Three Poems

Abstract

[1] In the photograph, the men are on a beach. Two of them in short, light bathing trunks. One is frail, the other, athletic, standing squarely on thick, muscular legs, his trunks folded over at the waist. They’re squinting into a sun that casts their shadows, almost life-sized, beside them on the sand. A third man is stretched out at their feet, fully dressed, city shoes, suit coat, dark glasses. They’re all in the foreground, looking at the photographer. Behind them, just far enough away that it’s clear that he’s not with them, yet close enough that it looks like he’s trying to get their attention, a young boy is stretched out on the sand in the exact same position as the third, and parallel to him. White shirt, sarouel, black belt tied high on the waist. He’s looking at the three of them. In the opposite corner, the silhouette of a fifth man in the distance, naked, carrying his clothes under his arm. A darker spot marks his pubis, contrasting with the white folds of the cold, pale cloth clinging to the genitals of the two bathers, toward whom he turns his gaze. On the horizon is a line of white buildings, their geometric forms underscored by the darker line of the breakwater and the boats at anchor, their masts barely visible against the sky. Along with the diagonal line of the shore, they form a triangle that stretches from one end of the picture to the other. “It was somewhere at the beginning of summer” [2] In the center of the picture, two men are sitting in wooden chairs at a small round table. Behind them, you can see the trunks of several palms, a gnarled olive, and leafy shadows on the sandy ground. They are in the light. Their shadows are angled slightly to the left and mix with those of the fronds of a palm tree that is planted farther back, behind the photographer. They both have their legs crossed. One, sitting up straight, looks off to the side; the other sits back, relaxed, with his hips at the very edge of the seat, one arm slung over the armrest, and his upper body angled toward the other’s, his bare legs stretching gracefully out under the table. His mouth is slightly open. And he is smiling. “a garden in sun and shade” [3] Four men, standing side by side in the middle of an empty field crossed by two large tire tracks; they’re walking along them. Behind and around them, empty space. They look uncomfortable; they’re bundled up in too many layers of clothes that are all too light. It’s cold. It may have snowed. That morning, they hauled everything out of the closet that could possibly keep them warm – long johns, old raincoats, army jackets, woolen trousers, long socks, overcoats with worn velvet collars. One of them is even wearing plus fours. They’re smiling, their chins tucked down into their scarves, their shoulders hunched up a bit. Two of them have linked their arms, and a third leans in, trying to fit more gracefully into the frame. “light without sound” Translations from the French By Cole Swensen above Photo from family albums of the writer’s uncles in Tunisia. Courtesy of the author. Born and raised in Paris, Lola Créïs has collaborated on several literary journals, including the Cahier Critique de Poésie at the Centre International de Poésie Marseille, for which she edited special issues on Bernard Collin and Danielle Mémoire. She is also the co-founder of the literary journal Numéro Zéro. These texts are part of a seventeenpoem series published by the Centre International de Poésie Marseille in 2013. Cole Swensen is a poet, translator, and founding editor of La Presse (www. lapressepoetry.com). Three Poems by Lola Créïs WORLDLITERATURETODAY.ORG 45 ...