The Word “Bramble,” You Say
by John Hamel, Translated from Yves Bonnefoy
Bramble, you say, the word bramble,
And there comes to my mind those boats hung up in seaweed
Which on summer mornings children drag
Through darkened puddles with cries of joy.
For there are some words, do you see,
Where hangs on a trace of fire burning
At the first cresting of the world—and on charred wood
Where time deposits salt that seems a sign only to erase itself;
You too will come to love for yourself the glimmering water.
The flame that puts to sea is brief,
But when it expunges against a wave,
Iridescence threads the smoke.
The word “bramble” is like that plunging wood.
And poetry, if the word is not unspeakable, wouldn’t it be
To know how, just at the point where the star seems
To guide but to nowhere except death,
To keep on loving that light?
To love to split the almond of absence in words?
Yves Bonnefoy, Ce qui fut sans lumière © Mercure de France, 1987
ABOUT THE CREATOR
John Hamel grew up in New Jersey but now lives in Minnesota. He has been a school teacher all his life. He has published several poems and translations of poems in the past (Arion, Notre Dame Review, Atlanta Review, Forum Italicum, American Journal of Poetry). You can find him on Instagram: @johnerichamel