Edmond Jabès: Water

Before, there is water.
After, there is water;
during, always during.

– Water of the lake?
– Water of the river?
– Water of the sea?

Never water on water.
Never water for water;
but water where there is no more water;
but water in the dead memory of water.

To live in living death
between remembrance and oblivion
between
thirst and thirst.

Water arrives.
Ceremony.
Water settles and flows.
Fertility.

Always water for water.
Always water on water.
Abundance.

(The desert was my home.
The desert is my journey,
my wandering.)

Always between two horizons;
between horizon and cry.
Further.

Sand quivers like water
in the unquenchable thirst.

Torment which night Julls.

Our steps issue thirst.
Absence.

– Water of the lake?
– Water of the river?
– Water of the sea?

Soon will come rains
to wash the souls of the dead.

Let burnt shadows pass,
mornings with sacrificed trees.
Smoke. Smoke.

(Former críes as fruit,
as flowers,
as leaves
and their long, out-stretched arms.)

To each arm, its horizon.
To each flower, to each fruit,
their season.
To the leaf, its incline.

The sky seeks the earth.
To write would be to let words pour
to irrigate the soil.
All sentence is rain
and light.

I write the desert.
Light is so strong
rain has vanished.

There is only sand
where I pass.



Translated from the French by Michael March