Songs in the Night
The side is the splashed blue and green fires,
Luminous and peaceful Geneva this evening
Sleep in the water of the lake, moving and spilled,
The half-moon arrives at the hight of the mountain and stay
— Fainting spell of the humid and fading air
Which falls depilated on the flows weary and weak;
A ship wait coming to sleep in the roadstead,
It hears a crossing, then decreasing eddy.
The passers-by are going, sing to adventure braves,
Hear the sleepy water lapping
In the large and plain night where squishy carriage
Make a muted noise of footsteps and bells.
A little of wind falls on the near hills
By now, ant winds up to tired trees,
It flows softly an odour of cuisine
At doors of hotels open on the docks.
— And this is suddenly, strange burst
The cry of violins in the shadow who keeps silent,
It’s like if the night was lit up in scarlet
And which all desire of the city sang…
By violins, by sings of Napoli or of Venise,
Music of misery et of stunning,
It’s like if the night same have this crisis
Of laughs, of sighs, of tears, strangely!
The heart the most ranged in this instant overflow
Like a bound captive who breathes so loudly,
That his breath looks make lighten the rope
Till all the being insurgent is out;
Oh singing mediants of roots to Italy,
That follows the noise flying and little bit vivid of silver,
Beautiful members of the melancholy
During the nights that make the happiness more urgent,
Let shake for us their lascivious music,
While the heavy front in the darkness of our hands,
We sense the heart be cracked to the gums.
And the pleasure in by stretching out a superhuman arc.
Break of desire, dreamy acidity,
Entanglement of the nerves and of the sentimental…
— Tell us the wants, the regrets, the brave time,
The boat, the kiss, the ingrate forget end.
Sing assiduously, so that the hot night
Be by you’re all moved and swooning at your turns,
Poor lovers strengthen by all the love that lurk,
Desperate givers of the sad, sweet kiss…
Marvelling
My God, I can’t say how is strong
My heart of this morning become the golden sun,
Before all that shines et sparkles outside.
Must I never exhaust my joy
Of this water shines, de this air that drown me,
Of all of which of the time in my powdered soul!
Will they come a day, in some paradise,
These hills for which I have do many and say many,
Bring me the heat of the perfume of noon,
Will my naïve self be rewarded
That the trees with their branches which step forward
Present me with flowers of complacency?
Do I wait the end et patient turmoil
From rakes of the summer passing in the pebbles
Like the hands which did a long and delicate work.
Shall I have houses with pink-tiled roofs,
With of the sky around, which glides and rests
On the gardens, on the ways, on all things…
Will I see, when the yellow day goes to rising,
On the roots, at the side of the white wall of a convent,
To pass of chariots with the bulls before,
And will I see a happy village, avec their crowd
Of the Sundays, strolling, and creeks that run
Near paddocks planted with hemp and chives;
Will I can, in en reprint taste the smell of the time,
Et make me the heart so tender et so ceded,
That the birds of the air will be accommodated inside?
Oh small, divine, noble and grand earth,
Pace of plays, place of days and of the mystery,
Since the human desire in you quench your thirst,
Why do I have to, I haven’t yet this,
This good calming of the bodies contend and tired,
And that always my heart towards you are shattered…
Rain in Summer
Oh, evening washed by rain and sept by wind,
_ _ Oh, evening and Moon!
A hour withdraws and the other goes ahead,
_ _ Beautiful everyone;
The fresh air seems light all of the fades,
_ _ Of their distresses
Which dans the evening of summer watch many hearts
_ _ That a heart oppress;
These dreams, these sighs, in the air sentimental
_ _ Of the twilights,
Like they stretch, like they glide and hurt,
_ _ Like they circle!
But the beautiful cloud make in the darkness let
_ _ Flow its wave
On the lukewarm of the evening, of too much wounded love,
_ _ Oh profond peace;
What calm! The silence et the good freshness…
_ _ The tree drips;
None of noise in the houses, closed like flowers,
_ _ Nothing on the root;
And in the water-soaked air where more nothing is seated
_ _ Of the human soul
It stands up a smell of ivy and of parsley
_ _ Which goes on…
The Council
Go, be afraid of the destiny:
Which was not this morning.
Coming this evening like the arrow,
In the desire which doesn’t break almost…
The tomorrow is not traced :
You aren’t sure of the past.
It’s to you, you can take it:
But, in the darkness which will go down,
Nothing of hasard is not known him;
I sense like his heart is naked,
Tender, brutal et silent;
Not fear you for night Vénus,
And those affected by love.
Who comes boldly, to his day,
Leading the sparkling,
Ah! Many of plaisir and of tears.
Eternity
Mélissa:
Ô Rhodon, our two heats in we are spilled,
Like if we enjoyed their vivacious water
So that we bit the fruits of low branches,
_ _ Leaning on the peach tree.
Rhodon:
All your days up to now, the smiles and the dances,
And the sudden sorrows, the hope and the deviations,
Appeared my coming and prepared the love.
But the kisses owns many other shrillnesses.
Mélissa:
On the ways by where my eyes saw you coming,
A day I followed you, the eyelid closed,
In oder to retuning in the shadow of thinkings
_ _ All the force of pleasure.
Rhodon:
The following season will not be more beautiful.
Come, let your house, your sisters, your scattered sets,
See, there is not of you, of me, of our looks
Who like the woodpeckers in the forest call.
Mélissa:
I’m shaking, everything fades away, there’s more that us;
The sky is wobbling, the space is tighten up.
Rhodon:
There is no more of you et of me on the earth.
And the small universe bring closer our knees.
Mélissa:
Around the my body weary of your image
I bring all the day your passionate memory
Rolled like a ribbon of anxiety and of desire
_ _ That grips me and rushes me…
Rhodon:
Ah! what divine fear in my boldness hesitates!
Mélissa
My heart is like a wood where gods will com!…
The Song of Daphnis
I don’t know more that the air is tender, that the day
Is shiny, the bright salt, the scented cinnamon,
My soul in all things is now flowing
Except in the certitude of happiness of the love
–When for taking a lemon, you curves a branch
And rise up a little to stones of the road,
I don’t see the golden fruit that so I see your hand,
And the colour of the day that by your white leg.
I know that not exist least where doesn’t mingled
Your desire et the mine enslaved and fierce,
And I don’t have thirsty of the water if you put your mouth
On the edge of the beauty brook full of pebbles rolls.
I don’t believe the time, to the sun, to the storms,
I don’t believe that to the sad and sweet love only.
–It’s the day when you laugh, and the night when you lie,
And the infinity is exhausted at the lake of two faces
When my torment avid aspire your torment…
The Pursuit
The hearts would like well to know well,
But the love dances between the beings,
It goes from the one to the other waiting
And like the wind affects plants
It blends sweet essences;
But the souls that distance themselves
Are more rapid in their run
That the air, the perfume and the source
And teach in vain to obtain,
The love is not neither happy nor tender…
The Plants of Ariane
The wind which make fall the plums,
_ _ The green quinces,
That wobbles the moon,
The wind which leads to the sea,
The wind which breaks and tears,
_ _ The cold wind,
Which it comes et which rages on
On my heart in disarray,
Which it comes like in the leaves,
_ _ The clear wind,
On my heart, et which he picks it.
My heart et its bitter sap.
Ah! that the storm wii coming
_ _ Leap by leap.
Which it take in my head
My pain which bend in the round.
Ah! that it comes et that it taka away
_ _ Running away,
My heavy heart like a door
Which opens et flaps in the wind.
Which it bing it ant which it’s a knockout
_ _ The pieces
To the moon, to the tree, to beasts,
In the air, in the shadow, in the water,
For which come back to me fewer
_ _ Forever,
By my soul and of it own
_ _ That I loved…
The Inspiration
When the burning desire at the bottom of the heart descend,
The beautiful stance is born and prolong the blood.
And when the green forest at the edge of the tremble dream,
The green which is moved that imitate and resemble him.
Rejecting hardly the fearful embarrassment
The close talk turned off like the arms;
And, bouncing so that the fierce sources,
The words go, pressing, crying comme the mouths,
Armed with spur, wings and dart
The words descend or lively blink like a look,
So, tying these flowers at the highest of the shaft,
Exaltation smokes and beats like the time,
And this is that smiling to being watched
The desires in all places lead their divine feet.
The more rude songs, the more strong are those
Which the live thrills with dreams do;
All is bright the thinker which his torment harasses,
Tightening her fingers in her deep hair,
Withdrawals scorched by human sparks.
The First Heartbreak
We walk in summer in the high dust
Of white ways, edges of grass and of soapwort.
The descending sus unravelled on us,
Je saw your hair, your arms and your knees.
The huge perfume of dream and of otherness
Was like a rose bush that blooms and that bless.
I sighed many time by cause of that
For that a little of my soul in blow went away.
The evening flied away, the evening so inclined and so sad,
It was like the end of all that exists.
I could see that nothing about me was bothering you,
In my house this distress et in your house this peace!
I felt, including that my pain was vain,
Some thing finishing et passing away in my veins.
And like the children garde their seriousness,
I talked to you, with this wound at the side…
–I pushed aside the thorny networks as I went.
For that they did not come to tear your face,
We went, I sighed of the cold de your fingers naked,
And when at the end the evening was visited
I listened, without seeing anything on the root following,
Your footsteps tremble within me and walk
We returned so at the rustling garden,
The humidity flew, I heard in passing
–Ah ! like that noise permit in my memory–
In the moving and hot air, squeaky swing
And I retuned so, drunk of the time of summer,
Fed up with it all, passing away of having summer
Me, the boy bold and lively, and you, the woman,
And of bring you all the day on my soul…
List of Poetry Translations
(Français, English, Español, Italiano, Deutsch, Nederlands, Svenska)
W. B. Yeats, Rupert Brooke, Anna de Noailles, Léon-Paul Fargue