They said to me no, don't take any, no, don't touch, that is burning
hot. No, don't try to touch, to hold, that weighs too much, that
hurts.
They said to me: Read, write. And I tried, I took up a word, but it
struggled, it clucked like a frightened hen, wounded, in a cage of
black straw, spotted with old traces of blood.
TRANSLATED BY MARY ANN CAWS
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yves Bonnefoy died. Let's remember him with his wonderful philosophical poem, 'Passerby, Do You Want to Know? '