Pour nos mères – Three Poems of Love
A Mother’s Day Tribute
We never say thank you enough to our mothers.
To those who raised us, loved us, shaped us.
To those we miss. To those still quietly with us in everyday gestures or distant memories.
In honor of la Fête des Mères in France, here are three poems written for mothers, tender, moving, and timeless. A moment of poetry to read, reflect on, and share.
À maman
Victor Hugo
27 septembre 1816
Mon cœur me dit que c’est ta fête
Je crois toujours mon cœur quand il parle de toi.
Maman, que faut-il donc que ce cœur te souhaite ?
Des trésors ? Des honneurs ? Des trônes ? Non, ma foi !
Mais un bonheur égal au mien quand je te vois.
Audio:
La Traduction :
My heart tells me that today is your day
I always trust my heart when it speaks of you.
Mother, what should this heart wish for you?
Treasures? Honors? Thrones? No, truly not!
But a joy equal to mine when I see you.
A short, radiant gem written by Hugo at 14, this poem expresses pure, childlike love: no riches can match the happiness of simply seeing one's mother.
Ma mère
Émile Nelligan
Extrait de Motifs poétiques
Quelquefois sur ma tête elle met ses mains pures,
Blanches, ainsi que des frissons blancs de guipures.
Elle me baise au front, me parle tendrement,
D’une voix au son d’or mélancoliquement.
Elle a les yeux couleur de ma vague chimère,
Ô toute poésie, ô toute extase, ô Mère !
À l’autel de ses pieds je l’honore en pleurant,
Je suis toujours petit pour elle, quoique grand.
Audio:
La Traduction :
Sometimes she lays her pure hands on my head,
White, like white lace trembling in a breeze.
She kisses my brow, speaks softly to me,
With a golden voice, gently melancholy.
Her eyes are the hue of my shifting dreams,
O all poetry, all rapture, O Mother!
At the altar of her feet I cry in reverence,
I am always small for her, though grown.
A deeply lyrical and symbolic tribute by the Québécois poet, whose delicate imagery captures maternal tenderness with reverent emotion.
À ma mère
Théodore de Banville
Dédicace à Élisabeth-Zélie de Blle, 1842
Ô ma mère, ce sont nos mères
Dont les sourires triomphants
Bercent nos premières chimères
Dans nos premiers berceaux d’enfants.
Donc reçois, comme une promesse,
Ce livre où coulent de mes vers
Tous les espoirs de ma jeunesse,
Comme l’eau des lys entr’ouverts !
Reçois ce livre, qui peut-être
Sera muet pour l’avenir,
Mais où tu verras apparaître
Le vague et lointain souvenir
De mon enfance dépensée
Dans un rêve triste ou moqueur,
Fou, car il contient ma pensée,
Chaste, car il contient mon cœur.
Audio:
La Traduction :
O my mother, it is our mothers
Whose triumphant smiles
Rock our first daydreams
In our childhood cradles.
So receive, like a promise,
This book where my verses pour forth
All the hopes of my youth,
Like water from unfolding lilies!
Receive this book, which may
Be silent to others in time,
But where you will see appear
The vague and distant memory
Of a childhood spent
In dreams both sad and mocking,
Mad, for it holds my thoughts,
Pure, for it holds my heart.
More than a dedication, Banville’s poem is a gentle monument to the first muse: his mother. Even his poetic calling, he suggests, comes from her love.
To all mothers: present, missed, eternal
May we all find a moment to say thank you, with a word, a hug, a poem or a memory.
And if you’d like, feel free to share this post with your mom, someone who misses their mother, or who is one.
Bonne Fête des Mères !
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