Ode to Titi, Ode à Marzuyand & more…



Oh Marzuyand, toi sans qui
Le visage de Lochrist ne serait pas ce qu’il est
Je ne sais plus si je t’ai jamais vue de face
Petite silhouette sombre
Rabougrie sous la bruine bretonne
Un petit nœud de cheveux jaunes noués
Sous une petite coiffe défraichie

Tu sortais de ta maison
Au bout du petit village fermé
Drapée de l’ombre de ses habitants
Ses mesquineries, ses petitesses
Et toutes ses sombres névroses
Dans le châle sur tes épaules

Marzuyand sans enfants ni famille
Personnage de nos contes de fées
Petite vieille silencieuse
Magnifique Sorcière maléfique
Victime de tous les complots enfantins
Tu avançais dans le brouillard,
Sur la route vers le village
Même pas bretonne de Gauguin.

Je voudrais ici te rendre la vie
Te rendre ce qu’on t’avait enlevé
La dignité
Restaurer dans ma mémoire
Ton visage complet
Rien que pour faire la paix
Pour te demander pardon
Il serait temps
Peut-être parce que j’ai un peu peur
A l’heure de mes cinquante ans
De te ressembler un jour
Et que des gamins méchants
Viennent lancer des pétards
Devant ma porte pour s’enfuir en riant.

No-one in my family knows where the name of Marzuyand comes from or what it means, but it was how we called the woman who lived two houses down from my grandmother’s house.



My apologies to you Titi,
As to all I have not loved well.

No dog was ever given
A more ridiculous name to start with
Or a twitchier little self
I remember your stingy tail
Your common white and black thin coat
Or was it brown?

Poor sorry excuse for a dog
Runt of the mutt-iest of litters
Who came from I don’t know where
I wish I could say I cared for a dog
In my reasonably happy childhood
But that was not close to the truth

Almost hampering our lives
Rather than adding to them,
With your unending erratic high-pitched barks
Aggressive gnawing of our shoes
Frightening passers-by at the gate
With your crazy teeth-baring and growls

It’s not that we were cruel
Or animal haters
We wanted to love you
But did you have to eat your own poop?

Where did you go when you left our house
When you ran away of your own volition?
Did you escape to the wasteland across the street?
Did you find a better place?
(As in here, on earth?)

I don’t want to wish you ill
The laurel tree that you watered
Missed you for a long time.


One always gets lost in airport parking lots
In Paris, Boston, Seattle
Guided by odd combinations
Of numbers and letters on signs
With erratic arrows indicating motion
Frantic with emotion and haste
Under the neon lights of
Level P1, P2, P3, P4
Carry-ons in tow
Fingering ticket in pocket
Through industrial-size rooms and covered passages
Elevators, hallways, corridors

Blabbering incoherent tidbits
And intently listening to the same
The way crazed moths get dizzy
Seeking the way out
Looking for the light out of the tunnel.

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