivre.
Il y avait entre nous la douleur d’un poème
que nous retenions sans cesse.

Maintenant
ma vie vacille avec ta main sur mes yeux.

To Ilona W.

The road mirrored itself into your eyes.
Life started anew
The moment I took you by the hand.
.
I should have marked this journey within yourself,
Taken a few steps in the realm of your writings.

There isn’t time any more.

It was hard for me to follow you..
The sorrow of a poem stood guard between us
And we clung to it with no let up.

And now
My life flickers under your hand covering my eyes.

A Marek Smierc

A la fenêtre, adossée à l’orbe du temps,
cette femme te désigne du doigt.
Tu n’essaies pas de la dévisager.
Elle porte la mort sur le front.

Tu voudrais parfois succomber à sa prière
céder à l’appel jailli du fond des âges.

Un homme est entré. Il lui fait face,
s’interpose entre vous deux.

Tu te retires sur la pointe des pieds.
Cet homme,
tu sais que
c’est toi.

To Marek Smierc

Standing at the window, leaning on the orb of time,
This woman draws your body’s shape with the tip of her finger.
You don’t even try to scrutinize her ;
She has the word Death inscribed on her forehead.

Sometimes you would wish to succumb
To her prayer,
Let yourself go toward this call emerging from the bottom of ages.

A man enters the room
He is interposing between you two.

You retrace your steps
On tiptoes.
You know
This man
Is really you.

A Anne-Virginie

J’ai parfois du mal à te rejoindre,
mon amour.
Mes yeux chavirent loin de ton horizon.
Tu avances vers moi
mais je ne te vois plus.
Et pourtant je n’ai pas oublié tes cheveux
qui se refermaient sur moi
ni le berceau des mots qui nous accompagnait
dans le soleil.

Mais il y a la mort qui avance.
Je voudrais qu’elle me désigne en premier.
Un jour, je te regarderai enfin dans les yeux.
Un sourire étrange aux lèvres,
tu me tendras la main et
au moment de la saisir,
la terre tremblera…

Ce sera tout mais TOI

TU vivras,
tu VIVRAS.

To Anne-Virginie

I am having a hard time sometimes
reaching you
My beloved.
My eyes sink someplace beyond your horizon.
You come forward, you get near,
But I don’t see.
I didn’t forget your flowing mane
That covered once my face
Nor the cradle made of words
That went with us everywhere
Under the sun’s rays.

But look, Death is coming our way ;
I so wish it’s going to choose me first.
One of these days I will gather the courage to look into your eyes
A strange smile lighting up my face ;
You will extend your hand in my direction
And precisely at that moment
The earth will shake.

That will be ALL

But you,
You will survive.
YOU WILL SURVIVE.

A Hédi Bouraoui

C’était un jour comme les autres
même la mort oubliait nos noms.

Mon amour n’était plus de saison
je le suivais pas à pas
dans la ville dévastée.
Les enfants n’avaient plus de membres
ils me souriaient pourtant.

Je ne voyais rien
ni leurs yeux suppliants
ni les grondements de la guerre.
Le sang coulait dans les ruelles ouvertes
je trébuchais sur les pavés disjoints.

C’était un jour comme un autre
mais la mort oubliait nos noms.

J’arrivais toujours trop tard
à l’Est, toujours à l’Est.

Quelqu’un cognait aux vitres des maisons béantes
et je ne voyais rien.
Mon amour n’était plus de saison
je te suivais pas à pas.
Les enfants ne souriaient plus
le sang inondait leurs yeux ouverts.

To Hédi Bouraoui

It was a day like any other day
Even death had forgotten our names

My love had been fallen
Out of style
I followed it step after step
Through this devastated town.
While children without limbs
Kept smiling at me.

I wasn’t seeing a thing,
Neither their begging eyes
Nor the rumbling of the war
Blood was flowing openly on the streets
While I was staggering there
on the broken pavement.

It was a day like any other day
Even death had forgotten our names

Arriving always too late
To that place toward the East, more and more to the East

Somebody was knocking at the windows of yawning houses
But I wasn’t paying attention
My love had been fallen
Out of style

I followed you step by step

The children missing their limbs
had stopped smiling
As blood flooded away
Their open wide eyes.

A Anne-Virginie

Je reviendrai de l’autre côté du monde
Pour te contempler encore une fois.
Il me suffira d’étendre le bras
Vers toi
Pour prendre mon envol dans la nuée
Des mots.
Du moins j’aimerais le croire
Encore une fois
Mais j’enlacerai seulement une poignée
De terre
Un fragment de rêve
Ou une parcelle d’illusion

Les mots ne me répondront plus
Ils ne regarderont plus dans ma direction
Comme à l’accoutumée
J’aurai beau claquer des doigts pour attirer
Leur attention
Les implorer d’une voix douce
Le monde cessera de répondre à mon attente
Il coulera entre mes doigts morts
Jusqu’à la fin des temps

To Anne-Virginie

I will return from the other side of the world
To contemplate you once more ;
All I would need would be to stretch my arm
Toward you
And I’d be able to start flying in a cloud
Of words.
At least I hoped this will happen
One more time

But all that I hold now in my arms is only a fistful of earth
A fragment of a dream
a slice of an illusion.

The words won’t answer me,
They wouldn’t even look in my direction
The way they used to in the past
I’d snap my fingers in vain to draw their attention
I’d implore them with a tender voice
But the world would have stopped
Answering my prayers
Flowing through my dead fingers
Till the end of times.

Copyright © 2014 Denis Emorine

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Responses

  1. beautiful poems Denis Emorine! Congratulations!


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