I.

Je suis montée à Silver Dhunn
Le train file comme une voix que l’on veut étouffer
Une harfang des neige noircit les brouillards denses
Des fumées inquiètes s’échappent des rails rouillés

Je suis montée à Silver Dhunn
J’ai posé le scorpion sur la table en marbre rose
Un soldat devant moi
Regarde le ciel d’or par la fenêtre

« Je vais chercher ma fiancée,
M’ont crié ses yeux d’un battement de cils froids ;
Je déchiffrais des hiéroglyphes
Je n’avais pas envie de discuter ;

« Je vais chercher ma fiancée
Je l’emmène à Ellendonan
Dans le château de mes ancêtres
J’y couperai les gués du temps

Un nuage malheureux assombrissait
Le revers de ses mots ; ils prenaient feu
J’ai résisté à l’envie envoûtante
De changer de place aussitôt

Je suis descendue à An Gearr Loch
Ici la mer ourle la brume
Il m’a accompagnée sur la jetée
Son bras entourait ma taille.

Mon livre bleu, le reverrai-je
Les hiéroglypes, le papier froissé
L’ai-je oublié sur la plage, sur la jetée ? —
Les nuages d’Ecosse se tordent de rire.


II.

The window let in a golden veil
In the corridor with haunted paintings
My sister, you saw me grow up
What do I need of a young wife?

I only loved the fields of my country
I only hoped for the sweet perfume of the night
But today I wring my neck
And I board the train for London

The traveler has the blondness of the snowy owl
Her voice has the sweetness of freshly cut lilies
I think she blushes when I look at her
I’ll take her hand at the next station

We’ll escape the noise of the cities
My bride, the guns; her hand in mine,
War is a cloud that approaches like a wolf
And love is disemboweling my honor

The train diluted in the Scottish night
We chat, our eyes come alive
I am cold; the weather is against me
I’m afraid to lose her forever – so I stole her book

In the evening her grey figure evaporates
The poplars brush against my white tears
There’s a demon in this silence without her;
I’m going to die in the war, it’s my destiny

Death is a stubborn sentry
Who would like to desert, but is chained
To the gallows of time and the future;
War is the child of silence

III.

It is ten years now
That I returned from the fields of horror
My hands have trodden rivers of blood
Climbed to the heights of flesh and fear

It’s been ten years, ten years now
I married my beautiful bride
There was a figure, the train was crowded
But – what did her face look like?

All I have left from my youth
Only drawings on crumpled paper
They bewitch my present
His stolen book – I know it by heart

I became a teacher
My wife is expecting our third child
The sun splashes on our garden
And her blue book starts to tear

I am an Egyptologist, I travel the world
To find the scent of her almond eyes
But the light of love is fading and death stalks me
I will never see the Silver Dhunn’s woman again

Sitting in my velvet chair I know what I owe her
I’ve searched all these years for her bright eyes
Learning the language she spoke
I have beheaded the dim hours of her absence

Under my blood flows a river of regret
The purity of time and a volcano of rage
I loved her one summer evening,
On a clear night in Silver Dhunn

The night offered us its bed of stars
And I masked the light of my love for her
By reviving magical characters
Every time I walked a mile of Egypt.

She was up in Silver Dhunn…