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!