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Poetry by Vénus Khoury-Ghata

February 2012

We present seven new poems by Vénus Khoury-Ghata, winner of the 2011 Prix Goncourt de poésie.

As night became talkative

By Vénus Khoury-Ghata

Her kitchen utensils fled after the last guest deserted her

Translated from French by Marilyn Hacker

It was a November of bitter rain and snow blackened by use

By Vénus Khoury-Ghata

A child would liquefy as soon as a snowflake touched the ground.

Translated from French by Marilyn Hacker

Multilingual

How to find the mother when her face disappeared behind the hills

By Vénus Khoury-Ghata

if a storm broke she collapsed in soot

Translated from French by Marilyn Hacker

Multilingual

Dead

By Vénus Khoury-Ghata

the foxes who recognized her by her smell didn’t light their matches

Translated from French by Marilyn Hacker

Multilingual

God, the mother claimed, is behind every tree in the forest

By Vénus Khoury-Ghata

Yet the storm announced festive disorder

Translated from French by Marilyn Hacker

Multilingual

Helicopter seeds on a maple tree

Photo by bales on Unsplash

When did their language mingle with ours

By Vénus Khoury-Ghata

The female branches made off with the laundry on our lines

Translated from French by Marilyn Hacker

Multilingual

Her apron drawn on her skin

By Vénus Khoury-Ghata

The mother sent us out in the street naked

Translated from French by Marilyn Hacker

Multilingual