p. 25 “Blizzard”
All night plows plow.
Snows snow. Lovers
somewhere somehow love.
Reminds me of Émile Nelligan “Soir d’hiver” which begins:
Ah! comme la neige a neigé !
Ma vitre est un jardin de givre.
in Poésies complètes 1896-1899 (Bibliothèque Québécoise, 1989).
I have struggled since my undergraduate days (I fondly recall Mme (Collette) Tonge‘s classes in translation) to capture the nuances of the French reduplications. Over the years I have tried “o how the white has whitened” which sounds like a detergent commercial. I tried to cleave closely to the verb with “o how the snow has snowed” but this creates an attribution of agency that is absent, I believe, in the French. Now with Andrea Cohen before me and understanding the power of the repeated “n” I offer:
o how the snow has whitened
a garden frosts my window
I hope Mme Tonge would be proud.
And so for day 2782