For As Far as the Eye Can See

FOR AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE

Biblioasis International Translation Series

General Editor: Stephen Henighan

I Wrote Stone: The Selected Poetry of Ryszard Kapuscinski
(Poland)

           
Translated by Diana Kuprel and Marek Kusiba

Good Morning Comrades
by Ondjaki (Angola)

           
Translated by Stephen Henighan

Kahn & Engelmann
by Hans Eichner (Austria-Canada)

           
Translated by Jean M. Snook

Dance With Snakes
by Horacio Castellanos Moya (El Salvador)

           
Translated by Lee Paula Springer

Black Alley
by Mauricio Segura (Quebec)

           
Translated by Dawn M. Cornelio

The Accident
by Mihail Sebastian (Romania)

           
Translated by Stephen Henighan

Love Poems
by Jaime Sabines (Mexico)

           
Translated by Colin Carberry

The End of the Story
by Liliana Heker (Argentina)

           
Translated by Andrea G. Labinger

The Tuner of Silences
by Mia Couto (Mozambique)

           
Translated by David Brookshaw

For as Far as the Eye Can See
by Robert Melançon (Quebec)

           
Translated by Judith Cowan

Robert Melançon

Translated from the French by

Judith Cowan

BIBLIOASIS

Copyright © Robert Melançon, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit
www.accesscopyright.ca
or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.

Originally published as
Le Paradis des apparences. Essai de poemes réalistes
by Éditions du Noroît, Montreal, Quebec, 2004.

FIRST EDITION

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Melançon, Robert, 1947-

[Paradis des apparences. English]

For as far as the eye can see [electronic resource] / Robert Melançon ; translated by Judith Cowan.

(Biblioasis international translation series)

Translation of: Le paradis des apparences : essai de poèmes réalistes.

Poems.

Electronic monograph issued in EPUB format.

Also issued in print format.

ISBN 978-1-92742-819-1

I. Cowan, Judith II. Title. III. Title: Paradis des apparences.

English. IV. Series: Biblioasis international translation series

PS8576.E455P3713 2013             C841'.54                C2012-907686-4

Edited by Stephen Henighan

Copy-edited by Dan Wells

Typeset by Chris Andrechek

Biblioasis acknowledges the ongoing financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Council for the Arts, Canadian Heritage, the Canada Book Fund; and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Arts Council. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada, through the National Translation Program for Book Publishing for out translation activities

For Charlotte

FOR AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

Snow, over roofs, and trees, and the ground,

in answer to the wash-tint that stands for sky,

is brighter than this inky light of day.

Between the post office chimney and

the radio tower, a pigeon's tracing

a hyberbole, erased behind him as he flies.

A wire-running squirrel has followed

the telephone line across to the maple tree,

of which he's exploring the ramifications.

One might search in vain for any other event

in this theatre reduced to almost nothing,

enclosed by mounting tiers of brick houses.

Between the buildings a bloated sun wanders

from window to window through a multi-storeyed

sky ruled off in glass and metal squares.

Sometimes a bird will hit this hardened

space, through which the far-off clouds parade.

The street sinks deeper into evening; cars

inch ahead in compact lines, stopping

at red lights that mirror the setting sun,

then beginning again their endless

caterpillar crawl. On the sidewalks,

the crowd trudges past under the sightless

gaze of mannequins in shop windows.

A cloud of newsprint birds flies up and off

across the square where night drifts down.

Soon waves of workers will be pouring out

in a swelling rush, more and more of them

from the subway station on the southeast corner.

A man wrapped in rags and crouching close

by the entrance to a tower built in a single block

of glass and metal, looks out of place with it all.

He sets a cardboard sign in front of him.

Cars pass, and a bus. Sunlight rinses down

over the cornices, runs from floor to floor and

reaches this man, weighed down by all of space.

A flock of pigeons sweeps down on the snow,

pecks at bread. This morning the park

is a rippled expanse over which the sun

sparkles too brightly for the eye to bear. Does

the soul retain such a blaze of whiteness? The

soul evolves into all that it has known; everything,

for the soul, is substance and accretion

as soon as a semblance of order appears.

Thus the trees become columns, holding aloft

the dome of heaven between walls of wind,

yet this temple collapses immediately

in a rush of unanimous wings.

Three birds you have no time to identify

fly through the leafless branches of the trees

against a backdrop of blue, of clouds, of sun.

The bells of a church summon you to noble

thoughts, but you do not pause for those.

A silent Buddha, sitting under a maple tree,

smokes meditatively while watching traffic.

A red dog pauses at the base of a trash can, sniffs,

leaves a few drops of urine and resumes his round.

You exchange a look with the contemplative

sitting on his bench. No doubt these tiny happenings

are written in him as well, and will be erased.

The books set out on the shelves, the sun

outlining squares on the table,

the bouquet of pens in a glass, a few pages

covered with a writing difficult to read,

crossed out. Beyond the windowpane,

the tracery of branches, the ranks of roofs

covered with snow, some brick walls, then

blue space for as far as the eye can see.

From time to time the wind lifts the red-

and-white flag on the post office. Some pigeons

go wheeling through the air. A squirrel runs

along the telephone wire, then disappears.

Above the streets, where there's nothing

but deserted space, the rising moon might

as well be an aspirin tablet, awash

in the sweep where the stars dissolve.