Gare Saint Lazare

some pull themselves together

others lose their way.

there are those who seek

the key to the rumeurs*.

From evening to night

this is the thoroughfare;

with weary wing beats

a little sleep

drifts and then settles.

The manna of the evening

feeds pell-mell

those who smile

those who are afraid,

those who pursue

a game without hope.

I go into the night;

alien spaces

take hold of me, move me

into the meal of shadows

I look for my place.

Henri Thomas, Le monde absent, 1947

Translated by John Cobley

*I could not find a satisfactory English word 

for “rumours.” My Petit Robert defines it as 

“bruit confus” or “bruit assordi de nombreux sons.”

(a confusing noise or a deafening noise of a 

number of sounds)