by Boris Vian
This by translation Andreas Hilmo Teig 2001, with inspiration both from the original and from the translation into Norwegian by Andre Bjerke. If you know of other translations into English, please let me know.
Dear Mister President, I write this letter truthfully
And given enough time maybe you'll read what I have sent.
For I've received with fright a letter from the army
Informing that they need me in the trenches Wednesday night.
But Mister President, my heart was never willing
I wasn't made for killing, you'll never have me bent.
I hope you don't feel hurt by reading my confession
I've made a firm decision: I'm going to desert.
I've felt the pains of war: my father followed orders
And died, just like my brothers. My kids I hardly saw.
My mother's suffering ended and where she is resting
No bombs and no molesting upon her may descend.
When I a captive was they took away my wife
That woman was my life, and all that's left is loss.
Tomorrow I will rise and close my front door silently
At dawn, and leave behind me the dead years of my life.
I now will spend my time a pilgrim on a voyage
So all can hear this message, be told about this crime:
Do not accept that hate, refuse to obey their orders,
Do not commit their murders, be not a soldier made.
If blood must now be shed you should give some of yours
For, President, your laws like apostles' words us led.
If my arrest you plot, please tell the guards that catch me
That I no arms will carry, and safely can be shot.