♦ I like poetry, though I don’t know a great deal. I was pretty surprised when I told Fractal of a Victor Hugo poem I’d found, and loved, and he told me he didn’t know it. It’s a beautiful poem and it says rather well the sorts of things I’d like to say to him. So I tracked down a translation or two.
I’m a fussy cow, though. None suited me. So I did my own, with a few bits borrowed here and there from previous translations of it. I thought some of my more romantic readers might enjoy the poen. So here it is. ♦
Puisque j’ai mis ma lèvre à ta coupe encor pleine ;
Puisque j’ai dans tes mains posé mon front pâli ;
Puisque j’ai respiré parfois la douce haleine
De ton âme, parfum dans l’ombre enseveli ;
Puisqu’il me fut donné de t’entendre me dire
Les mots où se répand le coeur mystérieux ;
Puisque j’ai vu pleurer, puisque j’ai vu sourire
Ta bouche sur ma bouche et tes yeux sur mes yeux ;
Puisque j’ai vu briller sur ma tête ravie
Un rayon de ton astre, hélas ! voilé toujours ;
Puisque j’ai vu tomber dans l’onde de ma vie
Une feuille de rose arrachée à tes jours ;
Je puis maintenant dire aux rapides années :
- Passez ! passez toujours ! je n’ai plus à vieillir !
Allez-vous-en avec vos fleurs toutes fanées ;
J’ai dans l’âme une fleur que nul ne peut cueillir !
Votre aile en le heurtant ne fera rien répandre
Du vase où je m’abreuve et que j’ai bien rempli.
Mon âme a plus de feu que vous n’avez de cendre !
Mon coeur a plus d’amour que vous n’avez d’oubli !
.
Since I’ve pressed my lips to your still-brimming bowl;
Since in your hands my pale brow has been laid;
Since I have drawn in the sweet breath of your soul
At times – that perfume hidden in the shade;
Since fortune allowed that I hear you say
The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries;
Since I’ve seen your smiles and your dismay,
Your mouth on my mouth, your eyes on my eyes;
Since I have seen shining on my awed head,
A ray from your star, alas! still veiled to me;
Since I have seen one sole rose petal shed
From your days, fall into my life’s sea.
Now I can cry to each swift year:
- “Roll on! roll ever on! For now I age not!
Take your wilted blooms and disappear;
In my soul I’ve a rose that none may cut!”
Though your wing may strike it, you will not dash
A drop from the cup which I have filled well;
My soul has more fire than you have ash!
My heart has more love than you have oblivion’s hell!”
4 comments
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June 29, 2009 at 4:08 am
oatmeal girl
I love poetry, and anything in French. It’s so much more lush in French, like velvet. Thank you for this.
The sadist once gave me the challenge of translating one of my own poems into another language. I chose French and learned a lot along the way – especially how language can determine, or at least affect, what one says and writes and perhaps, in a small way, what one thinks.
o.g.
June 29, 2009 at 9:26 pm
Blacksilk
Thanks for the comment! Languages certainly have their own feel to them, at least to me. There seem to be very few things that have the same, I dunno, essence maybe, to them in one language and another.
This poem certainly feels so much more right to me in French than in any English translation I’ve read (or indeed written). I just wish Fractal could read it in the original. Maybe one day :)
It’s interesting what you say about language affecting how we think. Such an entrancing, and debated, topic. I’m actually reading a book at the moment where it comes up quite heavily.
I wonder if I should try and twist my love for languages into my sex blogging, somehow? I’m sure there’s potential there….
Sorry, you’ve got me pondering now!
July 8, 2009 at 2:51 am
Elle
That’s some mighty good translating right there, Miss ;)
July 9, 2009 at 10:29 pm
Blacksilk
Ooh, thanks very much! :D
So good to hear that from someone fluent in both. Hope I didn’t garble it, although I do think any version in English is necessarily a bit garbled in comparison.
But anyway, yay! Thanks Elle! x