Legends of our ancestors spoke of ogres
Horrible ogres, people-eaters.
History speaks of races of savages
In the depth of the great forest: people-eaters.
Horrible and disgusting to think about.
However there is in our midst, near to us
People eating people. Alive, yes, Ogres
Sucking their blood until the last drop.
And they strangle and comb and scrape and skin
Them until the last penny.
And you, work if you want, night and day, without rest
Like a work-horse. Worse.
Sunday, holiday, everyday without rest.
No rest other than the cemetery.
While they promenade, circulate, go
Like lightning in their cars here,
There, according to their pleasure.
The Ogres.
And you, poor soul, be careful not to be
On their path with your old cart
Or you old mare…
Watch out! Or you will be crushed like an egg,
Like a mushroom!
Well, you see well enough
The road there is entirely theirs…
Yet with a little luck, you might be able
To cross with a shower of insults,
In French of course
That’s a civilized language.

Translated by Lenora Timm

This poem in breton

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