JULES SUPERVIELLE'
Without Walls
T he w hole sky is stained w ith ink like the fin ge rs of a boy .
Where's the school and the sa tchel?
Under the wood of the table , hide this hand away -
It too is covered with black stains.
Forty children 's stares are chopping up my solitude.
What have I do ne with the ocea n,
In what airy w ildern ess did the fl yin g fi sh di e?
I'm sixteen yea rs old somewhere o n ea rth and in th e hi gh mo untains,
I'm sixteen yea rs old on the rivers and around N o tre Dame,
In the Lycee J anson
Where I see time passing across the wa tch-face of my palms.
Th e pounding of my hea rt keeps me from hea rin g the teacher's vo ice.
I'm th o ro ughl y afraid of life and its hobn ail ed boo ts
And my fea r makes me so ashamed that my glance goes astray
And is lost in the di stance where second th oughts can never appea r.
The sound of ho rses o n asphalt is shining thro ugh my muggy soul
And is mirro red wron g side up , cri ss- crossed by beams of light.
A fl y va nishes into the sand inside the ceiling,
Latin makes camp around us and shows us its leprosy;
I can no longe r dare to uch a thing o n the table o f blac k wood .
Wh en I raise my eyes, at the Orient o f the lecture stand
I see a girl wh ose face is like beauty,
Whose face is like pain, like necessity.
A gi rl is sitting there, she makes her hea rt shimmer
Like a feveri sh bangle set with remo te prec io us stones.
A cloud of boys keeps on glidin g steadily towa rds her lips
But never appea rs to adva nce.
It seems she's wea ring a ga rter, she exists fa r frolll pleasure,
And her half naked leg, restless, swings bac k and fo rth .
H er throa t is so alo ne in th e wo rld that we' re terrifi ed she mi ght be
cold ,
(Is that my voice asking if th e windows could be closed?)
She would like to be in love with all the boys in the class,
' ''Sans Mu rs" is from
Gmvilalions
1925 by Jules Supervielle. Copyright
©
Ed itions
Gallimard 1925. T ranslated with permission.
