When I was in grade twelve, many, many moons ago, I had a poetry assignment. I went to a French high school, and although I had been going to French school since grade one and could speak it fluently, I didn't really consider my self a French person until that year.
That year I had discovered French culture, music, comedy, and really bonded with my friends via that culture. I think that's also when I really started to think in French, rather than translate my English thoughts in real time. Needless to say, I never truly mastered grammar and spelling in French, but for the first time, I was French.
So back to this poetry assignment. I don't remember what the parameters of the assignment were, but I decided to write a fable, about the origins of autumn.
The deadline arrived and I wasn't finish, but I felt I was on to something pretty good, so for the first time in my academic career, I went to my teacher, M. Yves Lalonde and begged for an extension, I told him I was on to something and just needed a bit more time to finish it up. In my mind asking this was a huge deal. To my utter surprise said "no problem".
So with a bit of help from my good friend Mario, I worked out the last of the rhymes and made it all fit.
I'd never gotten an A on anything in French before. This was my crowning achievement, my opus of French creative writing. M. Lalonde even entered my work in a poetry contest and I won first prize.
I haven't thought about this in a long long time, I'm a bit surprise at how emotional I'm feeling dredging up these memories.
I ran into M. Lalonde's daughter Janick recently, our kids attend the same school (and it turns out, her husband works with Kiza, small world!). I guess that brought back these memories.
Anyway. I lost all my hard copies in the fire, and I've searched every hard drive and flash drive I own, and can't find soft copy anywhere. So from memory I rewrote the entire piece. It's amazing how the human mind can remember word for word something from so long ago. I did change a few things that had been nagging me with the original, but 99.9% of it is exactly what I wrote 25 years ago.
Special thanks to Suzanne Bourgoin for providing correction of my (thankfully few) mistakes in my rewritten copy.
So here it is, for posterity, sorry for those of you who don't read French, you are missing quite a treat if I do say so myself.
L’orgueil à l’automne
par James Sauvé
Au début des temps sous le ciel bleu
Vivait un arbre orgueilleux
Qui par son orgueil
Dit un jour au soleil
Mon grand ami, mon cher monsieur
Tout seul là-haut dans les cieux
Une faveur pour moi pourriez-vous faire
Que de changer la couleur de mes feuilles ordinaires.
Je règlerai cette dette au plutôt
Le soleil répondit sans même dire un mot
À la chaleur de ses rayons il fit peu à peu
Changer les feuilles à la couleur du feu
Jaune, rouge et orange,
Cela paraissait bien étrange
Mais le tronc était très heureux
De ce cadeau envoyé des cieux
Alors, peu après vient donc le jour
Ou le soleil désire une faveur à son tour
Pourriez-vous offrir à ces oiseaux fatigués
Un refuge en votre feuillage velouté
Demanda le soleil, en étant très poli
Mais l’arrogant refuse: “Je suis bien trop joli”!
"Ces déplorables vagabonds de l’air,
Imbéciles de l’atmosphère,
Ne sont pas digne de s’y percher"
Le soleil, trahi, était très insulté
Il alla donc visiter le vent
Qui disciplina l'arbre insolent
Il convoqua un grand mistral
Et s’empara de ses pétales
Le soleil s’adressa à l’arbustre vaincu
Debout seul, laid et nu
Vous n'avez pas respecté votre parole d'honneur
Pour satisfaire votre propre bonheur
Votre châtiment est alors décidé
Vous revivrez à chaque année
La transition de votre feuillage verdoyant
Au rouge, au jaune et ensuite au néant
Amis évitez une telle bévue
À parole donnée, promesse tenue.
