Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Oscarine Bosquet

I DON’T REMEMBER

There’s not much to remember
I must have lived nearby the whole time
without being elsewhere either
I would have remembered

I don’t remember a day when everything or something changed.

– Remember to stay alive.




I mix up the places where the men who fall fall.

I don’t remember where the frontlines are
if we can move around them
and bury them
press fingers along them
massage them with our feet
run over them without getting our feet caught.

I don’t remember the story nor the geography which is accom-
plished I don’t remember the situation of the countries one next
to the other except alphabetically
Iran touches Iraq touches Kuwait
the K of Kurdistan in Turkey in Iraq
the K of Congo
in Kasai Kiwu Katanga
the interchanging vowels of Rwanda Burundi Uganda
I remember the sonorant similarities
Daghestan Kazakhstan Kirghizistan near Afghanistan
the ghijk paths to oil
the S of the skeletons in Somalia Sudan
and the E of the bones in Eritrea Ethiopia




I don’t remember what the dailies that I read don’t speak about
nor what they cite as significant events I don’t remember having
heard one day about it nor that anybody told me about what I
don’t remember.

Am I the memory indifferent to what I don’t remember ?

Was it before I could remember that we had already resolved to
want to lose the memory for those who won’t remember.

Though there are things I know I don’t have the right to say that
I don’t remember

prodigious or terrible things deliberately scrambled in a past that
I would no longer be part of as if that were possible.




The letters that I don’t remember
leap without me being able to decode them
those which rustle
insinuating just that
consigned out
I mustn’t breathe
or move.

I must refind these words if I don’t
I’m going to completely lose the trail
the trail left by the bodies
instead of possible invented
worlds vanished we don’t know where.

I’m told these words exaggerate
it’s more complicated you cannot
say things so
simply on one side
the killers and on the other
the dead.

It would therefore not be brutally simple
and only the words would be inhuman.




I recite what I don’t remember do remember
looking for a place in the story
that is not in your indifferent language
but in the bribes which come from elsewhere
elsewhere to which we must belong
instead of vanishing us with what we make disappear.

We have to blow more air around news so it
flies in circle around us in the evenings
with swallows who cry
I don’t remember where lying down
the hungry ones from whom I steal
then chuck the crumbling food
the minuscule letters of the news fall
blotting one into another
skeletons in all positions
very pretty photographs with big eyes
you have to blow a lot of air
around the men who fall
so that they rise in a circle
in the evening around us
with the swallows
who sing out
ellipses
but give back their faces.




Must remember what would
thrust us in act-i-
on day
becomes
to daily the lines
private crossing in an outside.

Our running jump by all the weathers stuck day
under day over
we can
we
rise up
even if we hear the deadpan
in mocking words rise up without disappearing.

In my mouth us
which us ?

JE NE ME SOUVIENS PAS

JE NE ME SOUVIENS PAS

Il n’y a pas grand-chose dont je me souvienne
j’ai dû vivre à côté tout le long
sans être ailleurs non plus
je m’en souviendrais

je ne me souviens pas qu’un jour tout ou quelque chose ait basculé.

– Souviens-toi de rester vivante.




Je mélange les lieux où tombent les hommes qui tombent.

Je ne me souviens pas où sont les lignes de front
si nous pouvons mettre autour
et les enfouir
appuyer ses doigts le long
les masser puis les marcher avec les pieds
dessus courir sans se prendre les pieds dedans.

Je ne me souviens pas de l’histoire ni de la géographie de ce qui
s’accomplit je ne me souviens pas de la situation des pays les uns
par rapport aux autres sauf alphabétiquement
l’Iran touche l’Irak touche le Koweït
le K de Kurdistan dans Turquie dans Irak
les K de Congo
dans Kasaï Kiwu Katanga
les voyelles entremêlées de Rwanda Burundi Ouganda
je me rappelle les proximités sonnantes
Daghestan Kazakhstan Kirghizistan près d’Afghanistan
les voies ghijk de l’acheminement du pétrole
les S de squelettes dans Somalie Soudan
et les os du E de Erythrée Ethiopie.




Je ne me souviens pas de ce dont les journaux que je lis ne
parlent pas ni de ce qu’ils citent comme événements de
référence je ne me souviens même pas en avoir un jour entendu
parler ni qu’on m’ait raconté ce dont je ne me souviens pas.

Suis-je le souvenir indifférent de ce dont je ne me souviens pas ?

Etait-ce avant que je puisse me souvenir qu’on avait déjà résolument
voulu perdre la mémoire envers ceux qui ne se souviendraient pas ?

Pourtant il y a des choses je le sais dont je n’ai pas le droit de dire
que je ne m’en souviens pas

des choses prodigieuses ou terribles délibérément brouillées dans un
passé dont je ne ferais plus partie comme si cela était possible.




Les lettres de ce dont je ne me souviens pas
sautent sans que je puisse déchiffrer
ce qu’elles bruissent
insinuant juste que
reléguées hors
je ne dois plus respirer
pas bouger.

Je dois retrouver les mots de ce dont sinon
je vais perdre tout à fait la trace
la trace que laissent les corps
au lieu des mondes inventés
possibles disparus on ne sait pas où.

On me dit que ces mots exagèrent
c’est plus compliqué tu ne peux pas
dire les choses si
simplement d’un côté
les tueurs et de l’autre
les morts.

Ce ne serait donc pas brutalement simple
et seuls les mots seraient inhumains.




Je récite ce dont je ne me souviens pas me souviens
à la recherche d’une place dans le récit
qui n’est pas dans ta langue indifférente
mais dans les bribes qui viennent d’ailleurs
ailleurs auquel nous devrions appartenir
au lieu de nous dissiper avec ce que nous faisons disparaître.

Il faudrait souffler beaucoup plus d’air autour des nouvelles qu’elles
volent en cercle autour de nous le soir
avec les hirondelles qui crient
je ne me souviens pas où s’enfoncent
les affamés auxquels je vole
puis largue la nourriture émiettée
chutent les lettres minuscules des nouvelles
effacées les unes dans les autres
sur les squelettes dans toutes les positions
de très jolies photographies avec de grands yeux
il faudrait souffler beaucoup plus d’air
autour des hommes qui tombent
pour qu’ils remontent en cercle
le soir autour de nous
avec les hirondelles
qui crient
ellipses
mais rapportent leurs visages.




Nous souvenir de ce qui nous élan
cerait dans l’ac
tion jour
seoir
jourdir des lignes
privées traversantes de dans hors.

Nos élans par tous les temps frappés jour
dessus jour dessous
nous pouvons
nous
soulever
même si nous entendons le comique
des mots moqués se relever sans disparaître.

Dans ma bouche nous
quel nous ?
Poems
Poems of Oscarine Bosquet
Close

I DON’T REMEMBER

There’s not much to remember
I must have lived nearby the whole time
without being elsewhere either
I would have remembered

I don’t remember a day when everything or something changed.

– Remember to stay alive.




I mix up the places where the men who fall fall.

I don’t remember where the frontlines are
if we can move around them
and bury them
press fingers along them
massage them with our feet
run over them without getting our feet caught.

I don’t remember the story nor the geography which is accom-
plished I don’t remember the situation of the countries one next
to the other except alphabetically
Iran touches Iraq touches Kuwait
the K of Kurdistan in Turkey in Iraq
the K of Congo
in Kasai Kiwu Katanga
the interchanging vowels of Rwanda Burundi Uganda
I remember the sonorant similarities
Daghestan Kazakhstan Kirghizistan near Afghanistan
the ghijk paths to oil
the S of the skeletons in Somalia Sudan
and the E of the bones in Eritrea Ethiopia




I don’t remember what the dailies that I read don’t speak about
nor what they cite as significant events I don’t remember having
heard one day about it nor that anybody told me about what I
don’t remember.

Am I the memory indifferent to what I don’t remember ?

Was it before I could remember that we had already resolved to
want to lose the memory for those who won’t remember.

Though there are things I know I don’t have the right to say that
I don’t remember

prodigious or terrible things deliberately scrambled in a past that
I would no longer be part of as if that were possible.




The letters that I don’t remember
leap without me being able to decode them
those which rustle
insinuating just that
consigned out
I mustn’t breathe
or move.

I must refind these words if I don’t
I’m going to completely lose the trail
the trail left by the bodies
instead of possible invented
worlds vanished we don’t know where.

I’m told these words exaggerate
it’s more complicated you cannot
say things so
simply on one side
the killers and on the other
the dead.

It would therefore not be brutally simple
and only the words would be inhuman.




I recite what I don’t remember do remember
looking for a place in the story
that is not in your indifferent language
but in the bribes which come from elsewhere
elsewhere to which we must belong
instead of vanishing us with what we make disappear.

We have to blow more air around news so it
flies in circle around us in the evenings
with swallows who cry
I don’t remember where lying down
the hungry ones from whom I steal
then chuck the crumbling food
the minuscule letters of the news fall
blotting one into another
skeletons in all positions
very pretty photographs with big eyes
you have to blow a lot of air
around the men who fall
so that they rise in a circle
in the evening around us
with the swallows
who sing out
ellipses
but give back their faces.




Must remember what would
thrust us in act-i-
on day
becomes
to daily the lines
private crossing in an outside.

Our running jump by all the weathers stuck day
under day over
we can
we
rise up
even if we hear the deadpan
in mocking words rise up without disappearing.

In my mouth us
which us ?

I DON’T REMEMBER

There’s not much to remember
I must have lived nearby the whole time
without being elsewhere either
I would have remembered

I don’t remember a day when everything or something changed.

– Remember to stay alive.




I mix up the places where the men who fall fall.

I don’t remember where the frontlines are
if we can move around them
and bury them
press fingers along them
massage them with our feet
run over them without getting our feet caught.

I don’t remember the story nor the geography which is accom-
plished I don’t remember the situation of the countries one next
to the other except alphabetically
Iran touches Iraq touches Kuwait
the K of Kurdistan in Turkey in Iraq
the K of Congo
in Kasai Kiwu Katanga
the interchanging vowels of Rwanda Burundi Uganda
I remember the sonorant similarities
Daghestan Kazakhstan Kirghizistan near Afghanistan
the ghijk paths to oil
the S of the skeletons in Somalia Sudan
and the E of the bones in Eritrea Ethiopia




I don’t remember what the dailies that I read don’t speak about
nor what they cite as significant events I don’t remember having
heard one day about it nor that anybody told me about what I
don’t remember.

Am I the memory indifferent to what I don’t remember ?

Was it before I could remember that we had already resolved to
want to lose the memory for those who won’t remember.

Though there are things I know I don’t have the right to say that
I don’t remember

prodigious or terrible things deliberately scrambled in a past that
I would no longer be part of as if that were possible.




The letters that I don’t remember
leap without me being able to decode them
those which rustle
insinuating just that
consigned out
I mustn’t breathe
or move.

I must refind these words if I don’t
I’m going to completely lose the trail
the trail left by the bodies
instead of possible invented
worlds vanished we don’t know where.

I’m told these words exaggerate
it’s more complicated you cannot
say things so
simply on one side
the killers and on the other
the dead.

It would therefore not be brutally simple
and only the words would be inhuman.




I recite what I don’t remember do remember
looking for a place in the story
that is not in your indifferent language
but in the bribes which come from elsewhere
elsewhere to which we must belong
instead of vanishing us with what we make disappear.

We have to blow more air around news so it
flies in circle around us in the evenings
with swallows who cry
I don’t remember where lying down
the hungry ones from whom I steal
then chuck the crumbling food
the minuscule letters of the news fall
blotting one into another
skeletons in all positions
very pretty photographs with big eyes
you have to blow a lot of air
around the men who fall
so that they rise in a circle
in the evening around us
with the swallows
who sing out
ellipses
but give back their faces.




Must remember what would
thrust us in act-i-
on day
becomes
to daily the lines
private crossing in an outside.

Our running jump by all the weathers stuck day
under day over
we can
we
rise up
even if we hear the deadpan
in mocking words rise up without disappearing.

In my mouth us
which us ?
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