Concrete and Clay

Here is a poem I have recently translated from the original. It is about the fond memory of Mr Godineau, the father of Jean-Pascal, wine maker at the Domaine des Petits Quarts in the Anjou-Saumer aprt of the Loire.

Yes I

Poetic rhymes

In memory of Monsieur Godineau senior and his son Jean-Pascal

Crossing the Layon's luscious green plains,
On foot, by bus, on horse or by car,
Connoisseur of these wines and the freshness it gains,
You'll remember your time spent at Domaine des Petits Quarts.

In autumn, a detour from the road to Bonnezeaux,
Stand in awe at the vine's golden fleece in Beauregard,
Always in your dreams this place shall bestow,
The irreplaceable site of Domaine des Petits Quarts.

At the heart of the vines from the road from Béligné,
In the torpor of June sandal notes waft from afar,
From burgeoning flowers to the wise ceps of Malabé,
That have forged the name Domaine des Petits Quarts.

You will meander as you please on paths with slothfulness,
On this slope, at the mill on the mountain like a blazing star,
In this unique site of tenderness, this vine of Mellresses,
That made a noble name of Domaine des Petits Quarts.

And in its fine cellar among all the old barrels,
Your sensual journey continues, all is perfection and nothing ajar,
In these sweet nectars, Maître Godineau guides us in all his apparel,
A welcoming party in the kingdom of Domaine des Petits Quarts.

Harvests have passed and the grapes heaven-scent,
Only shivers for the frost or the hail thus afar,
A whole life devoted to the land humbly spent,
Eternally watching over Jean-Pascal at Petits Quart.

Nobles do cherish these liqueurs, noble by name,
All envy has petered out travelled afar,
Ignored since yesteryear, hidden like shame,
They triumph today at Domaine des Petits Quarts.

Réné Morlat