Too Soon Old
What do you see nurses? . . What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . when you’re looking at me?
A crabby old man, . . . . . not very wise,
Uncertain of habit . . . . . with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food . . . . . . and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice . . ‘I do wish you’d try!’
Who seems not to notice . . . the things that you do.
And forever is losing . .. . . . . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . . . .. lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . . . The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking? . . . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . . you’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am, . . .. . . as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . . . . as I eat at your will
I’m a small child of Ten . . . . with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters . . . . . . . who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen .. . with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now . . . . a lover he’ll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty. . . . . .My heart gives a leap.
Remembering the vows . . . . . that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . . . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . . . . . With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons . have grown and are gone,
But my woman’s beside me . . .. . to see I don’t mourn.
At Fifty, once more, . . Babies play ’round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me .
Dark days are upon me . … My wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . . . . . . . I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing . . . . . young of their own.
And I think of the years … And the love that I’ve known.
I’m now an old man . . . . . . . and nature is cruel.
‘Tis jest to make old age. . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . . . . grace and vigor depart.
There is now a stone . . . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . . A young guy still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . . . . . . I remember the pain.
And I’m loving and living . . . . . . . . . life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . . . . gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people . . . . open and see..
Not a crabby old man Look closer . . see . . . ME!!
Maintenant il me reste à rendre à Dave Griffith le poème qu’il a écrit il y a de cela près de 20 ans. Il a raconté de la manière la plus simple sa propre vie la rythmant avec élégance. C’est un bien joli flash-back intitulé « TROP VITE VIEUX » et qui se termine par cette inexorable décrépitude du corps et quelque fois de l’esprit.
La belle histoire imaginée autour de ce poème est naturellement fausse, mais grâce à elle ce texte fait le tour de la planète ce qui offre au plus jeunes l’occasion d’un regard de tendresse pour ceux qui le sont moins (jeunes).
Un merci à Dave pour ce petit poème, éloquent et sans prétention. Traduction française en cours !
Guadeloupe Attitude 