This Photograph

by Antoine Peillon
translation Louise Thunin

In the past, no one ever noticed me in the street ; now children make fun of my yellow star. Lucky toad ! You don’t wear the yellow star.
Max Jacob, Loving Our Neighbor

What dryness in his right hand !
This handful of pebbles dropped onto the tomb
Of the cold earth where his feet sink in
The long dusty path behind him

He coughs
Breathes on the ashes of his hands
To raise the dead
How many dead ?

In his hand, this photograph :
The Elder, so plump, his eyes sparkling, and this happy smile
(A shadow of worry ?)
His arms opened wide to embrace the whole tribe

In the first row, the grandchildren

Seventeen kids, from age one to sixteen
Pretty little girls, laughing
Braids, barrettes, and bare knees
The boys, little men in white shirts

In the second row, the young parents
Sisters, brothers, girl cousins and boy cousins
Who look alike, share, in peace,
The irony, the vanity of labor and of days

Jewish, Alsatian, a soldier of Wilhelm, a doctor in the trenches

A spy for France
The Heinie positions marked on his back
In 1918, the Cross of War on his chest,
But exhausted

Léon Arrodi Blum, your heart gave up and spared you from knowing
The France of the Vel-d’Hiv, of Pithiviers and of Drancy
The departure of a pretty little girl from Troyes, headed for Pitchipoï
Her doll pressed to her yellow star

And the Mother, O Thérèse Lion, your wife
The mother of your children, who transplanted a branch
Such a new ramification, laden with three red fruits
For each : an apple, in the night,
For the 1942 Christmastide of Christ’s children

And the Uncle, O Francis, your brother-in-law
The savior of Neuilly, Lyon, Périgueux, Grenoble,
Annecy, Marseille…
A just man, a bon-vivant, a ladies’ man
A spanker of bottoms as bombs fell on Royan

Your courage, your goodness, your knowledge
Léon Arrondi Blum
This light in the photo
On seventeen childish faces

This gentleness and this pain
In the eyes of the young parents
Of those who did not leave for Pitchipoï
A feeble branch that set forth new roots

In forgetting, hope, solitude, in the family, going by a false name

Those who clenched their fists
Forging faith in shared battles
Were saved from among the dead

Can you see your tomb in the suburbs of Strasburg
From your Jewish heaven filled with clouds
These valorous men, these righteous women, these companions,
–Oh yes ! These companions, these comrades…

Can you see the new tribe
On this photogaph in the open arms of the Elder
Embracing seventeen kids
During the Christmastide of Christ’s children ?

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