Looking through the insides of a dog,
The moon rises over the ocean
In a silent warning.
Looking through the insides of a cat,
I can feel the water breathe through
the corners of my eye.
I love you, darling, but
The sound of the steamships
Makes me miserable,
And even though the moon is out
And my heart is open,
I beg you not to scream.
Il n'y a pas de médecin dans la maison de l'amour.
(There is no doctor in the house of love.)
A little boy is looking for his mother;
She is drowned in the river
Under the white birch tree.
Il n'y a pas de médecin dans la maison de l'amour.
(There is no doctor in the house of love.)
Now that I write this letter,
I feel very foolish, and all the begonias
Cannot wake me, cannot bring me out.
So I stumble through the letters.
Today I found the letter I.
I'm lonely, my love, but looking
Through the insides of a dog,
I can only hear the ocean,
I can only see the moon.
Mais c'est la fièvre, chérie, et il n'y a
pas
de médecin dans la maison de l'amour.
(But that's the fever, darling, and there is no
doctor in the house of love.)
____
*French: “a feverish state”
March 11, 1987
--Alexander Shaumyan