By Paul Verlaine

French poet Paul Verlaine, an enormous consultant of the Symbolist circulation through the latter 1/2 the 19th century, used to be the most talented and prolific poets of his time. Norman Shapiro's terrific translations demonstrate Verlaine's skill to rework into undying verse the essence of daily life and make obtrusive the explanations for his renown in France and through the Western world.

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They weep. Or so imagine a few. That smell. Why? Fields of oats, whistling. And brambles bristling opposed to the attention. now not homes, sties, Hovels. And extra, Forges galore. pink glow the skies! Smells? Oh là là! Noise? Trains growl earlier. Our eyes, aghast. This? Charleroi…? Stenches abounding! What’s that? what's That whir? That whiz? Like sistrum sounding? ninety three Sites brutaux! Oh! votre haleine, Sueur humaine, Cris des métaux! Dans l’herbe noire Les Kobolds vont. Le vent profond Pleure, on veut croire. p a y s a g e s ninety four b e l g e s Dens, brutal, reeking! Your breath, a debt Of human sweat, scorching metals shrieking! The Kobolds come! Grass, black. And deep The winds. They weep. Or so imagine a few. p a y s a g e s ninety five b e l g e s Green Voici des culmination, des fleurs, des feuilles et des branches Et puis voici mon cœur qui ne bat que pour vous. Ne le déchirez pas avec vos deux mains blanches Et qu’à vos yeux si beaux l’humble présent soit doux. J’arrive tout couvert encore de rosée Que le vent du matin vient glacer à mon entrance. Souffrez que ma fatigue à vos pieds reposée Rêve des chers instants qui los angeles délasseront. Sur votre jeune sein laissez rouler ma tête Toute sonore encor de vos derniers baisers; Laissez-la s’apaiser de l. a. bonne tempête, Et que je dorme un peu puisque vous reposez. a q u a r e l l e s ninety six Green right here, take those boughs, leaves, culmination, and plant life. And take This center that beats for you on my own. Take care Lest, taking, with these tender, white arms, you holiday This humble reward I pray your eyes locate reasonable. To you I come, nonetheless cloaked with morning dew, Breeze-frozen on my forehead. Ah, allow me, please, Lie at your toes, dream of the days we knew: priceless these instances, restful their thoughts. permit my head, choked with kisses echoing but, Loll at the clean, younger great thing about your breast; permit it locate calm above love’s hurricane, and permit Me sleep a bit, while you leisure. a q u a r e l l e s ninety seven Spleen Les roses étaient toutes rouges Et les lierres étaient tout noirs. Chère, pour peu que tu te bouges, Renaissent tous mes désespoirs. Le ciel était trop bleu, trop tendre, l. a. mer trop verte et l’air trop doux. Je crains toujours,—ce qu’est d’attendre! — Quelque fuite atroce de vous. Du houx à los angeles feuille vernie Et du luisant buis je suis las, Et de los angeles campagne infinie Et de tout, fors de vous, hélas! a q u a r e l l e s ninety eight Spleen The roses have been the reddest crimson, The ivy vines the blackest black. You in basic terms stream, and deep my dread, And, darkish, my woes come springing again. Too blue, too mild used to be the sky, The air too candy, too eco-friendly the ocean. I worry, I languish… ah! lest I See you betray me, flee from me. To holly vivid and mistletoe Of shining leaf I bid adieu, To nature’s dull realm, and—oh! — To every thing, lamentably, yet you. a q u a r e l l e s ninety nine Streets I Dansons l. a. gigue! J’aimais surtout ses jolis yeux, Plus clairs que l’étoile des cieux, J’aimais ses yeux malicieux. Dansons los angeles gigue! Elle avait des façons vraiment De désoler un pauvre amant, Que c’en était vraiment charmant! Dansons l. a. gigue! Mais je trouve encore meilleur Le baiser de sa bouche en fleur Depuis qu’elle est morte à mon cœur.

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