Former Life

I lived a long time under vast galleries
Which the marine suns tinted with a thousand fires
And whose great pillars, straight and majestic
Rendered them at evening like basalt caves

The waves, in rolling the images of the skies
Mixed in a fashion solemn and mystic
The all-powerful chords of their rich music
With the colours of the sunset reflected by my eyes.

It's there where I have lived, in calm ecstasies
In the middle of the blue, of the waves, of splendours
And of nude slaves all soaked in scent

Who refreshed my forehead with palms
And whose only care was to probe and deepen
The painful secret that made me languish.

The Former Life (rough)

I lived a long time under vast porticos
Which the marine suns tinted with a thousand fires
And which their great pillars, straight and majestic
Made the same, the evening, as basalt caves

The waves, in rolling the images of the skies
Mixed in a fashion solemn and mystic
The all-powerful chords of their rich music
With the colours of the sunset reflected by my eyes.

It's there where I have lived, in calm sensual pleasures
In the middle of the blue sky, of the waves, of splendours
And of nude slaves all saturated with scents

Who refreshed my forehead with palms
And whose only care was to probe and deepen
The painful secret that made me languish.

La vie anterieur

J´ai longtemps habité sous des vastes portiques
Que les soleils marins teignaient de mille feux
Et que leurs grands piliers, droits et majestueux
Rendaient pariels, le soir, aux grottes basaltiques.

Les houles, en roulant les images des cieux,
Mêlaient d´une façon solonelle et mystique
Les tout-puissants accords de leur riche musique
Aux couleurs du couchant reflété par mes yeux.

C´est là que j´ai vécu, dans les voluptés calmes,
Au milieu de l´azur, des vagues, des splendeurs
Et des esclaves nus, tout imprégnés d´odeurs

Qui me refraîchissaient le front avec des palmes,
Et dont l´unique soin était d´approfondir
Le secret douloureux qui me faisait languir.

The Curse

To lift a weight so heavy
Sisiphus, would take your courage
Even though I've heart for the task
Art is long, and time is short

Far from celebrated tombs
Towards my isolated grave
My heart like a broken drum
Goes beating out funeral marches

Many a jewel buried sleeps
In shadows and neglect
Far, far from picks and probes

Many a flower pours out in regret
Its perfume, sweet as a secret
In solitude profound.

Ill luck (Roy Campbell)

Stolen from the wonderful fleursdumal.org:
A more optimistic version.


III Luck
 
So huge a burden to support
Your courage, Sisyphus, would ask;
Well though my heart attacks its task,
Yet Art is long and Time is short.


Far from the famed memorial arch
Towards a lonely grave I come.
My heart in its funereal march
Goes beating like a muffled drum.


— Yet many a gem lies hidden still
Of whom no pick-axe, spade, or drill
The lonely secrecy invades;


And many a flower, to heal regret,
Pours forth its fragrant secret yet
Amidst the solitary shades.


— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)

The Curse (rough)

To lift a weight so heavy
Sisiphus it would take your courage
Even though I have heart for the task
Art is long, and time is short

Far from celebrated tombs
Towards an isolated cemetery
My heart like a broken drum
Goes beating its funeral marches

Many a jewel sleeps buried
In shadows and neglect
Well far from picks and probes

Many a flower pours out in regret
Its perfume, sweet as a secret
In the profound solitudes.

Le Guignon

Pour soulever un poids si lourd,
Sisyphe, il faudrait ton courage!
Bien qu´on ait du coeur à l´ouvrage,
L´Art est long, et le Temps est court.

Loin des sépultures célèbres,
Vers un cimetière isolé,
Mon coeur, comme un tambour voilé,
Va battant des marches funèbres.

-- Maint joyau dort enseveli
Dans les ténèbres et l´oubli,
Bien loin des pioches et des sondes;

Mainte fleur épanche à regret
Son parfum doux comme un secret
Dans les solitudes profondes.

The Flask

There are strong perfumes for which all materials
Are porous. Some say that they can penetrate glass.
While opening a chest brought from the Orient,
Whose lock grinds and squeaking, sticks,

Or, in an empty house, a cupboard
Full of the bitter smell of time, powdery and black
Sometimes one finds an old flask which remembers,
From which springs full alive returning life.

A thousand thoughts were sleeping, chrysalids interred
Quivering sweetly in the heavy shadows
Which unfurl their wings and take their flights
Tinted with blue, glazed with rose, scaled with gold.

Intoxicating memories flitter in the troubled air.
The eyes close;
Vertigo seizes the vanquished soul and drives it with both hands
to a chasm darkened by the decay of man.

And floors it on the edge of an age-old abyss
where, stinking Lazarus tearing at his shroud,
moves in its awakening the spectral corpse
of an old love, noxious, charming and sepulchral.

In the same way, when I am lost in the memory of men
In the corner of a sinister repository
When they have cast me aside, an old flask
Desolate, decrepit, powdery, dirty, despicable, viscous, broken.

I shall be your coffin, lovable pestilence
The witness of your force and of your virulence
Dear poison prepared by the angels
Liqueur which eats away at me
Oh, the life, and the death, of my heart.

The Flask (rough)

There are strong perfumes for which all material
Is porous. One would say that they penetrate glass
In opening a chest come from the East
Of which the lock grinds and balks in crying

Or in an empty house some cupboard
Full of the bitter smell of time, powdery and black
Sometimes one finds an old flask which remembers
From where springs all alive a soul which comes back

A thousand thoughts were sleeping, funeral chrysalids
Shaking sweetly in the heavy shadows
Which unfurl their wing and take their flight
Tinted with blue, glazed with rose, laminated with gold

See there the intoxicating memory which flutters
into the troubled air. The eyes close;
Vertigo seizes the vanquished soul and pushes it with both hands
to a chasm darkened by human miasmas

It lands it on the edge of a centuried abyss
where, stinking Lazarus tearing his shroud,
moves in its awakening the spectral corpse
Of an old love, rancid, charming and sepulchral

In the same way, when I am lost in the memory of men
In the corner of a sinister wardrobe
When they have thrown me, an old flask
Desolate, decrepit, powdery, dirty, despicable, viscous, broken.

I shall be your coffin, lovable pestilence
The witness of your force and of your virulence
Dear poison prepared by the angels
Liqueur which eats away at me
Oh, the life, and the death, of my heart.

Le Flacon

Il est des forts parfums pour qui toute matière
Est poreuse. On dirait qu'ils pénètrent le verre.
En ouvrant un coffret venu de l'Orient
Dont la serrure grince et rechigne en criant,

Ou, dans une maison déserte quelque armoire
Pleine de l'âcre odeurs des temps, poudreuse et noire
Parfois, on trouve un vieux flacon qui se souvient
D'où jaillit toute vive une âme qui revient.

Mille pensers dormaient, chrysalides funèbres
Frémissant doucement dans les lourdes ténèbres
Qui dégagent leur aile, et prennent leur essor,
Teintés d'azure, glacés de rose, lamés d'or.

Voila le souvenir enivrant qui voltige
Dans l'air troublé. Les yeux se ferment, le Vertige
Saisit l'âme vaincue, et la pousse à deux mains
Vers un gouffre obscurci des miasmes humaines.

Il la terrasse au bord d'un gouffre seculaire
Où, Lazare odorant déchirant son suaire,
Se meut dans son reveil, le cadavre spectrale
D'un vieil amour ranci, charmant et sepulcral.

Ainsi, quand je serai perdu dans la mémoire
Des hommes dans le coin d'une sinistre armoire,
Quand on m'aura jeté vieux flacon désolé,
Décrépit, poudreux, sal, abject, visqueux, fêlé;

Je serai ton circueil, aimable pestilence
Le témoin de ta force et de ta virulence
Cher poison préparé par les anges! Liqueur
Qui me ronge, ô la vie et la mort de mon coeur!

Correspondences

Nature is a temple where the living pillars
Sometimes babble confused words
Man passes there through forests of symbols
Which observe him with familiar gaze

Like long echos which from far away commingle
In a shadowy and deep unity
Vast like the night and vast like the daylight
The perfumes, the colours and the sounds co-respond

There are perfumes fresh like the flesh of infants
Sweet as oboes, green as the prairies
-- And others corrupt, rich and triumphant

Which have the expansion of infinite things
Like amber, musk, benzoin, and incense
Which sing the transports of the spirit and senses

Correspondences (rough)

Nature is a temple where the living pillars
Let sometimes leave confused words
Man passes there through forests of symbols
Which observe him with familiar looks

Like long echos which from far away confound
In a shadowy and deep unity
Vast like the night and like the light
The perfumes, the colours and the sounds answer themselves

There are perfumes fresh like the flesh of infants
Sweet like oboes, green like the prairies
-- And others corrupt, rich and triumphant

Having the expansion of infinite things
Like amber, musk, benzoin, and incense
Which sing the transports of the spirit and the senses

Correspondances

La Nature est un temple où des vivants piliers
Laissent parfois sortir des confuses paroles ;
L'homme y passe à travers des forêts des symboles
Qui l'observent avec des regards familiers.

Comme des longs échos qui de loin se confondent
Dans une ténébreuse et profonde unité,
Vaste comme la nuit et comme le clarté,
Les parfums, les couleurs et les sons se répondent

Il est de parfums frais comme des chairs d'enfants,
Doux comme les hautbois, verts comme les prairies,
-- Et d'autres corrompus, riches et triomphants,

Ayant l'expansion des choses infinies,
Comme l'ambre le musc, le benjoin et l'encens
Qui chantent les transports de l'esprit et des sens.

Elevation

Over the marshes, over the valleys,
The mountains, the woods, the clouds and the seas
Out through the sun, out through the skies
Beyond the bounds of the starry spheres

My spirit, you move with agility
And like a good swimmer in raptures in the waves
You cheerfully plough through immensity
With an inexpressible and virile joy

Fly well far from these filthy reeks
Purify yourself in the celestial air
And drink, like a pure and divine spirit
The clear fire which fills all luminous space

Behind the troubles, and the vast griefs,
Which charge with their weight our lives in the fog
Happy is he who with vigorous wing can
Soar to the fields luminous and serene

He whose thoughts, like the larks
In the morning take flight and
Who glides on his life, and knows without strain
the language of flowers and silent things

Elevation (rough)

Over the marshes, over the valleys,
the mountains, the woods, the clouds, the seas
Beyond the sun, beyond the ethers
Beyond the confines of the starry spheres

My spirit, you move with agility
And like a good swimmer in raptures in the wave
You gaily plough the deep immensity
With an inexpressible and male sensual pleasure

Take off well far from these morbid miasmas
Go and purify yourself in the upper air
And drink, like a pure and divine liquor
The clear fire which fills clear space

Behind the problems, and the vast griefs,
Which charge with their weight foggy existence
Happy is he who with a vigourous wing can
Soar to the luminous and serene fields

He whose thoughts, like the larks
To the sky in the morning take a free flight
Who glides on life, and understands without effort
the language of flowers and of mute things

Élévation

Au-dessus des étangs, au-dessus des vallées,
Des montagnes, des bois, des nuages, des mers,
Par delà le soleil, par delà les éthers,
Par delà les confins des sphères étoilées,

Mon esprit, tu te meus avec agilité,
Et, comme un bon nageur qui se pâme dans l'onde,
Tu sillonnes gaiement l'immensité profonde
Avec un indicible et mâle volupté.

Envole-toi bien loin de ces miasmes morbides;
Va te purifier dans l'air supérieur,
Et bois, comme un pure et divine liqueur,
Le feu clair qui remplit les espaces limpides

Derrière les ennuis, et les vastes chagrins,
Qui chargent de leurs poids l'existence brumeuse,
Heureux celui qui peut d'un aile vigoureuse
S'élancer vers les champs lumineux et sereins ;

Celui dont les pensers, comme des alouettes,
Vers les cieux le matin prennent un libre essor,
-- Qui plane sur la vie, et comprend sans effort
Le langage des fleurs et des choses muettes!

Evening Harmony

See come the time when shaking on its stem
Each flower smokes its perfume like a censer
The perfumes and the sounds turn in the evening air
Melancholy waltz and languid ecstasy

Each flower smokes its perfume like a censer
The violin moans like a heart in pain
Melancholy waltz and languid ecstasy
The sky is a sad and lovely altar

The violin moans, a heart in pain
A tender heart that hates the great black void
The sky is sad and lovely as an altar
The sun drowns in its blood, which congeals

A tender heart that hates the great black void
Of the luminous past harvests every trace
The sun is drowned in its clotted blood
Your memory in me shines like a host of stars

Evening Harmony (Rough)

See come the times when shaking on their stems
Each flower evaporates like an incense burner
The perfumes and the sounds turn in the evening air
Melancholy waltz and langourous ecstasy

Each flower evaporates like an incense burner
The violin trembles like a distressed heart
Melancholy waltz and langourous ecstasy
The sky is sad and beautiful like a great altar

The violin trembles like a distressed heart
A tender heart that hates the great black nothingness
The sky is sad and beautiful like a great altar
The sun is drowned in its congealing blood

A tender heart that hates the great black nothingness
Of the luminous past collects every trace
The sun is drowned in its congealing blood
Your memory in me shines like a monstrance

Harmonie du soir

Voici venir les temps où vibrant sur sa tige,
Chaque fleur s'évapore ainsi qu'un encensoir ;
Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l'air du soir ;
Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige !

Chaque fleur s'évapore ainsi q'un encensoir ;
Le violon frémit comme un coeur qu'on afflige ;
Valse melancolique et langoureux vertige !
Le ciel est triste et beau comme un grand reposoir.

Le violon frémit comme un coeur qu'on afflige,
Un coeur tendre, qui hait le néant vaste et noir !
Le ciel est triste et beau comme un grand reposoir ;
Le soleil s'est noyé dans son sang qui se fige.

Un coeur tendre, qui hait le néant vaste et noir,
Du passé lumineux recueille tout vestige !
Le soleil s'est noyé dans son sang qui se fige...
Ton souvenir en moi luit comme un ostensoir !

The Albatross

Often, to amuse themselves, sailors
take albatrosses, vast birds of the seas
who follow, indolent companions of the voyage
the ship sailing over the bitter gulfs

No sooner than they have laid them on the planks
than these kings of the sky, clumsy and ashamed
let piteously their great white wings
like oars, trail by their sides

The winged voyager, how he is gauche and weak!
He, so recently so beautiful, how he is comic and ugly!
A sailor burns his beak with a clay-pipe,
Another mimes, limping, the cripple who once flew!

The poet is like this prince of the clouds
who haunts the tempest and laughs at the archer
Exiled on the ground, in the realm of jeers,
The wings of a giant ruin his walk.

The Albatross (Rough)

Often, to amuse themselves, the men of the crew
take albatrosses, vast birds of the seas
who follow, indolent companions of the voyage
the ship sailing over the bitter gulfs

No sooner than they have laid them on the planks
than these kings of the sky, clumsy and ashamed
let piteously their great white wings
like oars, trail next to them

This winged voyager, how he is clumsy and feeble!
He, so recently so beautiful, how he is comic and ugly!
The one annoys his beak with a short clay pipe,
The other mimes, limping, the cripple who flew!

The poet is like the prince of the clouds
who haunts the tempest and laughs at the archer
Exiled on the ground, in the middle of jeers,
His giant's wings prevent him from walking.

L'Albatros

Souvent, pour s'amuser, les hommes d'équipage
Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux de mers
Qui suivent, indolent compagnons de voyage,
Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.

A peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches
Que ces rois de l'azur, maladroits et honteux,
Laissent pitieusement leurs grandes ailes blanches
Comme des avirons, traîner à côté d'eux

Ce voyageur ailé, comme il est gauche et veule!
Lui, naguère si beau, qu'il est comique et laid!
L'un agace son bec avec un brûle-gueule,
L'autre mime, en boitant, l'infirme qui volait!

Le Poëte est semblable au prince des nuées
Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer;
Exilé sur le sol, au milieu des huées,
Ses ailes du géant l'empêchent de marcher.

Beauty

I am lovely, O mortals, as a dream of stone,
And my breast, where all break, by and by,
Is made to inspire in poets a love
As endless and silent as world.

I throne in the blue like a mystery sphinx,
I unite a heart of snow with the whiteness of swans,
I hate the movements which displace my lines
And never do I laugh and never do I cry

Poets, before my great attitudes,
Which I seem to take from the proudest steles
Will eat up their days in austere thoughts

As I've, to fascinate these docile lovers
Pure mirrors, which make all things more beautiful
My eyes. My large eyes of eternal light.

Beauty (Rough Translation)

I am lovely, O mortals, as a dream of stone,
And my breast, where everyone has tortured himself turn by turn,
Is made to inspire in poets a love
Eternal and mute as material.

I throne in the blue like a non-understood sphinx,
I unite a heart of snow with the whiteness of swans,
I hate the movement which displaces the lines
And never do I cry and never do I laugh.

Poets, before my great attitudes,
Which I've the air of borrowing from the proudest monuments
Will eat up their days in austere studies

Cos I've, to fascinate these docile lovers
Pure mirrors, which make all things more beautiful
My eyes. My large eyes with lights eternal.

La Beauté

Je suis belle, ô mortels! comme un rêve de pierre,
Et mon sein, où chacun s'est meurtri tour à tour,
Est fait pour inspirer aux poëte un amour
Éternel et muet, ainsi que le matière.

Je trône dans l'azur comme un sphinx incompris.
J'unis un coeur de neige à le blancheur des cygnes
Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes
Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.

Les poëtes, devant mes grandes attitudes,
Que j'ai l'air d'emprunter aux plus fiers monuments,
Consumeront leurs jours en d'austères études;

Car j'ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants,
Des purs miroirs qui font tout choses plus belles:
Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartés eternelles!