XII OBSTETRIQUE Je fus l'écho d'un baiser du mai qui passe Quand l'été pointait dans la rumeur du sang. Je fus l'écho. Tonnant, terreur jamais lasse, La nuit heurtait- martellement incessant Et flux coulant de plus loin que ces entrailles Où j'étais ver, univers - puis je connus Qu'un feu brûlait hors de l'écran des murailles Je devins rêve entre deux gouffres et n'eus Désir qu'éclat d'un acier crevant ma guangue (Oh ce tournoiement de comètes, l'assaut Par les remous vers l'abri pour en l'exsangue M'anéantir, connaître un premier berceau) Et devinais l'été qu'ils nommaient fournaise Le dragon aux écailles dures, le chant Pour oublier le poing tapant - douceur- l'aise: Flotter bercé, couler jusqu'au fond et chancelant Apprendre une nouvelle promesse - Hors le cachot débute l'enchantement Du pied fermé, du sol qui frappe et qu'on presse, Anéanti dans un recommencement - Alors siffla le jet qui creuse et qui vrille Son tourbillon, conque savante du son Je n'étais plus grotte qui borne et fourmille, Mais gouffre ouvert à la plus vaste leçon, (Un choc fut le début et le déclin, une Epouvante fit l'astre et le tourbillon Surgis du vide et recreusant du vide, unité Ouvrant dans l'espace le sillon D'où montèrent les divinités - les Nornes Blanches, Kali, Démogorgon, Pan, amants Enlacés sous la lumière de la Corne, Tous dérivant vers l'anéantissement)... Puis la blancheur fut l'aube de la paupière. Etais-je perle, illuminé de rayons? Douceur tintait que je croyais coutumière Du sang, du son, mêlés comme des maillons. Ai-je franchi les prtes de cet automne Enseveli plus loin que les souvenirs, Aux grottes d'où sourdent les chants monotones, Enchantement qui ne devait pas finir? Quand soufflèrent les vents glacés, quand la tente (Au début le mot à ce cri mêlé -moi - Le seul ou le dernier, qui veille et invente L'inextricable qui deviendra la loi Dont le cercle prévaudra) que tend la bise M'enseigna la neige coupante, le froid Figeant la peau, je sus qu'outre la chair grise S'achèverait cette paix dont j'étais roi. Je fus jeté, glaire de cris, de rebellions Par un hiver où tonnait le faux Prophète et quand les semailles étaient telles Que parmi les amandiers poussaient les faux. Michel Galiana (c) 1991

XII OBSTETRICS Echo of a kiss blown by leaving May was I When summer was dawning, causing blood to rumour. And echo of the frightful thunder which, that night, Brandished relentlessly, stubbornly its hammer. A stream flowed from further away than these entrails Where I crawled, both a worm and a universe, till I found that a fire burnt behind the screen of walls. I was a dream between two abysses and still Had only one desire: a steel to break the plate Of my armour (There were whirling comets, assaults Surrounding my shelter, aimed to annihilate My bloodless self that would a cradle never know.) And I felt the summer which they called a furnace, Hard-scaled Leviathan, perceived the soothing air Sung to lull hammering fists - a pleasure, a mildness: For I could float or sink to the bottom and hear, Reeling, a new promise that to me now was made: -Outside of the dungeon begins the enchantment Of the foot you can stamp, of the ground you can tread. Once annihilated, I was now renascent! But now a jet has hissed and bored a whirlwind And cupped it to a conch which deftly trapped the sound. I was no more a cave, closed and swarming within, But a chasm gaping for a vaster lesson. (All began and ended with a shock: it was fear That had born star and whirl which appeared suddenly In the void and which dug their way there to make clear In the space a furrow for the divinities To rise from - They are called the White Norns and Kali, Demogorgon, Pan and stood in tender embrace Under the light that spilt from the Horn of plenty, Forgetful of the fate that will them all efface.) Then, whiteness set to dawn through the closed eyelid, -I wondered if I was pearl-like, irradiating- And a sweet chime tinkled that, as I imagined, Used to merge blood and sound like, in a chain, the link. Did I pass the threshold, at last, of that Autumn Buried in depths to which remembrance can't extend, In the caves from which rise songs in a monotone, Casting on me a spell that never was to end? When icy winds started to blow and once the tents (From the outset the word mingling with that cry: -me- The only or last one which watchfully invents Entanglements that are destined some day to be Insuperable law) stretched by the North wind Had taught me chapping snow and paralysing cold, I knew that as soon as I'd strip my flesh coating The quietness would cease of which I had kept hold. I was thrown, phlegm of cries mixed up with sedition In a winter when raged the German false prophet And when the fields were sown in such curious fashion That among almond trees grew both scythes and fakes.

Transl. Christian Souchon 01.01.2006 (c) (r) All rights reserved

Note :

Michel Galiana est né en janvier 1933.
L'année 1933 vit Hitler devenir chancelier et fut marquée en France par l'affaire Stavisky, auteur de l'escroquerie des faux bons de Bayonne.
Le rescapé de l'avortement se considérait-il aussi comme un faux?

Michel Galiana was born in January 1933.
In the year 1933 Hitler became Chancellor. The same year was marked in France by the Stavisky case involving fake saving certificates emitted in Bayonne.
Did the survivor of attempted abortion also consider himself a fake?

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