Lifters of children

Nearly nude and sudden fled

Out from a trap of nettles and mud,

The Bohemian girl, on account

Of the circus, lifts the son of a count.

While the mother, madder and madder,

Calls out, standing in the way,

The child, high atop a ladder,

Learns to lift the circus way.

One can lift at all ages;

The circus is a lifting kite.

On its ropes, on its stages,

Lifters of children lift with might.

When they’re lifted, lifters have wings,

Behind the embankment, after nightfall,

Where maternal clamorings

Cannot be heard any longer at all.

Come back, my beautiful angel, my sweet!

Have pity on my great distress!

But the child stays deaf to eat

At the lifters’ tasty mess.

Four times sleep comes to separate

His neck with a necklace of bitter lees;

After supper, beside the plate,

His head rolls on the rolling seas.

Dreams habituate to lifting.

The child dreams a terrifying

Statue, which by the roadside stands,

Lifting somewhat with its hands.

Jean Cocteau