It is so peaceful on the ceiling!
It is the Place de la Concorde.
The little crystal chandelier
is off, the fountain is in the dark.
Not a soul is in the park.
Below, where the wallpaper is peeling,
the Jardin des Plantes has locked its gates.
Those photographs are animals.
The mighty flowers and foliage rustle;
under the leaves the insects tunnel.
We must go under the wallpaper
to meet the insect-gladiator,
to battle with a net and trident,
and leave the fountain and the square
But oh, that we could sleep up there...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I can enjoy and understand this poem, but I fail to understand the line 'Those photographs are animals.' The only image I take from that is the perspective generated by distance, but that doesn't do much. Any thoughts?