Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Pierre Alferi

OTHER METHODS

When
Sunday
Gets you down
Do the Hausa
The Aka
The Jivaro.


When the iron shutters
Fall and people
Get that floury look
Like fillets of whiting, Sunday
Gets you down you say
You’ll never do anything

                                 Then
Do the Hausa that mimics the horn-bill
Stuck in the bulrushes two three leaves
On the head for the tail
Raised arm bent hand
Fingers folded into a beak the cry
Completes the mouth
Pursed-lipped

                                   Do
The Aka baby pygmy
Lulled at the entrance to the hut
Early in the morning very early
By the yodel his mother still young
And beautiful hums low
Very low because she’s still half-asleep
Hopes you’ll leave her another hour
And by her cousin still young and beautiful
Also with beautiful breasts in
Counterpoint redoubtable
Counterpoint you open an eye
Ouhou ouhou ouhou
You turn over in the odour
Of last night’s fire

                                  Do
The Jivaro that grates
Its creeper packaging the turnings
Spits makes the red liquid
Run cooks it dips
Its arrow in the jam
Takes off in a sigh no
One saw it no one saw
The bird fall and you
You are like it in the forest
State Sunday
Gone gone
With your prey your feathered phrase.

AUTRES MÉTHODES

AUTRES MÉTHODES

Quand
Le dimanche
T’abat
Fais l’Hausa
L’Aka
Le Jivaro.


Quand tombent les rideaux
De fer et les gens
Ont cet air nu enfariné
De filets de merlan, le dimanche
T’abat te dit
Tu ne feras rien jamais

                                    Alors
Fais l’Hausa qui fait le calao
Planqué dans les joncs deux trois feuilles
Sur le crâne pour la queue
Bras levé main penchée
Doigts repliés en bec le cri
S’obtient la bouche
En cul-de-poule

                         Fais
L’Aka bébé pygmée
Bercé à l’entrée de la hutte
Tôt le matin très tôt
Par le yodel que sa mère jeune
Et belle fredonne bas
Très bas parce qu’elle sommeille encore
Voudrait que tu lui laisses une heure
Et par sa cousine jeune et belle
Aussi elle a de beaux seins en
Contrepoint le fameux
Contrepoint tu ouvres un oeil
Ouhou ouhou ouhou
Tu te retournes dans l’odeur
Du feu d’hier soir

                             Fais
Le Jivaro qui râpe
Sa liane empaquette les copeaux
Crache fait couler le jus
Rouge le cuit trempe
Dans la confiture sa flèche
Part en un soupir nul
Ne l’a vue nul n’a vu
L’oiseau tomber et toi
Tu es comme elle dans la forêt
Domaniale dominicale
Disparu disparu
Avec ta proie ta phrase à plumes.
Close

OTHER METHODS

When
Sunday
Gets you down
Do the Hausa
The Aka
The Jivaro.


When the iron shutters
Fall and people
Get that floury look
Like fillets of whiting, Sunday
Gets you down you say
You’ll never do anything

                                 Then
Do the Hausa that mimics the horn-bill
Stuck in the bulrushes two three leaves
On the head for the tail
Raised arm bent hand
Fingers folded into a beak the cry
Completes the mouth
Pursed-lipped

                                   Do
The Aka baby pygmy
Lulled at the entrance to the hut
Early in the morning very early
By the yodel his mother still young
And beautiful hums low
Very low because she’s still half-asleep
Hopes you’ll leave her another hour
And by her cousin still young and beautiful
Also with beautiful breasts in
Counterpoint redoubtable
Counterpoint you open an eye
Ouhou ouhou ouhou
You turn over in the odour
Of last night’s fire

                                  Do
The Jivaro that grates
Its creeper packaging the turnings
Spits makes the red liquid
Run cooks it dips
Its arrow in the jam
Takes off in a sigh no
One saw it no one saw
The bird fall and you
You are like it in the forest
State Sunday
Gone gone
With your prey your feathered phrase.

OTHER METHODS

When
Sunday
Gets you down
Do the Hausa
The Aka
The Jivaro.


When the iron shutters
Fall and people
Get that floury look
Like fillets of whiting, Sunday
Gets you down you say
You’ll never do anything

                                 Then
Do the Hausa that mimics the horn-bill
Stuck in the bulrushes two three leaves
On the head for the tail
Raised arm bent hand
Fingers folded into a beak the cry
Completes the mouth
Pursed-lipped

                                   Do
The Aka baby pygmy
Lulled at the entrance to the hut
Early in the morning very early
By the yodel his mother still young
And beautiful hums low
Very low because she’s still half-asleep
Hopes you’ll leave her another hour
And by her cousin still young and beautiful
Also with beautiful breasts in
Counterpoint redoubtable
Counterpoint you open an eye
Ouhou ouhou ouhou
You turn over in the odour
Of last night’s fire

                                  Do
The Jivaro that grates
Its creeper packaging the turnings
Spits makes the red liquid
Run cooks it dips
Its arrow in the jam
Takes off in a sigh no
One saw it no one saw
The bird fall and you
You are like it in the forest
State Sunday
Gone gone
With your prey your feathered phrase.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère