Accueil > Les poêmes de W.B.Yeats > On a political prisonner

On a political prisonner

Le prisonnier politique - W. B. YEATS - Tir de Mickael Robartes and the Dancer 1921.

mardi 27 mai 2008, par olivier

Ce poème est une méditation imagée sur la perte de contact avec le réel et l’oubli face à l’isolement. Je n’en dirai pas plus !!!

On a political prisonner

She had but little patience knew,

From childhod on,had now so much,

A grey gull lost its fear and flew

Down to her cell and there alit,

And there endured her fingers’ touch

And from her fingers ate its bit.

Did she in touching that lone wing,

Recall the years before her mind,

Became a bitter, an abstract thing,

Her thouhgt some popular enmity :

Blind and leader of the blind,

Drinking the foul ditch where they lie ?

When long ago I saw her ride,

Under Ben Bulden to the meet,

The beauty of her contry –side,

With all youth’s lonely wildness stirred,

She seemed to have grown clean and sweet,

Like any rock-bred, sea-borne bird :

Sea-borne, or balanced on the air,

When first it sprang out of the nest,

Upon some lofty rock to stare,

Upon the cloudy caoppy,

While under its storm-beaten breast,

Cried out the hollows of the sea.