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Jacques Prévert
Translations by Anne Berkeley
PICASSO'S CONSTITUTIONAL
On a perfectly round real porcelain plate
a real apple is posing
face to face
with a realist painter
vainly trying to paint
the apple as it really is
But
the apple won't let him
the apple's got its own view
and a few tricks left in the bag
and the apple won't keep still
on its real plate
surreptitiously shifting without really moving
and like the Duc de Guise disguised in gauze
to evade the gaze of those portraitist guys
it's drawing a veil
slyly masquerading as a fine piece of fruit
it won't co-operate
And so the realist begins to realise
that every aspect of applehood's against him
and like some poor beggar suddenly
at the mercy of well-meaning donations
and the target of every charitable appeal
by every imaginable volunteer corps
for the relief of poverty
the poor realist painter
suddenly finds himself beggared
by the wealth of free associations
the artful apple conjures up: apple trees
Paradise on Earth and Eve then Adam
with watering can trellis snakes and ladders adders
Canada the Hesperides Johnny Appleseed
the Swiss and William Tell
Sir Isaac Newton upon whom the distinction
of discovering the First Law of Universal Gravitation
fell
Northern Spy Granny Smith apple pie Emmanuelle
the entire applecart
original sin
and Aboriginal art
and the bewildered painter loses sight of what he
was going to paint
and falls asleep
Now along comes Picasso
who happens to be passing on his daily constitutional
through life
and sees the apple and the plate and the painter fast
asleep
Fancy trying to paint an apple
says Picasso
and eats it
and the apple says Thank you
and Picasso breaks the plate
and goes on his way rejoicing
and the painter, yanked out of his dreams
like a tooth
finds himself all alone in front of his unfinished
canvas
and right in the middle of his broken china
the frighteningly real pips of truth.
CHURCH SCHOOL
Hearing talk of the classless society
the child dreams of the whole world bunking off school
And smiles with indulgent indifference
when the teacher of Vive la France
tells him he's come last
And when the same teacher
preaches I Believe in Banking
the child doesn't understand a blessed word
of any of his holy homilies or hell-fire sermons
and pays no attention
to all this Edification
And he smiles when he learns
that even in French History
he is the very last
in the Catechism of Honest Endeavour
You ought to be ashamed of yourself
the Mortificator tells him
Why should I be ashamed
asks the child
Haven't you told me yourself
not so very long ago
that the last will be the first
Well I'm waiting
THE LETTER
the door someone opened
the door someone shut
the chair where someone sat
the cat someone stroked
the fruit someone bit
the letter someone read
the chair someone knocked over
the door someone opened
the road where someone's still running ahead
the wood someone is plunging through
the river someone throws himself into
the hospital where someone lies dead
PLACE DU CARROUSEL
Place du Carrousel
as a fine summer's day was ending:
horse blood
accidental, unbridled
streamed
onto the cobbles
and the horse stood there
immobilised
on three hooves
the other injured
injured and torn
hanging off
Standing
right beside him
immobilised
his driver
and the stopped carriage
useless as a broken clock
And the horse made no sound
didn't complain
didn't whinny
he just stood there
waiting
and he was so noble so tragic so simple
such a rational creature
it was impossible to hold back tears
O
lost gardens
forgotten fountains
sunlit meadows
O suffering
glory and mystery of adversity
blood and gleams of light
wounded beauty
Fraternity.
TO PAINT A BIRD
First paint a cage
with an open door
then paint
something pretty
something plain
something elegant
something practical
for the bird
Then prop the canvas up against a tree
in a garden
in a wood
or in a forest
Hide behind the tree
without saying a word
without moving a muscle...
Sometimes the bird comes quickly
but he could equally well take years and years
before making up his mind
Don't give up
wait
wait years if necessary
whether the bird comes quickly or slowly
has nothing to do with the picture's success
When the bird comes
if he comes
keep absolutely quiet
wait for the bird to come into the cage
and when he's in
gently shut the door with your brush
then
one by one paint out all the bars
taking care not to touch a single feather
Then paint the tree
choosing the finest branch for the bird
and paint all the green leaves and the wind's freshness
the dust in the sunlight
and the noise of all the insects in the grass in the
summer heat
and then wait for the bird to decide to sing
If the bird doesn't sing
that's a bad sign
a sign that the picture's bad
but if he does sing that's a good sign
a sign that you may sign
So now you very very gently pluck out
one of the bird's feathers
and write your name in the corner of the picture.
THE GAOLER'S SONG
Where are you going, handsome gaoler
with that bloodstained key
I'm going to my own true love
to set her free
if not too late from where I gaoled her
most tenderly most cruelly
in my secret heart and my deepest despair
in lies of tomorrows
in lovers' vows
I want to free her
I want her to be free
free to forget me
free to walk free
free to return
and love me anew
or love another
if he loves her too
and if she should leave
me to my fate
all I have
my two cupped palms
will treasure for ever:
the memory of
her breasts' sweet weight
moulded by love
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