Marcia Pelletiere
Poems

In 2012, the very gifted poet, translator, teacher, and editor Laure-Anne Bosselaar
translated six poems from my first book, "Miracle with Roasted Hens," into French. 

The poems are all from the book's "Camino"section, which is about my time walking the 

Camino de Santiago pilgrimage in Spain in the fall of 2001. 


Here are three of those poems, in French and in English. The other three will follow soon. 

Many thanks to Laure-Anne for her translations. Watching her process as she worked on 

these poems was an honor and an education. Learn more about Laure-Anne 

and her own beautiful poems here.



Number of Books


 

 About the book:


What I’d had to undergo/ had been undergone”: above all, these are poems of what comes after, of release from “the night [that] had declined to let me go”—something akin to the last movement of the Pastoral Symphony, when there is a quality to the air that only comes after storm. What follows the hard-won exodus from self-enclosure, unburdened of that “immense archive of discontent,” is lightness of spirit and touch, and, for the reader, such pleasure in poems whose candor, wise and playful intelligence, and taut lyricism convey an ease-of-being that is of all things most rare.

                                                  —Eleanor Wilner


  

excerpt from the poem "My Friend in Herself"


[...]

some disturbance, some smudge

 

had traveled my friend's being so intensely

that it showed in her outermost layer,

had garbled her suddenly into random

charges, impulses, and pixels,

leaving only a haze where she had been,

a residue of panic, desire, exhaustion, and loneliness—

I could name all of its qualities—

 

but whatever had fashioned some of itself into my friend

had right then failed to be believably her,

and because what I am made and bound inside of is the same,

I understood that I would never know her.

excerpt from the poem "My Friend in Herself"

[...]
some disturbance, some smudge
 
had traveled my friend's being so intensely
that it showed in her outermost layer,
had garbled her suddenly into random
charges, impulses, and pixels,
leaving only a haze where she had been,
a residue of panic, desire, exhaustion, and loneliness—
I could name all of its qualities—
 
but whatever had fashioned some of itself into my friend
had right then failed to be believably her,
and because what I am made and bound inside of is the same,
I understood that I would never know her.


excerpt from the poem "My Friend in Herself"

 

[...]

some disturbance, some smudge

 

had traveled my friend's being so intensely

that it showed in her outermost layer,

had garbled her suddenly into random

charges, impulses, and pixels,

leaving only a haze where she had been,

a residue of panic, desire, exhaustion, and loneliness—

I could name all of its qualities—

 

but whatever had fashioned some of itself into my friend

had right then failed to be believably her,

and because what I am made and bound inside of is the same,

I understood that I would never know her.




Selected Print Publications: 
Prairie Schooner