Translation | Le cœur innombrable by Anna de Noailles (1901)

Offering to the Nature

Nature of profound heart on that the climate soothing,
Nothing will not have like however warmly loved
Light of days and pleasure of things
Water glowing et the Earth or the life have germinated

Forest, ponds et fertile plains
Have more affected my eyes which look humans,
I’m leaned at the beauty of the world
And I folded the our of seasons in my hands.

I bing our suns so that a crown
On my plain forehead of the pride and of simplicity
My eyes have some as the rolls of autumn
And I wept on the arms of your summers

I come at you without fear and carefulness
You are giving my reason to the good and the bad,
Having for all joy and all knowledge
Your impetuous love to tricks of animal.

Like a flower bloom or accommodate bees,
My life expanded perfumes and songs,
And my quiet heart is like a basket
Which you offer ivy et branches leaning.

Submit so that wave ou tree reflect,
I knew the desires which burn in our nights
And which give birth to the heart of men and beasts
The beautiful impatience and the divine will.

I keep you in my arms from all life, Nature.
Ah! Does it need my eyes fill upped by shadow a day,
And which I go to the country without wind and greenness
Who didn’t visit the light and the love…

The Footprint

I had to put with so good so strong to the life
Of one so roughly grasp and of one such hold tight
Which before the gentleness of the day make me delighted
It will warm up my intertwining.

The sea throughly on the slack world
Will guard in the wrong root of its water
Le mood of my gentleness that is bitter and salty
And rolls on the moving days like a boat.

I let me in the line of hills
The warmth of my eyes which saw bloom,
Et the cicada existed with branches of thorn
Will vibrate the cry strident of my desire.

In the field of spring new greenness
And thick turf on the edge of gulf
Felt heave et fly like wings
Shadows of my hands which are squeezed many.

The Nature which was my joy and my place
Will breathe in the air my persistant passion,
Et on the exhaustion of the humane sadness
I will made the unique form of my heart.

Éva

See, the hill is blue et the shadow agile already
On the white way expands their vapours
The doors of houses brighten to the town.
— Éva, might be without pride, without carefulness and fear

The sun all the day burnt your window,
Your arms were idle et your heart was heavy,
— Here are hour or delightful force go to rebirth
The moon is favourable to love of dreamers

Go in the wood leafy, under the coolness of branchs.
Oh, mourner irritate and hod of desire,
The nature infinite and profond leans
On they go unite and admit of pleasure.

See : it’s for the delight and heavy failure
That the air is rosy and of mist order.
The light geometrids who danse in silence
Fly away gently of bushes move,

Look ; the nature, before, August, eternal,
Which are not affected by humans’ pride and labour,
Flutter in the night and unfold like a wing
When the being looks for the being in the ways of secret.

Il does not know if its grapevine and its apples
Be enough to wants of travellers of the day,
It starts and laughs when the children of men
Hurry in its shadow on seasons of love.

— Éva, juices, honey, vigour et resins
Flow in the light afternoon for perfume your heart,
Give in divine drawing of the dream which progress
There is the hour ou the flower bend on the flower.

Stars on the sky light one to one,
Leaves moving brush against gently,
Waves of sea rise to the moon.
Groan of the birds lighten at times…

— Éva, enter to your circumference in the happy season,
Wash your heart in hardy water of the destiny,
Accept without shaking harmonious struggle
The bee of desire this evening plays on the thyme;

See, the infinite world looks at you et wishes you,
— Do you feel creep through you the perfumes around.,
Your body is profond this night like the Earth,
Your heart opens and throw itself, and weep : it’s the love…

Ardent Passing Away

Passing away the condensation ardent of the being,
When perfume, propensity and heavy like a flowerhead,
The heart of which rumour of air balances and touch
It fades into painful and sweet pleasure.

To pass away soaks their hands to coolnesses of greenery,
Reach their eyes to eyes blooming of green woods,
Take part in ancient universal awakening,
Having in the same time your youngness and age.

Go away calmly with the end of the day :
Passing away by golden arrows at gentle dusk
Feel the sweet soul and peaceful decline
Towards the profond ground and the immortal love.

Go away for enjoy in it and its mystery
Being in grass, grain, warmth and water,
Sleep in the plain of green rings,
Pass away for still being more near the ground…

The Hometown

Happy who in her city, host of her maison
Of the joyful and bronzed morning of the life
Taste same places the return of seasons
And see their mornings of a clam evening continues

Faith et naive like beautiful pigeons,
The moon et the sun come on her residence,
Et equal to the rosebush which increases of buds,
Her sweet life bloom layers of each hour.

It goes, to tie between them suckers of the destiny,
Combine the harsh branches et the more early approaches,
And her tidy heart is like her garden
Full of new flowers on bald bark.

Happy those who knew to taste the shadow and the love
Of the vivid town of their rich hillside
And which can, in the long continuation of days,
Refresh her dream to river of her town…

It will be longtime light this night

It will be longtime light this night, the days make longer.
The word of the day lively disperse and flee,
And the overhead trees can’t be seen in the night
Remain awakes in the white evening, and dream…
Power exquisites, gods evocative, perfumes,
The chestnut trees, on the vast air of gold and of heaviness,
Expand their perfumes and may spread
Let smoke through me your rich casseroles!
Perfume of flowers of April, scent of haymakings
Odour of the first fire in the old houses
And swoons to the velvet of rigid hangings;
Soothing flavour which separates to four,
Perfume which languishes to dark bindings,
Memory vanished of our young love
Which wakes up and sighs to the taste of hair;
Smoke of wine which sprouts to brutal blasphème,
Sweetness of the grain of incense which make one humiliates.
Extract of blue iris, dust of sandalwood,
Perfumes exasperate of the softened ground;
Blow the seas loaded with kelp and salt,
Warm up surrounding of the burning packed;
Claustral scattered torpor to pages of missal,
Acrid ferment of the soil which smokes after the rain;
Odour of wood to the dawn and the hot espaliers,
Intoxicating freshness which round the washings,
Invigorating balms to familiar perfumes,
Vapour of tea which sing with going up to beams!…
— I have in my heart a park where my ill go astray,
From transparent vases where the lilac fade,
A scapular where sleeps the box of holy palms,
Of bottles of poison and of unholy essence.
Fruits picked very soon mature slowly
At a corner withdraw on straw mats,
And the subtle aroma of its avortion
Break through of an invisible notch…
— And my injection watch that wake in the night
Know a secret vault which the perfuming myrrh,
Where my dolorous past, fading et reduced,
Is a heap of ash hot again that smokes.
— I go to drink the breath et the fluidities
Of odorous chills which the wind scatter.
And I make my heart, to feet of pleasures,
A Oriental vase where burns a chip…

The Inner Life

Be in the nature so that a humane tree,
Extend their desires like the deep foliage,
And feel, by the peaceful night and by thunderstorm
The universal energy effects dans their hands.

Live, have the rays of the Sun on the face,
Drink the hot salt of sea sprays and tears
And warmly taste the joy and the pain
That make a fog humane dans the space.

Feel in his lively heart the air, the fire and le blood
Flutter so that the wind on the earth :
— Rise to real et lean to mystery,
Be the day which rise and the shadow which fell down.

Like the purple evening of colours of cherry
Let the heart vermilion colour the flame and the water,
And like the clear dawn back of the hill
Have the love which dreams, sitting at the edge of world…

Autumn

Here is the cold radiants de September :
The wind want to enter and play in the room;
But the house has the serious air, this morning,
And let it outside witch weeps at the garden.

Like all of voices of summer was vanished!
Why it doesn’t take mantises with statues?
All is in transit, all aspen and all has fear ; I believe
Which the kiss shake and which the water has cold same.

The leaves in the wind flow like crazy ;
They want to go where the birds take off,
But the wind returns them and blocks their path :
They had passed away on the lakes tomorrow.

The silence is light and calm ; a minute
The wind passes through like a player of flute,
And then all returns still silent,
And the Love which plays under the goodness of skies

Returns for heat before the fire which blazes
Their large hands of cold and their chilly feet.
And the old house which he will going to look
Tresses and is touched to feel him enter.

Offering to Pan

This cup de wood, black like a seed,
Where I knew, of an insinuating and hard blade
Sculpte skilfully the leave of the grape
With its crease, its knots, its spin et its crimp,

I dedicate it to Pan, in memory of the day
Where the shepherd Damis snatching this cup from me
After that I drank from it came and drank from it in turn
Smiling of see me become red of his daring.

Not knowing where find the altar of the cornel god
I let offering at bottom of that rock
— Mais now my heart has the continuous taste
Of a kiss more deep, more powerful and more close…

Rhodocleia

Rhodocleia, leaning against the bushes of the way,
Filled with foliage and with berries her basket,
When the shepherd Hylas bit him the hand
Of a kiss more stinging which the sting de bee.

She sensed slip just at bottom of her heart
The spur and the honey of the rough caress,
And the faltering steps of pleasure and of fear,
She walked long time in the thick lucerne.

And when she returned to the house, the evening,
Her heart was if heavy and if hot in her throat
Which she had to return to her bed without sitting down
Around nut dish, of chestnuts and barley.

This meal fragrant that she couldn’t eat.
— Thinking which its thus which the love dreams —
Rhodocleia which moved by the shepherd’s kiss
The offer pleasingly to immortal Venus…

Child Éros

Child Éros which plays in the shadow of surgeon
_ _ And tree for the clear sources,
You which keeps thus that a couple of pigeons
_ _ The love and the anger,

Pass without wait for you at the doorway of my house,
_ _ Not enter this year :
My soul of loves that had the other season
_ _ Is surprised still.

Because You mix the honey with your kisses
_ _ On the jealous lips
The bitter hatred thus which the fruit of rowan tree.
_ _ The acid and red hatred…

The conscience

Azur incorrupotible, luminous distress,
Since you has wanted enough visit me,
I returned my heart between your careful hands
For that you guides it, by the dark nights,
At the way of the exact and clear truth.

Before that you visit, my great friend.
My life was still, to your tender sunrise,
In love of brilliance, of chandelier et of parade
Like a swan who flees the calm waters of the harbour
For see on the sea et dancing in the wind.

The voluptuous swarm of turbulent hours
Coming, in bouncing, to me like a roe deer;
I averted my eyes from their gallant crowd
And I heal for you my soul hope
Of the sin of anger et of the sin of pride.

You will be in my heart like a fortress
And I will the archer who become old in the travel
You will be at the deep country of my tenderness,
Between the green gardens of my fine drunkenness
The root of Sun without shadow et sans bending.

Oh, you, modesty of which is shy and fragile
You Will be in my good heart like a blue lake,
And you will see on your tranquil wave,
Like the pigeons that the branches string
My desires persistent, brave and scrupulous…

The Dreams

The face of them which we don’t like still
Appear sometimes at the windows of dreams,
And goes lighting up on pale decorations.
In a glow of moon which rise.

It floats like heavenly to graces of his bodies.
His view is intense and his mouth attentive :
It seems that they have seen the gardens of the passing away
And they more less in them of real doesn’t follow.

The furtive sweetness of their advent
Control our desires to their favourable wishes,
We sense in them imperious lovers
Venus for us so that the fate is fulfilled;

They are the slow gestures, sweet and silent,
Our life unite in their expectation :
It seems to the bodies utile par the eyes
And which the spirit are the pages which we have read.

The mystery is exhilarated by the mutes of voices,
To the enigma of the eyes, to the trouble of the smile,
To the grand pity which we go sometimes
By his watch, which becomes imprecise and withdraws…

They are the gazes of which we don’t care,
Where the heart is too tired to defend itself,
Where your spirit is sad so that the moment of death;
They are the unions pitiful and tender…

And those rest, when the dream will fled,
Mysteriously the elected mesonage,
Those to whom we will leave, in the secret of nights,
Offered our lips of shadow, opened our arms of dream.

The animals

Gradian gods of the herds that holds swivels,
Meet us the innocence of ancestors of beasts;

So that we have endurance de aliments,
Give us the sweetness of sober animals.

–Grant that we have in our insignificant penalties
The mute isolation and the disdain for swans;

Give us for suffer the hazardous destiny
The submissive and distracted indolence of oxen;

Grant that our heart where the children is fading
Had the robust cheerfulness and the naivety of the spirit;

Give us for struggle against the false oaths
The straight mistrust and live of birds;

Grant that we may have to honour our vigils
The joyful and serious activity des bees;

Give us for calm our desires et out tastes
The profound insensibility of owls.

And, in the cruel days where the reason rambles,
The calm of fishes wait on the waves;

Grant that our gardians feel it mysterious
Of the infinity which sleep in the base of their eyes,

–And deliver our bodies, miserable in sum,
From the glorious and cursed love of human!

Complaint

Put your hands to my forehead where all the humane storm
_ _ Struggle like a bird,
And perpetuate so that to the hollow of shellfishes
_ _ The water tumour.

Close my eyes so that they are clos et tranquil
_ _ Like the deep in sleep
And that they doesn’t know more when pass on the city
_ _ The moon and the sun

Talk to me of the passing-away, of dream that we lead,
_ _ From the eternal leisure,
Where one doesn’t plus anything of the love, of the hate,
_ _ Neither of the pleasant sad;

Rest, it’s the night, and in the shadow crossing
_ _ I feel fear on the prowl;
–Ah! Let that my spirit bitter and bouncing
_ _ It’s flooding into your heart.

The Time of Living

Already the ardent life inclines to the evening,
_ _ Breathe in you youngness
The time is short which goes to the vine to the press,
_ _ Of the twilight to the day that drop,

Guard your spirit open to the surrounding perfumes,
_ _ To the movements of wave,
Love the effort, the hope, the pride, love the love,
_ _ It’s the profond choice;

How many all the living hearts is going
_ _ At the solitary room
Without take honey or breathed the wind
_ _ Of the mornings of the earth

How many all the living afternoon are same
_ _ At roots of gambles,
And which have not taste the vie where the sun
_ _ Spreads out and sinks in.

They don’t widespred the essences and the gold
_ _ Where their hands were large,
Here they are now in this shadow where to sleeping
_ _ Without dream and without breath;

–You, live, is numerous to force of desires,
_ _ Of thrill and ecstasy
Divide on the way where the man must serve
_ _ Your spirit like a pot,

Mixed with the games of the day, press against your breast
_ _ The life after et fierce;
That the day et the love sing like a swarm
_ _ Of bees on your mouth.

And then watch as they flee, without regret or torment,
_ _ The unfaithful infideles,
Having given your heart et your consent
_ _ To the eternal night…

List of Poetry Translations
(Français, English, Español, Italiano, Deutsch, Nederlands, Svenska)

Translation | Posthumous collection of poetry (3/5) by Michizo Tachihara

Vacation

Primary school in a forest. Floating clouds, crossed the sky, whistling, thinking something.

The primary school garden, under a swing, there’s an empty shadow. A sunflower was blooming, like a sundial for bees and cabbage maggots.

By chance, the shadow of something big.

……What a very short moment.

Happy things passed. Like floating clouds, reassuring all.

Song about August travel feeling

On the tough grass of a summit, a modest meal
On the parasol, it bloomed
Ah, summer’s excursion, I’d climb with my finger
A line of clear sky
This white cloud, like a dream

In the journey, a half-sleep of the day, reflected to my heart
It silently erased, like the wood of a deciduous tree
Ah, this colour, penetrated to the top
At the end of the assembly lines were seen in the distance
A nostalgia, still unknown

Traveller’s night song: FRÄULEIN A. MUROHU GEWIDMET

It continued to rain, the cold rain
The lamp I carried
That lit my feet a little
The night was far but I walked and walked

Why was I going to walk
Despite I gave up, included my bed
Also warm stories and the candle– however
Why I walked
When the maint arrives, then I’ll sleep
I walk to where…… like this
What do I do

I wet myself completely, wetting myself
The happy memory, I’m still looking for it……
Of my mother, towards the city, with regret in the deep black only

To the beautiful woman who was passing away

Sometimes before my eyes the shadow appeared
To this world, by a ghost, forgot
A land I know not, when apple trees scented
Unfamiliar, on the starry sky of the distant clear night

Exchanges between summer and spring were not hectic on the sky
–Your smile of yore was not for me
–Your voice did not ring for me
Your silent illness and death, like a song in a dream
I lit a fire to this sadness came this evening
Dedicated the poor withered roses to you
With the moonlight wounded, it was the wake by me

Probably there are no signs in your memory
But also who the sad was not allowed, it’s me …
“The remains on the apple tree turned green, were to sleep eternally”

Imaginative pleasure in the night

Young foliage scented the wind stung my eyes
But my racing thought, what thing lurked in it
The little girl sang to me
–One evening in the dead of winter, it was

The light of the rough path was covered with snow
Pleasure of my heart
Had stolen through someone’s lip
Then I tried to console
My dry mouth sang a song to call
I passed like this…
In the snowy light of the midwinter evening…

Whose heart was hiding?
And so the little girl’s longing became a harsh presentiment
What was stolen? Tell me that, little girl

List of Poetry Translations
(English, Français, Deutsch, Español, Italiano)

Jean-Michel Serres Apfel Café Music QR Codes Center English 2024.

Translation | Posthumous collection of poetry (2/5) by Michizo Tachihara

Summer travel

I. The song at the end of the village

Was in bloom, a Bird’s-foot trefoil, and
I picked by fingers, it told me through the light–
The right is the path from the north to Echigo
The left is the Nakasendo at Kiso
On the fine evening after the rain, we’ll stay looking absent-mindedly at the sky
And, I’d walk straight across the evening, my dingy home village
By the tussock grass of Batohcannon, we stood wordless by the first time of our lives

II. For the goat

The little bridge, said the road entered the village this way
In the shade of a tree on the coastal podocarps, a very old black house….. to this garden
An old goat was put by the chain, as the nice joy of a pitiful boy
To everyone, the goat answered with a voice that trembled–
Always travellers, would pass and see to thee in a moment

III. Bucolic

The mill alone in the village
In summer, the roof smoked
It sang merry songs all day long and never tired of singing
What was the mill doing
To the stream, to the sun, it harmonised to sing your slowed steps
What was the mill spinning at

IV. Rest – A personal letter to I.T.

Formerly, when I came across the dream was beautiful, there was not the thing more beautiful than the dream in this world. But, today, if things that more beautiful than the dream surrounds me, that’s how happy I am. On the Shinano plateau, the flowers of common buckwheat bloom in the clear air, and the grasses of the pampas float, the stripes of the mountain lines were counted, there is the existence of beautiful clouds incredible to the sky very blue. I opened my ear towards the subtle tone of wind, but it whispers the correct words in this world. Finally, I do not want to express who my heart means by my words. How, I say, and I demand. It is reasonable, that I think such and such with zeal. T, to be like that is pleasant. The sky very high unfathomable. I am small so, also I am great so.

V. Towards the cemetery

To the thin path in the thick fog, the very sonorous voice invited me, the bottom of the wood I arrived first time.
To the hillside of the birch trees– ah, my fantasy! (The branches, sang the song of the sky which flew by the wind)

VI. Death of summer

Summer passed hastily away
For yet another journey

We counted the days that remained unshadowed
Watching the clouds and the steam weighing on the volcano
We stayed a cold room a little, most of the time
Chatting about trivial flowers and the gossip of the townsfolk

On a drizzly day I’d walk the person to the car park
At the entrance to the village, the small leaves of the pine trees were falling in the cold wind, non-stop
…… An inn had free rooms, since that night, I wrote the letters always, only on the weak lamp

VII. The end of the journey

Last night, the moon that sees the moonrise
Became the moon at noon, floated the morning sky
Bright ultramarine blue ran across the sky
It was said to disperse and change to white clouds, also this moon
Many times I looked back, many times I looked back
The traveller, raising his eyes to the sky, had an inexhaustible resentment to the people left behind
And felt the sad lie without limit

Words from the rain

I’m cold little
Because I was only going through everything
In a drizzle
My palms, my forehead, stayed wet
Before I knew it I was going dark
I lean on here like this
And wait for the lamp to light

Outside the weak rain without sound continues to rain
On a manless fish tank, on a roof
On the umbrellas of men
It wanders forever
Before long it will turn into a smoky fog……

I don’t know and I don’t hope
She says something about a day
About the silence and the warm morning
The subtle murmur of the rain, of a kind
And it changes variously
Listening to it
I unknowingly fell asleep as always

Entering summer

Like a palm, it was beautiful calm weather. I thought some where I’d seen Sunday like this.

In the night, the fog descended out of the window. We were gathering. Around the candle. We even knitted words sometimes, around the chatter remained a little.

On our hands, the morning bouquet didn’t stay. …..Il was like the colour of the country away from my mother and family.

Insects sang. The crickets continued to sing, which is the monkey of late summer. A person was listening but he got bored and went out somewhere.

I was thinking about tomorrow. About the thing I can’t listen to or talk about. ……The window was open. The moonrise shone clearly through the window, through the fog ran soundlessly.

Travel diary: The day, to Tsutomu Ikuta

This city, a front of a library — I was listening, the voice of a young Turkish woman. I received a song book with a beautiful red cover. Like children singing.

And I tilted my umbrella a few times, and I saw the sky. The sky was completely grey, but it’s unfathomably high. The day of quiet rain.

People whispered to the young traveller. What were you looking at?
Yes. I was looking at a young Turkish woman, later at a park, at the end of the little dark city.
— One of these days I’ll sell Novalis and Rilke. The day ended as such, the girl of the blazing sky….. My reverie was like a hard and sour fruit.

I prepare the candles did not burn entirely to the girl. For I do not forget memoirs of the trip. — The end of the summer, to the city has ancient castle, I received, by the girl, this book of song, I continued to travel.

The noon of a lonely day

Hiding from me a tuft of wet grass
I repeated
Various, narrow positions
How miserably pleasant they were

The conviction that I was seen by none
Earlier, an invitation to confession and…
This time, midday
Seemed to feel
The sun made the coquette gently
Tumult ceased while I ignored
Only the song of the birds, singing in the distance

Ah, innocent
A moment was knotted, that will be gone
To the rightness of this desire

Requiem

At the tiled window, she reflected
Passed, an inclined shadow of a person
Piled up, piled up and tangled, erased
erased……

This moment, this moment
Like a shadow, she would go on like that
Always, always
She wrote characters that laughed at her
When she passed away, she’d smile a little…
But this voice, me
By another, I was heard only

On a table, the shadow of a flower fell, the shadow of a dish
If I touched them with my fingers
My memories would fade one by one, a faint sound would erase

Basket of the Sky

A country girl, showed to train
And gave lessons to the neighbouring town
With a big basket in her hand
–Le retour….. The basket
Fruit, bread and flowers, was full
The girl was buried in perfume
She was fast asleep

Always, even completely
Just now when the sun was setting
At home, the basket was empty
I didn’t know why
The country girl, from the oven
Was burning with fire
This time for herself alone
She sang the song of the basket
Many birds, pearls and flowers

Paper cut-outs

The sun was setting, so the sky was undressing
And it said “Soon it will be night” to the cuckoo clock

Little stars fell from the lamp
Each one lit up the rooms of the town

Like “My room, good night!
One by one the children disappeared

The night is this story
This sad makes me happy

To summer

He waited here and like this, for a while
My boy, my secret……
Then, a person I do not know
I forget, a distant departure, from someone

He waved a handkerchief
He would look out of a window
He, waved
Finally he was going somewhere…
(Yes, I, prepared a hat
And a T-shirt whiter than paper
So I would have looked)

I waved my hand at the dock for a while
My yesterday, my boy…… After that
This man alone was not there, many departures passed by

List of Poetry Translations
(English, Français, Deutsch, Español, Italiano)

Jean-Michel Serres Apfel Café Music QR Codes Center English 2024.