Michel Butor

Language: french

Translations: german (CARNAC) , italian (CARNAC)

CARNAC

J'avais douze ans je me trouvais
en vacances chez des amis
la guerre cognait à la porte
suintaient menaces de partout

C'était la Trinité-sur-mer
et l'on nous menait visiter
les grands sites des environs
mégalithes criques églises

Il n'y avait pas de barrière
pas de ticket pas de gardien
cela commençait doucement
auprès des dernières maisons

Ajoncs et genêts quelques vaches
venaient se frotter aux menhirs
bourdonnant d'odeurs et légendes
entre lesquels je m'égarais

Terrain de jeux incomparable
nous cachant et nous poursuivant
dans la brume et le miel des siècles
chevaliers corsaires sorciers

En restant à portée de voix
des adultes qui nous laissaient
muser parmi la paix des pierres
puis répondaient à nos questions

Confusément en nous parlant
des peuples antérieurs aux Celtes
sur lesquels nous ne connaissons
guère plus qu'à ce moment-là

Je n'y suis jamais retourné
je ne l'ai jamais oublié
me transformant moi-même en pierre
dans mes alignements d'enfance

Translations:

Language: german

CARNAC

Ich war zwölf Jahre alt und verbrachte
die Ferien bei Freunden
der Krieg klopfte an die Tür
Drohungen sickerten von überall ein

Es war in Trinité-sur-mer
und man ließ uns die großen
Ausgrabungen der Umgebung besuchen
Megalithen Felsbuchten Kirchen

Es gab keine Absperrung
kein Ticket keinen Wächter
es fing allmählich an
bei den letzten Häusern

Stechginster und Pfriemkraut
Rieben sich an den Menhiren
die von Düften und Märchen summten
und zwischen denen ich mich verirrte

Ein unvergleichlicher Spielplatz
wir versteckten uns jagten uns
im Honig und Dunst der Jahrhunderte
als Ritter Piraten Zauberer

In Hörweite blieben wir
der Erwachsenen die uns stromern ließen
im Frieden der alten Steine
uns Antwort auf unsre Fragen gaben

Wobei sie uns unklare Dinge sagten
über Völker noch vor den Kelten
von denen wir heute beinah so wenig wissen
wie damals als sie davon erzählten

Nie bin ich dorthin zurückgekehrt
doch hab ich es nie vergessen
und ich verwandle mich selbst zu Stein
wenn ich die Linien der Kindheit abstecke

Language: italian

CARNAC

Avevo dodici anni mi trovavo
in vacanza presso amici
la guerra batteva alla porta
trasudavano minacce da ogni dove

Si era a Trinité-sur-mer
e ci portavano a visitare
i grandi siti dei dintorni
megaliti insenature chiese

Non c’erano sbarramenti
né biglietti né guardiani
tutto iniziava poco a poco
vicino alle ultime case

Ulici e ginestre qualche vacca
che viene a strusciarsi ai menhir
nel ronzio di odori e leggende
in mezzo a cui mi perdevo

Terreno di giochi incomparabile
ci nascondevamo e inseguivamo
nella bruma e nel miele dei secoli
noi cavalieri corsari stregoni

Restando a portata di voce
degli adulti che ci lasciavano
vagare fra la pace dei macigni
poi rispondevano alle domande

Confusamente parlandoci
dei popoli prima dei Celti
di cui non sappiamo niente
di più rispetto a quei tempi

Non ci sono mai ritornato
non l’ho mai dimenticato
mi trasformavo io stesso in pietra
nei miei allineamenti da bambino

Michel Butor

* 14.09.1926, Mons-en-Barœul, France
† 24.08.2016, Contamine-sur-Arve, France

Michel Butor was born on September 14, 1926, in a suburb of Lille, France. His father, Emile Butor, worked in the administration of Chemins du fer du Nord, but was passionate about drawing, watercolor painting, and wood carving. In 1929, the Butor family moved to Paris where young Michel would complete all of his studies, except for 1939-1940, during the Phoney War, which he spent in Evreux.

Having been already been possessed by the “demon of writing” for some time, Michel Butor published his first novels through the French publisher Editions Minuit, with the help of his agent-manager Georges Lambrichs. He continued to travel, for both professional reasons and exploratory ones. He traveled to Greece and then Switzerland, where he met Marie-Jo who became his wife in 1958. Three daughters were not long to follow, as well as a fourth later on. This period in his life was characterized by literary awards, work at publishing houses, a bit of the Parisian lifestyle, conferences here and there, as well as several trips to the United States. After May ’68, Michel Butor decided to return to teaching in French universities. He moved to Nice after a year in the Far West of the United States. He was named professor of the faculté de lettres in Geneva.

His books accumulated, each one with a new surprise : essays, “narratives of daytime and nighttime,” poems, and new combinations of all of these. These all brought about the demise of a dull and routine mindset while his collaborations with painters, musicians, and photographers multiplied. He took trips to Japan, Australia, and China. Retired since 1991, he lived in a village in Haute-Savoie, France until his death in 2016.

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