ADRAMELECH’S MONOLOGUE (Le Monologue d’Adramélech)

Seeing Eye Books, États-Unis, Los Angeles, 2004

traduction américaine de Guy Bennett
Seeing Eye Books, États-Unis, Los Angeles, 2004.

In dire straits, Adramelech grips the prop on the bliss engine’s drive wheel and gives it a spin. His monologue is massive. Get to it !


Sufferin’sulfurous supine simian syllogist ! The Adramelech’s toil’s hit its peak. Adramelech !... Sire ? I made you of clay. And I go where ? To shelter’neath your splint’ry coat and gnaw your soon-sluiced stump. Hail yes, I’m there lickety-split. Si I says to the guy who’d ogle me through spy-like specs. Nine fourths of our lives wasted in inane hours of stanzas, staces, comings and goings ! We lift our arms your head falls off. Ah the disappointment of my life’s voyage with its lame stations ! My head’s too triangular, not round enough for my taste : my arms are good, not long enough though and eight short of ten. Adrameon, Ablamelion, Ablamelech, shut up or step up, but not more words ! Marl to my pickaxe, gloss to my heals ! We’s one thousand below, a handful holds down the fort. They’s there in their abode. Their eyes can’t see us but we can see us there they can’t. quiet Albert Bellows, crawl quiet, lift your head and give ass ! Adrameluce. Watch your mug, you old retorter, it’ll spring from my head held high, the talker, gush from my hip, slip from the grave and nip at your ears !