Le déserteur
Boris VianINGLESE / ENGLISH / ANGLAIS [3] - Gilles d'Ayméry/Jan Baughman Versione ... | |
THE PACIFIST [Men whose names are great, I am writing you a letter That you will read perhaps If you have the time Men whose names are great, I don't want to do that I am not on Earth To kill miserable Mankind...] Sirs, you who are called "great," I am writing you a letter That you will read, perhaps, if you have the time. I have just received my military papers To go to war before Wednesday evening. Sirs, you who are called "great," I don't want to do that. I am not on earth to kill poor people. This is not meant to annoy you, but I must tell you: Wars are insane. The world has enough of them. Since I was born, I have seen brothers die. I have seen fathers leave, and children cry. Mothers have suffered too much while others prosper And live at their ease in spite of mud and blood. There are prisoners whose souls have been stolen, Whose wives have been stolen, and all their loved ones gone. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, I will close the door On the past. I will go on the road. I will beg for my livelihood on land and sea, From the old to the new world, and I will say to people: Profit from life. Alleviate misery. All men are brothers. People of all countries: If it is necessary to spill blood, go spill your own. Sirs, you good apostles sirs, you who are called "great": If you pursue me, inform your police That I will be unarmed, and they can shoot, And they can shoot. | THE DESERTER Mr. President I'm writing you a letter that perhaps you will read If you have the time. I've just received my call-up papers to leave for the front Before Wednesday night. Mr. President I do not want to go I am not on this earth to kill wretched people. It's not to make you mad I must tell you my decision is made I am going to desert. Since I was born I have seen my father die I have seen my brothers leave and my children cry. My mother has suffered so, that she is in her grave and she laughs at the bombs and she laughs at the worms. When I was a prisoner they stole my wife they stole my soul and all my dear past. Early tomorrow morning I will shut my door on these dead years I will take to the road. I will beg my way along on the roads of France from Brittany to Provence and I will cry out to the people: Refuse to obey refuse to do it don't go to war refuse to go. If blood must be given go give your own you are a good apostle Mr. President. If you go after me warn your police that I'll be unarmed and that they can shoot. |