It can be very difficult for non-native French speakers to read, comprehend, and even enjoy poetry in French. This is because the language can be more florid than in prose, there may me multiple layers of meaning not easily deduced by the non-native reader, and it may depend on cultural references.

But, alas, not all is lost if you have difficulty understanding Verlaine, Rimbaud, or especially Mallarmé. There are many other contemporary French poets that might be easier for non-native French learners to read. Today, we’ll focus on one: Jacques Charpentreau.

Jacques Charpentreau is known for his simple but charming style, and his use of rhyme and repetition, which makes it easier for non-native readers to appreciate his poetry. Born in 1928, Charpentreau is a beloved figure in France and recently passed away in March 2016.

Here’s his poem, “C’est place de la Concorde à Paris”:

 

C’est place de la Concorde à Paris

qu’un enfant assis au bord des fontaines

entre à pas de rêve au cœur de la nuit

fraîche comme l’eau claire des fontaines

 

Un enfant de nuit de rêve d’espoir

qui voudrait pouvoir lutter sans répit

contre son sommeil pour apercevoir

ses rêves de nuit venir à la vie

 

Un enfant de nuit de rêve d’espoir

qui voudrait pouvoir lutter sans répit

contre son sommeil pour apercevoir

ses rêves de nuit venir à la vie

 

Toutes les voitures avec leurs phares

toutes les voitures tracent pour lui

des lignes de feu flottant dans la nuit

comme de longs fils de vierge où Paris

retient son cœur ses rêves ses espoirs

 

Translation for “It’s at the Place de la Concorde in Paris”:

 

It’s at the place de la Concorde in Paris

that a child is sitting on the edge of the fountains

 

slowly entering a dream in the middle of the night

fresh like the water of the fountains

 

 

A child of the night of dreams of hope

who would like to fight without giving up

against his fatigue in order to watch

his nightly dreams coming to life

 

A child of the night of dreams of hope

who wanted to be able to fight without giving up

against his fatigue in order to watch

his nightly dreams  coming to life

 

 

All of these cars with their headlights

all these cars trace for him

lines of fire floating in the night

like the long threads of gossamer where Paris

keeps its heart its dreams its hopes