Born in Montreal on this day, March 29, 1933, Jacques Brault, a towering figure in Canadian Literature, has made an impact on the literary landscape with his potent combination of profound intellect, linguistic prowess, and artistic creativity. A poet par excellence, Brault’s poems exhibit a depth of thought and richness of expression that transcends geographical and cultural boundaries. His mastery over words has etched a distinctive mark on Canadian literature, making him one of the most influential literary figures in the country.

Brault’s poems, characterized by their powerful imagery and evocative language, have not only enriched Canadian literature but have also significantly contributed to the global literary discourse. His poetic genius is encapsulated in his numerous awards and accolitions. The Governor General’s Literary Award, one of the most prestigious literary awards in Canada, has been conferred upon Brault, acknowledging his immense contribution to Canadian literature.

Brault has also made significant contributions as a translator, bringing works of English literature to the Francophone world and vice versa. This has further broadened the scope and reach of Canadian literature. His translations are considered works of art in their own right, mirroring the original while adding a unique flavour that only Brault could provide.

Through his poems and translations, Brault has fostered a deeper understanding and appreciation of Canadian literature both within the country and internationally. He has used his pen to bridge cultural gaps and promote a sense of unity and shared identity. His works have inspired countless readers and aspiring writers, leaving a legacy that continues to shape the trajectory of Canadian literature.

Jacques Brault’s impact on Canadian literature is undeniable. His poems have enriched the literary canon and his awards stand testament to his exceptional talent. Through his work, he has left a mark on the world of literature, making him a true icon of Canadian letters.

Nameless

Here on the streets the water wails its old lament
Seagulls crash-land

I do not know your name know nothing any more
All these human shapes barely floating now in the gutters
Fingernails marred by eyelids
Smiles in the hollow of a groin
Jumbled faces in old windows

So many dead unadorned unlabelled
Melting in the sweet water
April casts its light and shadow on their graves

Water mingles our little hopes
Mutely agile not a bubble or an eddy
A volley of laughter rains down on the streets
Oh watery folly

The water’s soft lament against the tide of time
This murmuring of pale lips this wrinkling of old skin
All those who leave here are undone

And you scattered to the four winds
You whom I seek among these long tresses swept towards the sewers

But water runs its own business in its own way
A fine embroiderer of death’s complex designs
Water sews and re-sews a lovely length of fabric
As it flows

-Jacques Brault

Curated by Jennifer