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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