Poems from Baignères collection, Un pas vers l‘âme, l’Harmattan, Paris, 2014
This selection translated by Susan de Muth January 2015
Thomas Baignères 2014 by François Pragnères
It was a morning at the beginning of winter. The cold was starting to make itself felt, and the creases on my hands began to show, little by little. The night was still there, the sun was parading about. Not many people, just enough to remind me that I wasn’t alone. The atmosphere was light though misty and a little stifling. My breath rang out through the town like the cold outpouring of first-felt cares. I was free and confronted with myself. The sun was coming up and I started smiling to myself, discreetly, as if someone noticing me could have spoilt my joy, a rarity on this wintry morning. That evening, I retraced the same path as if the hours were filing by in the opposite direction. It was cold, the fog was sluggish and the darkness bit into at the dying light with affection. My hands were in my trouser pockets, touching myself as if to recall my physical existence, far away from it as I was. I strode along the streets as if all the walls in the world were crumbling around me, one by one. I breathed in the cloudy cold with pleasure and nostalgia. Straying between thought and dream, my spirit was escaping. I was taming the universe and the pieces of my life were coming together like an immense puzzle that had no real form. Time seemed to stand still, the feverish quarter of an instant. The silence seemed to last an eternity, a shattered eternity, crushed by the dazzling fury of the world. And I was there, thinking in the fog, thinking about silence, and eternity.
Swallows, memories of my childhood
A heart’s monotonous lament
Gentle hope of mystery
Set against grace
My swallows have all flown
My days have left me
The memory of this rancour
The eternal has awoken me
In the moment when
I see myself dying
Far away from sickly promises
I dream of the unreal
I fall asleep in the world
Awake in the Universe
Where this far from round earth
Becomes an era
My soul expires
Susurrates in the ear
The murmur of a silence
I cross your laughter into nothingness
Scent the spume of times past when I was dreaming still
I mark my passing in the grey, pallid tint of the age
The image of the past through curtains
Darkness hides
In the reflection of nothingness
My soul sails
On pools of nothingness
A thought takes flight
Drunk with hope
In pursuit of the unknown
A page torn by the wind
I mark my steps
With the black ink of time
A sigh wipes out
The fraction of a thought that would have changed to world
I can scent
The paralysis of existence
The emptiness of the soul