Winnowing
by Sylvie Kandé | translated by Nancy Naomi Carlson
All at once a chill fell
on this house not quite flush with the ground
No matter what was said and done
while already pulling out censers and heavy pagnes
only the light quivered a little from the cool
and the shapes still tamed
the pack of shadows at their feet.
Ah didn’t I love it enough
this foundation made of dreams and cinder blocks
where languid Lares liked to converse!
Someone wrote me it’s been torn down since!
Its spalling never collapsed under the floods!
Believe me! this elevation
was endlessly discussed
God didn’t want it
time had run out!
I can’t confirm a thing
only that dusk lingered
at the winnowing hour
She was thin I was well- behaved
our age a skin-deep shiver
From her fluid arm held high
fell the semblance of gold from a windswept waterfall
Chaff and glume promptly dispersed
tried to return in a stealthy swarm
only to finally spangle
the trellis of her braids
like old Louis coins
With a flick of fingers
she pretended to brush them off
but changed her mind
Come home! resounded her mother’s voice
a mix of dominion and distress
When you run off under the stars they call you a witch!
But she taunted her mother and mocked me
me patiently sifting a fistful of rice
someone else had hulled that morning
me being only too glad at the time
to acquiesce
So much so that my thoughts no longer roamed
among the white pearls
which my worried fingers pushed around
no longer caring
chaff stones and grains
as it was suddenly so bleak
nearing nightfall
to do the work I loved
I was there but wasn’t there
a little annoyed
all things now deprived of their halo
by these large blue flowers
embossed on the earthenware platter
Was it practice or ceremony
this upturned palm to balance the bowl
this bending at the waist to deposit the grain
away from the feverish clucking of fowl
a hint of wanderlust in her eyes . . .
Suddenly grave and solemn she handed me
a twist of straw
a bucket splashed with the last trace of sunlight
inviting me to follow her
toward the back of the house
Then we knew
for winnowing
this downpour
light would suffice

Sylvie Kandé, a critically acclaimed French-Senegalese poet and scholar, founded the Francophone Studies program at New York University. A professor in the History & Philosophy department at SUNY Old Westbury, she received the SUNY Chancellor’s Award for Excellence in Scholarship and Creative Activities. Her three award-winning poetry collections have all been published by Gallimard, one of the most prestigious publishers in France. GESTUAIRE (2016), the book from which this selection of poems was drawn, was a recipient of the 2017 Louise Labé and appears in Nancy Naomi Carlson’s translation as Gestuary (Seagull Books, 2026).
Nancy Naomi Carlson won the 2022 Oxford-Weidenfeld Translation Prize from Oxford University and was a finalist for the Best Translated Book Award, the Sarah Maguire Translation Prize, and the CLMP Firecracker Poetry Award. Author of seventeen titles, her poems and translations have been reviewed in the New York Times. A recipient of grants from the NEA and the Albertine Fund, she was decorated by the French government with the Academic Palms. Carlson is the Translations Editor for On the Seawall.
