A collection of French poems celebrating nature (2/2)

Far from being confined to idyllic descriptions, French poetry is full of treasures that call for treating nature with reverence. This is the second part of our selection of poems celebrating nature and vilifying the influence of technology.

Jean de la Fontaine (1621-1695)

THE SWALLOW AND THE LITTLE BIRDS

A Swallow on her travels

Had learned a lot. Anyone who has seen a lot

May have retained a lot.

It foresaw even the smallest storms,

And before they were hatched,

Announced them to the sailors.

It happened that by the time hemp was sown,

She saw a manant covering many furrows.

“I don't like this,” she said to Les Oisillons:

I pity you; because for me, in this extreme peril,

I will know how to get away, or live somewhere.

Do you see this hand moving through the air?

A day will come, which is not far away,

What it spreads will be your ruin.

From there will be born machines to envelop you,

And shoelaces to catch you;

Finally, again and again machine

Who will be chatting in the season

Your death or your prison.

Park the cage or the cauldron!

That is why, said the Swallow to them,

Eat that grain and believe me. ”

The Birds laughed at her:

They found too much in the fields.

When the goat cheese was green,

The Swallow said to them, “Tear off piece by piece.

What this bad seed produced,

Or be sure of your loss.

-Prophet of doom, babble, they say,

What a great job you are giving us!

We need a thousand people

To peel off all that canton. ”

Since hemp is completely raw,

L'Hirondelle added: “This is not going well;

Bad seed came early.

But since until now I have not been believed in anything,

As soon as you see that the earth

Will be covered, and only at their wheat

People are no longer busy

Will make war with the chicks;

When reginglets and networks

Will catch little birds,

Don't steal more space in place;

Stay at home, or change the climate:

Imitate the Duck, the Crane and the Woodcock.

But you are not in good condition

To pass deserts and airwaves like us,

Nor to search for other worlds.

That is why you only have one party that is safe:

It is to lock yourself in the holes in some wall. ”

Les Oisillons, tired of hearing it,

They started talking so confusingly

What were the Trojans doing when poor Cassandra

Just opened his mouth.

He took some from one to the other:

Maint Oisillon saw himself as a detained slave.

We only listen instinctively to those who are our own,

And let's not believe in evil until it has come.

Jean De La Fontaine

George Sand (1804-1876)

AT DAWN

Nature is all that we see,

Anything you want, anything you love.

Everything we know, everything we believe,

Everything you can feel in yourself.

She is beautiful for those who see her,

She is good to whoever loves her,

It's fair when you believe it

And that we respect it in ourselves.

Look at the sky, it sees you,

Kiss the earth, she loves you.

The truth is what we believe

In nature it is you.

Victor Hugo (1802-1885)

AFTER WINTER

Don't expect me to give you

Reasons against God that I see radiating;

The night dies, the winter flees; now the light,

In the fields, in the woods, the first is everywhere.

I am vaguely excited about spring.

Avril is a child, frail, charming, flowery;

I feel in front of childhood and in front of zephyry

I don't know what need to cry and laugh;

May complements my joy and adds to my tears.

Jeanne, George, run, since there are flowers.

Run, the forest is singing, the azure is golden,

You are not allowed to be absent from dawn.

I am an old dreamer and I need you,

Come, I want to love, to be fair, to be gentle,

Believing, thanking things confusingly,

To live without blaming the thorns on the roses,

To finally be a good man accepting God.

Oh spring! sacred woods! deep blue sky!

You can feel a breath of living air entering you,

And the opening in the distance of a white window;

One blends one's thoughts with the chiaroscuro of the waters;

We have the sweet happiness of being with the birds

And to see, under the shelter of spring branches,

These gentlemen do manners with these ladies.

June 26, 1878

Victor Hugo

IN THE TREES

Trees of the forest, you know my soul!
At the whim of the envious, the crowd praises and blames;
You know me! — you have seen me often,
Alone in your depths, watching and dreaming.
You know it, the stone where a beetle runs
A humble drop of water from flower to flower fallen,
A cloud, a bird, keep me busy for a whole day.
Contemplation fills my heart with love.
You've seen me a hundred times, in the dark valley,
With these words that the spirit says to nature,
Questioning your pulsating twigs in a whisper,
And with the same look to continue at the same time,
Thoughtful, with his forehead down, his eye in the deep grass,
The study of an atom and the study of the world.
Attentive to your noises that all speak a little,
Trees, you saw me running away from man and looking for God!
Leaves that twitch at the tips of the branches,
Nests whose white feathers are sown by the wind in the distance
Glades, green valleys, dark and soft deserts,
You know that I am calm and pure like you.
Like your perfumes in heaven, my devotion to God begins,
And I am full of oblivion like you of silence!
Hate over my name is spreading its gall in vain;
Always, — I attest to you, O woods loved by heaven! —
I have driven all bitter thoughts away from me,
And my heart is still as my mother did!

Trees in these big woods that are always shivering,
I love you, and you, ivy at the threshold of deaf dens,
Ravines where living springs are meant to filter,
Bushes that the birds plunder, happy guests!
When I am among you, trees in these big woods,
In everything that surrounds me and hides me at the same time,
In your solitude where I go into myself,
I feel someone big who listens to me and who loves me!
Also, sacred thicket where God himself appears,
Religious trees, oaks, mosses, forest,
Forest! It is in your shadow and in your mystery,
It is under your August and solitary branch,
That I want to shelter my ignored sepulchre,
And that I want to sleep when I fall asleep.

Victor Hugo, The Contemplations, 1856

Jacques Prévert (1900-1977)

SO MANY FORESTS

So many forests uprooted from the ground
and massacred
completed
rotating
So many forests sacrificed for paper pulp: billions of newspapers annually draw the attention of readers to the dangers of deforestation and forests.

(The Rain and the Good Weather, 1955)

Georges Brassens (1921-1981)

Le Grand Chêne, a song sung by Brassens in the video below.

https://youtu.be/4lmtkCaxCXo?si=GbEJmdvbNKv78-fN

THE BIG OAK

He lived off forest roads
It was by no means a trade tree
He had never seen the shadow of a lumberjack
That big oak proud on its trunk

He would have known days spun of gold and silk
Without his close neighbors, the worst people there were;
Misthinking reeds, not even bamboos
Having fun putting it to the limit

From morning until evening these little offspring
Just a fishing rod, barely a million
He circled around and sang, In extenso
The history of oak and reed

And, although it was wooden, oak trees are common
The fable did not leave him indifferent.
It happened that tired of being in goal at the lazzi
He resolved to exile

With great difficulty he got his big feet out of his hole
And left without looking back a little or no prou
But I, who knew him, know that he suffered
To leave the ungrateful homeland

At the edge of the forests, the dark oak
Acquainted with two lovers
“Big oak let us carve our names on you... “
The big oak didn't say no

When they had exhausted their big bag of kisses
When, from kissing so much, their beaks were worn out
They then heard, restraining their tears
The oak telling its misfortunes

“Big oak”, come to us, you will find peace
Our reeds know how to live and have no forelock
You will have a pleasant stay in our walls
Watered four times a day. “

That said, the three of them set off on their way
Each lover holding a root in hand
How happy he seemed! How happy he seemed!
The oak between its lovers

At the foot of their cottage, they had it planted
It was then that he started to be disenchanted.
Because, in fact, there was nothing but rain
Dogs raising their paws on him

We took all his acorns to feed the pigs
With its beautiful bark we made traffic jams
Every time a death warrant was issued
He was the one who inherited the hanged man

Then these bad people, accomplished vandals
Cut it in four and made a bed out of it
And the horrible shrew having lots of lovers
It ages prematurely

A sad day, at last, this unconfessed couple
He passed by the ax and put him in the fire
Like cratewood, bitter destiny!
He perished in the chimney

The Priest of Our House, Little Saint Besogneux
Doubt that its smoke rises to God
What does the guy know about it, and who told him
What is there no oak in paradise?
What is there no oak in paradise?

Marc Alyn (1937)

THE SICK PLANET

I don't know what's going on,
Says the Earth: my heart hurts!
Have I shot too much in space
or drank too much bitter liquor?

Red mud, acid rain,
Vert-de-gris in the gold of the Rhine,
Defoliants, pesticides,
Here are some clever poisons!

It's so strong that I'm losing my mind,
I have the wrong poles,
My head from driving so much is getting drunk:
I see the universe upside down!

I think of my apple roundness
In the beginning of time,
Just before the human tooth
Don't get stuck in.

I was red and blue, I was green:
Clean air, pure water, oh! my children!
Life everywhere, life offered
In abundance, with a beating heart!

Then came the war: manhunt,
Then the hunt: war on the beast.
Down with the bird! Death to the huge one!
The planet must be brought under control!

Now the chemistry is eating away at me,
I count my blue whales,
My pandas, my birds of dreams
Who close their eyes one by one.

Help, the children of men!
Spring is losing its honey flavor.
Give back its apple freshness
To the earth, fruit of the sun!

Marc Alyn, Compagnons de la Marjolaine, 1989

Robert Gelis (1938-2015)

OVER THERE

Over there the ice is red
And the sea smells of death;
Over there men are killing,
No hate and no remorse.
At the club, it's cheaper,
And more practical too
Whether a dagger or a gun:
A good move well placed,
Baby seal has passed away!

“It's for the skin, darling,
Whose shoes are made
That you put in Megève.
It's so convenient
And it's in fashion...
The leather of the ox
Is much too rude
For your beautiful feet!”

Over there on the ice floe,
The ice is red and bare.
To put on your shoes, Marquise,
Man is diminishing...

(2001)