Rain on Brittany. Rain
Night and day, no peace
No surcease
The earth’s drowned.
The Sowing threatened.
Ditches turned to pools
Roads to canals
The stream to a waterfall.
The valley’s hum
The landscape’s élan.
Raised from its great bed
The black-hued Leger
On each side grows wider
Its waters inflated
With the clay of muddy ports.
Reddish-yellow water.
Movement on the river
The sluice-gate booms
Spray and foam
Rise in the air
The meadow’s a lagoon
The mill an island
The uprooted alders on the bank lean a-slant
The masts of sunken boats
On the old Roman bridge
Its four stone arches
Still in line
(labor of another time)
Two men are chatting without a care:
The salmon, they say, will come up there
Fishermen … Ecstatic.

Chandelour [2 February] 1965

Translated by Lenora Timm

This poem in breton

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