Those fair-haired little girls
with those little rings in their ears
they are all brides who will give birth
to men as big as trees
and when you try to persuade them
then you will notice that they are just wooden…
Red Devil,(1)
just forget the road!
Come here with us
and drink an orangeade,
backlit all the time
goes away...
Look at these highest northwestern
nights,dressed up with stars
and at the carts tracks, as icy
as the Frenchmen’s looks.
A wind-and-straw waltz:
the peasant death (2)
that climbs back to the rice fields
mimicking the voices of the frogs
and comes on the white threshing floor
in time, like the pieceworks mowers.
Voices from the sun, other voices,
from this country other abysses of lights,
earth and soul, nothing
more than the horse and the quinine;(3)
and hotel voices and whispers...
Lowland lovers,
queens of buses and bollards:(4)
their, their ancient discretion
is water and honey ...
Red Devil
just forget the road!
Come here with us
and drink an orangeade,
backlit all the time
goes away...
Fireflies are turning
in the circles of the night...
This darkness tastes like hay and faraway
and the song maybe tastes like ratafià...(5)