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Grace Haak Apr 2021
Les Roses de Saadi by Marceline Desbordes-Valmore

J'ai voulu ce matin te rapporter des roses;
Mais j'en avais tant pris dans mes ceintures closes
Que les noeuds trop serrés n'ont pu les contenir.

Les noeuds ont éclaté. Les roses envolées
Dans le vent, à la mer s'en sont toutes allées.
Elles ont suivi l'eau pour ne plus revenir.

La vague en a paru rouge et comme enflammée.
Ce soir, ma robe encore en est toute embaumée . . .
Respires-en sur moi l'odorant souvenir

The Roses of Saadi by Marceline Desbordes-Valmore

I wanted to bring you roses this morning;
But I had closed so many in my sash
That the knots were too tight to contain
them.

The knots split.
The roses blew away.
All blew off to the sea,
borne by the wind,
Carried to the water, never to return.

The waves looked red as if inflamed.
Tonight, my dress is still perfumed.
Breathe in the fragrant memory.









Eau de parfum: mémoire en bouteille
by Grace Haak

The remembrance reverberates.

I see a silk sash stuffed with splendor
Trinkets collected from a local vendor
Knots ******* as if a form of art
Thorns pressed up against my heart
But for you, I’d pierce my soul.

The recollection resonates.

I feel wind entangle my hair in twists
Matted and messy from soft sea mist
Dripping and damp from a walk too far
Only thought is getting to where you are
But for you, I’d run forever.

The reminiscence resounds.

I smell a sweet scent of rose
The kind that always tickles my nose
Stuck in an overpowering haze
A sickly aroma drags me into a daze
But for you, I’d plant a garden.

Sometimes, when I forget to forget you
I leave the sea with crushed petals
and stained hands.
The blood on my hands
is yours.

I’ll wither and wilt,
wondering why
you left all your flowers
when you said goodbye.

When I knock back my own perfume,
the roses re-echo
he loves me he loves me not he loves me he loves me not

Poor girl. He doesn’t even give you a thought.
damo na hin duro an 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 haak lamesa
takip-takip an kabutang pero dire ak nakakabasa,
han mga pulong nga akon nasurat,
mga letra nga nag buru-balighot ngan nag papaplanat.
waray na gihapon tinta an akon 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘱𝘦𝘯 ubos na an paypay han 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 nga sinurat-suratan hin magka-durudilain nga pangandoy, mga pulong nga ha inop nala natutuman—mga pulong nga karuyag ko unta mabatian—
tikang haimo mga im-im, an katam-is han mga saad nga sugad hin dugos,
an mga hinumduman nga sugad hin daan nga telegrama, nga ha akon kasing-kasing nakahipos.
gintatapo-tapo na an mga surat nga linukot, waray na ka abrihi tikang han kaparong han lanterna han aton gugma.
nga an dagaang nga an hadi akon na aabat, tumaghom na tikang han imo paglakat.
ngan sugad han 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 nga buot mag pahinumdom, akon man liwat nangalimtan an pag-lara han gugma,
waray na punto an mga sinurat, ighahapil ko na la ada.
translation

Many sticky notes now clutter my desk,  
Covering the chaos, yet I cannot read the rest—  
The words I've written, the letters that twist,  
Tangled and scattered, lost in the mist.  

My ballpoint is dry, ink all but gone,  
The pages of my notebook, faded and worn,  
Filled with dreams that never came true,  
Words I once longed to hear, whispered by you.  

From your whispers, the sweetness of promises,  
Like honeyed vows I once held as bliss,  
Old memories, like telegrams worn,  
Stored in my heart, weathered and torn.  

The crumpled letters are thrown in a pile,  
No longer opened, no longer worthwhile,  
Like the fading glow of a lantern’s light,  
The love we once shared, now out of sight.  

The warmth I once felt now slips from my hands,  
Fading as you leave, slipping through the sands.  
And just like the sticky notes meant to remind,  
I too forget how love once intertwined—  
The words no longer matter, they simply fall behind.

01.26.25
Daan Mar 2019
Ik had je aangeraden niet naar haar te luisteren.
Ik heb je gezegd dat haar luid geroepen woorden
niet meer betekenen dan wanneer anderen die fluisteren.

Je hangt aan een haak, in een net.
Je bent schaakmat gezet.
Je ringen zijn uitmuntend kostbaar maar
niet voor haar bestemd.
Je hebt na al die maanden
jezelf weggestemd.

Pak het vast, schud jezelf dooreen.
Je moet hier niet alleen doorheen.
Niets is perfect natuurlijk

— The End —