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in this issue
Anjela Duval
Little House of Mine
House of Anjela Duval at Traon an Dour, Vieux Marché (see text left).
Fifty years
It has been standing here
This little house of mine.
My father wrested the stones
From his land
To clear his fields:
Yellowish rubble stone
And granite, green and grainy,
And when there was enough
The craftsmen were brought in.
I remember
I was no size at all
But I do remember.
Two windows and a door
Facing south
A slate roof with eyes of glass
Between the twin chimnies
A large hearth and a smaller one
Puffing grey clouds or greenblack smoke
Towards the sky.
Leaning against the old house
Is the domaine of Kubele
Old mare of mine
Colour of flowering peach.
There are two walls between us
Between her small room and mine
And she wakes me each morning
With a clopping of hooves on slab.
I wonder if she's hungry?
Or eager to see me?
Or both things?
Perhaps so!
(Read further Poems by Anjela Duval in English. And Texts in Breton.)
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