The country which is in my soul

February 28, 2014 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

Poem by Marc Chagall
Translated from the French by Neil Young

The country which is in my soul
Is mine alone.
I enter without a passport.
Like me,
It knows my sadness
And my solitude.
It numbs me
And shrouds me with its heavy scent.

For me the gardens flower.
Flowers are my creation.
The streets belong to me
But there are no houses,
They were destroyed in early childhood.
Its inhabitants roam in the air
In search of a home;
They dwell in my soul.

For this reason I smile
When my sun is barely shining,
Or I cry
Like a light rain
In the night.

There was a time when I wore two heads.
There was a time when these two faces
Covered themselves with an amorous dew
And were based on the scent of a rose.

Now it seems the same
To me when I return.
I look ahead
Towards a high portal
Behind which some walls spread themselves
Where faded thunder sleeps
And light breaks through.

The country which is in my soul
Is mine alone.

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Entry filed under: .en, .fr, .translation, Marc Chagall, The country which is in my soul. Tags: , , .

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