A Poem for Lent

The more I read of Jules Supervielle (one of my Junior Paper poets), the more I love him, in particular his collection La Fable du Monde. I love him not just for his beautiful rhythms and his very pictorial style, but also for his theology. One commentator described it as “a lively Franciscan dialogue”; I see in him an attention to the sacramental quality of creation, an eye waiting to see God in the world. This untitled poem below has become one of my favorites.


Derrière trois murs et deux portes,
Vous ne pensez jamais à moi,
Mais la pierre, le chaud, le froid,
Et vous ne m'empêcherez pas
De vous défaire, et vous refaire,
À ma guise, au fond de moi-même
Comme les saisons font des bois
À la surface de la terre.


I heard the poem echoed this past Sunday in the cathedral, when the priest spoke about living sous la regard de l’Évangile (in the eyes, or in the sight of, the Gospel), about letting la parole de Dieu nous interprète (the Word of God interpret us), about Lent as a time when we ask the Spirit of God to change us and help us change.

For all y'all non-French-speaking friends, here is my own translation of the poem; it preserves, I hope, the speed and syllabic pattern, but not the end rhymes (which are ABBBCDBC).


Behind three walls and two doors,
You never think of me,
But stone, the cold, the heat
And you don’t stop me as I
Unmake you and remake you,
As I like, deep in myself
Like seasons make the woods
On the surface of the earth.