This is a second draft of a translation from the French of Jacques Prevert. Shared with dVerse.



DESPAIR SITS ON A BENCH

In a square on a bench
sits a man who calls out as you pass
He wears pince-nez an old grey suit
He smokes a little cheroot he is seated
and he calls out as you pass
Or he simply beckons
Best not to look
Best not to listen
Best to pass by
Make as if you haven’t seen him
As if you haven’t heard him
Best to pass by pick up your feet
If you glance at him
If you listen
He will beckon and nothing and no one
Can stop you from seating yourself beside him
Then he looks at you and smiles
And your terrible suffering begins
And the man continues to smile
And you smile the same smile
Exactly
And the more you smile the more you suffer
Terribly
The more you suffer the more you smile
Fixedly
And you stay there
Frozen still
Smiling on the bench
Children play right next to you
Passers-by pass by
Unhurried
Birds fly up
Leaving one tree
For another
And you stay there
On the bench
And you know you know
That you will never play
Like the children
You know that you will never pass by
Unhurried
Like the passers-by
That you will never fly up
Leaving one tree for another
Like the birds.

'Despair...' read by Dick Jones

DESPAIR SITS ON A BENCH