Alfred de Musset (1810 - 1857)
We don’t trifle with love (Extract of the play)
On ne badine pas avec l'amour
All men are liars, inconstant, hollow, talkative, hypocrites, proud and cowards, contemptible and sensual; all woman are perfidious, artificial, vain, curious and depraved; the world is nothing but a bottomless sewer where the most shapeless seals crawl and wriggle on mountains of muck; but there one single thing in this world, saint and sublime, it’s the union of these two beings so imperfect and dreadful. We are often deceived in love, often wounded and often miserable; but we love, and when we are on of the verge of the grave, we look back, and we say: I often suffered, I erred sometimes: but I loved. It is me who lived and not a factitious being created by my pride and my boredom.
To Mademoiselle - Musset
Alfred de Musset
A mademoiselle ***
To Mademoiselle ***
Oui, femmes, quoi qu'on puisse dire,
Yes, women, whataver can be said,
Vous avez le fatal pouvoir
You have the fatal power
De nous jeter par un sourire
To throw us with a smile
Dans l'ivresse ou le désespoir.
In drunkeness or despair.
Oui, deux mots, le silence même,
Yes, two words, even silence,
Un regard distrait ou moqueur,
A distracted glance or a mocking one,
Peuvent donner à qui vous aime
Can give to who loves you
Un coup de poignard dans le cour.
A stab in the heart.
Oui, votre orgueil doit être immense,
Yes, your pride must be huge,
Car, grâce à notre lâcheté,
For, thanks to our cowardice,
Rien n'égale votre puissance,
Nothing equals your strength,
Sinon votre fragilité.
Other than your fragilitiy.
Mais toute puissance sur terre
But any power on earth
Meurt quand l'abus en est trop grand,
Dies when the abuse is too great
Et qui sait souffrir et se taire
And who knows how to suffer in silence
S'éloigne de vous en pleurant.
Moves away from you weeping
Quel que soit le mal qu'il endure,
Whatever the pain he endures,
Son triste rôle est le plus beau.
His sad role is the most beautiful.
J'aime encor mieux notre torture
I better like our torture
Que votre métier de bourreau.
Than your trade of torturer.
A mademoiselle ***
To Mademoiselle ***
Oui, femmes, quoi qu'on puisse dire,
Yes, women, whataver can be said,
Vous avez le fatal pouvoir
You have the fatal power
De nous jeter par un sourire
To throw us with a smile
Dans l'ivresse ou le désespoir.
In drunkeness or despair.
Oui, deux mots, le silence même,
Yes, two words, even silence,
Un regard distrait ou moqueur,
A distracted glance or a mocking one,
Peuvent donner à qui vous aime
Can give to who loves you
Un coup de poignard dans le cour.
A stab in the heart.
Oui, votre orgueil doit être immense,
Yes, your pride must be huge,
Car, grâce à notre lâcheté,
For, thanks to our cowardice,
Rien n'égale votre puissance,
Nothing equals your strength,
Sinon votre fragilité.
Other than your fragilitiy.
Mais toute puissance sur terre
But any power on earth
Meurt quand l'abus en est trop grand,
Dies when the abuse is too great
Et qui sait souffrir et se taire
And who knows how to suffer in silence
S'éloigne de vous en pleurant.
Moves away from you weeping
Quel que soit le mal qu'il endure,
Whatever the pain he endures,
Son triste rôle est le plus beau.
His sad role is the most beautiful.
J'aime encor mieux notre torture
I better like our torture
Que votre métier de bourreau.
Than your trade of torturer.
The Ghost
Charles Baudelaire
The Ghost (Flowers of Evil)
Le Revenant (Les Fleurs du Mal)
Like angels with wild beast's eyes
I shall return to your bedroom
And silently glide toward you
With the shadows of the night;
And, dark beauty, I shall give you
Kisses cold as the moon
And the caresses of a snake
That crawls around a grave.
When the livid morning comes,
You'll find my place empty,
And it will be cold there till night.
I wish to hold sway over
Your life and youth by fear,
As others do by tenderness.
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
The Ghost (Flowers of Evil)
Le Revenant (Les Fleurs du Mal)
Like angels with wild beast's eyes
I shall return to your bedroom
And silently glide toward you
With the shadows of the night;
And, dark beauty, I shall give you
Kisses cold as the moon
And the caresses of a snake
That crawls around a grave.
When the livid morning comes,
You'll find my place empty,
And it will be cold there till night.
I wish to hold sway over
Your life and youth by fear,
As others do by tenderness.
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
Conversation
Charles Baudelaire
Conversation (Flowers of Evil)
Causerie (Les Fleurs du Mal)
You are a lovely autumn sky, clear and rosy!
But sadness rises in me like the sea,
And as it ebbs, leaves on my sullen lips
The burning memory of its bitter slime.
— In vain does your hand slip over my swooning breast;
What it seeks, darling, is a place plundered
By the claws and the ferocious teeth of woman.
Seek my heart no longer; the beasts have eaten it.
My heart is a palace polluted by the mob;
They get drunk there, kill, tear each other's hair!
— A perfume floats about your naked breast!...
O Beauty, ruthless scourge of souls, you desire it!
With the fire of your eyes, brilliant as festivals,
Bum these tatters which the beasts spared!
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
Conversation (Flowers of Evil)
Causerie (Les Fleurs du Mal)
You are a lovely autumn sky, clear and rosy!
But sadness rises in me like the sea,
And as it ebbs, leaves on my sullen lips
The burning memory of its bitter slime.
— In vain does your hand slip over my swooning breast;
What it seeks, darling, is a place plundered
By the claws and the ferocious teeth of woman.
Seek my heart no longer; the beasts have eaten it.
My heart is a palace polluted by the mob;
They get drunk there, kill, tear each other's hair!
— A perfume floats about your naked breast!...
O Beauty, ruthless scourge of souls, you desire it!
With the fire of your eyes, brilliant as festivals,
Bum these tatters which the beasts spared!
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
Cloudy Sky
Charles Baudelaire
Cloudy Sky (Flowers of Evil)
Ciel brouillé (Les Fleurs du Mal)
One would say that your gaze was veiled with mist;
Your mysterious eyes (are they blue, gray or green?)
Alternately tender, dreamy, cruel,
Reflect the indolence and pallor of the sky.
You call to mind those days, white, soft, and mild,
That make enchanted hearts burst into tears,
When, shaken by a mysterious, wracking pain,
The nerves, too wide-awake, jeer at the sleeping mind.
You resemble at times those gorgeous horizons
That the sun sets ablaze in the seasons of mist...
How resplendent you are, landscape drenched with rain,
Aflame with rays that fall from a cloudy sky!
O dangerous woman, O alluring climates!
Will I also adore your snow and your hoar-frost,
And can I draw from your implacable winter
Pleasures keener than iron or ice?
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
Cloudy Sky (Flowers of Evil)
Ciel brouillé (Les Fleurs du Mal)
One would say that your gaze was veiled with mist;
Your mysterious eyes (are they blue, gray or green?)
Alternately tender, dreamy, cruel,
Reflect the indolence and pallor of the sky.
You call to mind those days, white, soft, and mild,
That make enchanted hearts burst into tears,
When, shaken by a mysterious, wracking pain,
The nerves, too wide-awake, jeer at the sleeping mind.
You resemble at times those gorgeous horizons
That the sun sets ablaze in the seasons of mist...
How resplendent you are, landscape drenched with rain,
Aflame with rays that fall from a cloudy sky!
O dangerous woman, O alluring climates!
Will I also adore your snow and your hoar-frost,
And can I draw from your implacable winter
Pleasures keener than iron or ice?
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
Poison
Charles Baudelaire
Poison (Flowers of Evil)
Le Poison (Les Fleurs du Mal)
Wine knows how to adorn the most sordid hovel
With marvelous luxury
And make more than one fabulous portal appear
In the gold of its red mistLike a sun setting in a cloudy sky.
Opium magnifies that which is limitless,
Lengthens the unlimited,
Makes time deeper, hollows out voluptuousness,
And with dark, gloomy pleasures
Fills the soul beyond its capacity.
All that is not equal to the poison which flows
From your eyes, from your green eyes,
Lakes where my soul trembles and sees its evil side...
My dreams come in multitude
To slake their thirst in those bitter gulfs.
All that is not equal to the awful wonder
Of your biting saliva,
Charged with madness, that plunges my remorseless soul
Into oblivion
And rolls it in a swoon to the shores of death.
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
Poison (Flowers of Evil)
Le Poison (Les Fleurs du Mal)
Wine knows how to adorn the most sordid hovel
With marvelous luxury
And make more than one fabulous portal appear
In the gold of its red mistLike a sun setting in a cloudy sky.
Opium magnifies that which is limitless,
Lengthens the unlimited,
Makes time deeper, hollows out voluptuousness,
And with dark, gloomy pleasures
Fills the soul beyond its capacity.
All that is not equal to the poison which flows
From your eyes, from your green eyes,
Lakes where my soul trembles and sees its evil side...
My dreams come in multitude
To slake their thirst in those bitter gulfs.
All that is not equal to the awful wonder
Of your biting saliva,
Charged with madness, that plunges my remorseless soul
Into oblivion
And rolls it in a swoon to the shores of death.
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
To One Who Is Too Gay
Charles Baudelaire
To One Who Is Too Gay (Flowers of Evil)
A celle qui est trop gaie (Les Fleurs du Mal)
Your head, your bearing, your gestures
Are fair as a fair countryside;
Laughter plays on your face
Like a cool wind in a clear sky.
The gloomy passer-by you meet
Is dazzled by the glow of health
Which radiates resplendently
From your arms and shoulders.
The touches of sonorous color
That you scatter on your dresses
Cast into the minds of poets
The image of a flower dance.
Those crazy frocks are the emblem
Of your multi-colored nature;
Mad woman whom I'm mad about,
I hate and love you equally!
At times in a lovely garden
Where I dragged my atony,
I have felt the sun tear my breast,
As though it were in mockery;
Both the springtime and its verdure
So mortified my heart
That I punished a flower
For the insolence of Nature.
Thus I should like, some night,
When the hour for pleasure sounds,
To creep softly, like a coward,
Toward the treasures of your body,
To whip your joyous flesh
And bruise your pardoned breast,
To make in your astonished flank
A wide and gaping wound,
And, intoxicating sweetness!
Through those new lips,
More bright, more beautiful,
To infuse my venom, my sister!
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
To One Who Is Too Gay (Flowers of Evil)
A celle qui est trop gaie (Les Fleurs du Mal)
Your head, your bearing, your gestures
Are fair as a fair countryside;
Laughter plays on your face
Like a cool wind in a clear sky.
The gloomy passer-by you meet
Is dazzled by the glow of health
Which radiates resplendently
From your arms and shoulders.
The touches of sonorous color
That you scatter on your dresses
Cast into the minds of poets
The image of a flower dance.
Those crazy frocks are the emblem
Of your multi-colored nature;
Mad woman whom I'm mad about,
I hate and love you equally!
At times in a lovely garden
Where I dragged my atony,
I have felt the sun tear my breast,
As though it were in mockery;
Both the springtime and its verdure
So mortified my heart
That I punished a flower
For the insolence of Nature.
Thus I should like, some night,
When the hour for pleasure sounds,
To creep softly, like a coward,
Toward the treasures of your body,
To whip your joyous flesh
And bruise your pardoned breast,
To make in your astonished flank
A wide and gaping wound,
And, intoxicating sweetness!
Through those new lips,
More bright, more beautiful,
To infuse my venom, my sister!
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
All of Her
Charles Baudelaire
All of Her (Flowers of Evil)
Tout entière (Les Fleurs du Mal)
The Devil into my high room
This morning came to pay a call,
And trying to find me in fault
Said: "I should like to know,
Among all the beautiful things
Which make her an enchantress,
Among the objects black or rose
That compose her charming body,
Which is the sweetest." — O my soul!
You answered the loathsome Creature:
"Since in Her all is dittany,
No single thing can be preferred.
When all delights me, I don't know
If some one thing entrances me.
She dazzles like the Dawn
And consoles like the Night;
And the harmony that governs
Her whole body is too lovely
For impotent analysis
To note its numerous accords.
O mystic metamorphosis
Of all my senses joined in one!
Her breath makes music,
And her voice makes perfume!"
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
All of Her (Flowers of Evil)
Tout entière (Les Fleurs du Mal)
The Devil into my high room
This morning came to pay a call,
And trying to find me in fault
Said: "I should like to know,
Among all the beautiful things
Which make her an enchantress,
Among the objects black or rose
That compose her charming body,
Which is the sweetest." — O my soul!
You answered the loathsome Creature:
"Since in Her all is dittany,
No single thing can be preferred.
When all delights me, I don't know
If some one thing entrances me.
She dazzles like the Dawn
And consoles like the Night;
And the harmony that governs
Her whole body is too lovely
For impotent analysis
To note its numerous accords.
O mystic metamorphosis
Of all my senses joined in one!
Her breath makes music,
And her voice makes perfume!"
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
Lethe
Charles Baudelaire
Lethe (Flowers of Evil)
Le Léthé (Les Fleurs du Mal)
Come, lie upon my breast, cruel, insensitive soul,
Adored tigress, monster with the indolent air;
I want to plunge trembling fingers for a long time
In the thickness of your heavy mane,
To bury my head, full of pain
In your skirts redolent of your perfume,
To inhale, as from a withered flower,
The moldy sweetness of my defunct love.
I wish to sleep! to sleep rather than live!
In a slumber doubtful as death,
I shall remorselessly cover with my kisses
Your lovely body polished like copper.
To bury my subdued sobbing
Nothing equals the abyss of your bed,
Potent oblivion dwells upon your lips
And Lethe flows in your kisses.
My fate, hereafter my delight,
I'll obey like one predestined;
Docile martyr, innocent man condemned,
Whose fervor aggravates the punishment.
I shall suck, to drown my rancor,
Nepenthe and the good hemlock
From the charming tips of those pointed breasts
That have never guarded a heart.
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954
Lethe (Flowers of Evil)
Le Léthé (Les Fleurs du Mal)
Come, lie upon my breast, cruel, insensitive soul,
Adored tigress, monster with the indolent air;
I want to plunge trembling fingers for a long time
In the thickness of your heavy mane,
To bury my head, full of pain
In your skirts redolent of your perfume,
To inhale, as from a withered flower,
The moldy sweetness of my defunct love.
I wish to sleep! to sleep rather than live!
In a slumber doubtful as death,
I shall remorselessly cover with my kisses
Your lovely body polished like copper.
To bury my subdued sobbing
Nothing equals the abyss of your bed,
Potent oblivion dwells upon your lips
And Lethe flows in your kisses.
My fate, hereafter my delight,
I'll obey like one predestined;
Docile martyr, innocent man condemned,
Whose fervor aggravates the punishment.
I shall suck, to drown my rancor,
Nepenthe and the good hemlock
From the charming tips of those pointed breasts
That have never guarded a heart.
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954
The Vampire
Charles Baudelaire
The Vampire (Flowers of Evil)
Le Vampire (Les Fleurs du Mal)
You who, like the stab of a knife,
Entered my plaintive heart;
You who, strong as a herd
Of demons, came, ardent and adorned,
To make your bed and your domain
Of my humiliated mind
— Infamous bitch to whom
I'm boundLike the convict to his chain,
Like the stubborn gambler to the game,
Like the drunkard to his wine,
Like the maggots to the corpse,
— Accurst, accurst be you!
I begged the swift poniard
To gain for me my liberty,
I asked perfidious poison
To give aid to my cowardice.
Alas! both poison and the knife
Contemptuously said to me:
"You do not deserve to be freed
From your accursed slavery,
Fool! — if from her domination
Our efforts could deliver you,
Your kisses would resuscitate
The cadaver of your vampire!"
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
The Vampire (Flowers of Evil)
Le Vampire (Les Fleurs du Mal)
You who, like the stab of a knife,
Entered my plaintive heart;
You who, strong as a herd
Of demons, came, ardent and adorned,
To make your bed and your domain
Of my humiliated mind
— Infamous bitch to whom
I'm boundLike the convict to his chain,
Like the stubborn gambler to the game,
Like the drunkard to his wine,
Like the maggots to the corpse,
— Accurst, accurst be you!
I begged the swift poniard
To gain for me my liberty,
I asked perfidious poison
To give aid to my cowardice.
Alas! both poison and the knife
Contemptuously said to me:
"You do not deserve to be freed
From your accursed slavery,
Fool! — if from her domination
Our efforts could deliver you,
Your kisses would resuscitate
The cadaver of your vampire!"
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
The Dancing Serpent
Charles Baudelaire
The Dancing Serpent (Flowers of Evil)
Le Serpent qui danse (Les Fleurs du Mal)
Indolent darling, how I love
To see the skinOf your body so beautiful
Shimmer like silk!
Upon your heavy head of hair
With its acrid scents,
Adventurous, odorant sea
With blue and brown waves,
Like a vessel that awakens
To the morning wind,
My dreamy soul sets sail
For a distant sky.
Your eyes where nothing is revealed
Of bitter or sweet,
Are two cold jewels where are mingledIron and gold.
To see you walking in cadence
With fine abandon,
One would say a snake which dances
On the end of a staff.
Under the weight of indolence
Your child-like head sways
Gently to and fro like the head
Of a young elephant,
And your body stretches and leans
Like a slender ship
That rolls from side to side and dips
Its yards in the sea.
Like a stream swollen by the thaw
Of rumbling glaciers,
When the water of your mouth rises
To the edge of your teeth,
It seems I drink Bohemian wine,
Bitter and conquering,
A liquid sky that scatters
Stars in my heart!
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
The Dancing Serpent (Flowers of Evil)
Le Serpent qui danse (Les Fleurs du Mal)
Indolent darling, how I love
To see the skinOf your body so beautiful
Shimmer like silk!
Upon your heavy head of hair
With its acrid scents,
Adventurous, odorant sea
With blue and brown waves,
Like a vessel that awakens
To the morning wind,
My dreamy soul sets sail
For a distant sky.
Your eyes where nothing is revealed
Of bitter or sweet,
Are two cold jewels where are mingledIron and gold.
To see you walking in cadence
With fine abandon,
One would say a snake which dances
On the end of a staff.
Under the weight of indolence
Your child-like head sways
Gently to and fro like the head
Of a young elephant,
And your body stretches and leans
Like a slender ship
That rolls from side to side and dips
Its yards in the sea.
Like a stream swollen by the thaw
Of rumbling glaciers,
When the water of your mouth rises
To the edge of your teeth,
It seems I drink Bohemian wine,
Bitter and conquering,
A liquid sky that scatters
Stars in my heart!
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
You Would Take the Whole World to Bed with You
Charles Baudelaire, French poet
You Would Take the Whole World to Bed with You (Flowers of Evil)
Tu mettrais l'univers entier dans ta ruelle (Les Fleurs du Mal)
You would take the whole world to bed with you,
Impure woman! Ennui makes your soul cruel;
To exercise your teeth at this singular game,
You need a new heart in the rack each day.
Your eyes, brilliant as shop windows
Or as blazing lamp-stands at public festivals,
Insolently use a borrowed power
Without ever knowing the law of their beauty.
Blind, deaf machine, fecund in cruelties!
Remedial instrument, drinker of the world's blood,
Why are you not ashamed and why have you not seen
In every looking-glass how your charms are fading?
Why have you never shrunk at the enormity
Of this evil at which you think you are expert,
When Nature, resourceful in her hidden designs,
Makes use of you, woman, O queen of sin,
Of you, vile animal, — to fashion a genius?
O foul magnificence! Sublime ignominy!
Translated by: William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
You Would Take the Whole World to Bed with You (Flowers of Evil)
Tu mettrais l'univers entier dans ta ruelle (Les Fleurs du Mal)
You would take the whole world to bed with you,
Impure woman! Ennui makes your soul cruel;
To exercise your teeth at this singular game,
You need a new heart in the rack each day.
Your eyes, brilliant as shop windows
Or as blazing lamp-stands at public festivals,
Insolently use a borrowed power
Without ever knowing the law of their beauty.
Blind, deaf machine, fecund in cruelties!
Remedial instrument, drinker of the world's blood,
Why are you not ashamed and why have you not seen
In every looking-glass how your charms are fading?
Why have you never shrunk at the enormity
Of this evil at which you think you are expert,
When Nature, resourceful in her hidden designs,
Makes use of you, woman, O queen of sin,
Of you, vile animal, — to fashion a genius?
O foul magnificence! Sublime ignominy!
Translated by: William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
I Adore You as Much as the Nocturnal Vault
Charles Baudelaire - French Poet
I Adore You as Much as the Nocturnal Vault (Flowers of Evil)
Je t'adore à l'égal de la voûte nocturne (Les Fleurs du Mal)
I adore you as much as the nocturnal vault,
O vase of sadness, most taciturn one,
I love you all the more because you flee from me,
And because you appear, ornament of my nights,
More ironically to multiply the leagues
That separate my arms from the blue infinite.
I advance to attack, and I climb to assault,
Like a swarm of maggots after a cadaver,
And I cherish, implacable and cruel beast,
Even that coldness which makes you more beautiful.
Charles Baudelaire
I Adore You as Much as the Nocturnal Vault (Flowers of Evil)
Je t'adore à l'égal de la voûte nocturne (Les Fleurs du Mal)
I adore you as much as the nocturnal vault,
O vase of sadness, most taciturn one,
I love you all the more because you flee from me,
And because you appear, ornament of my nights,
More ironically to multiply the leagues
That separate my arms from the blue infinite.
I advance to attack, and I climb to assault,
Like a swarm of maggots after a cadaver,
And I cherish, implacable and cruel beast,
Even that coldness which makes you more beautiful.
Charles Baudelaire
Undine
Renée Vivien (1877 - 1909) - A British female poet who wrote in French
Undine *
Your laughter is light, your caress is deep,
Your cold kisses love the harm they do;
Your eyes are blue like lotus waves
And the water lilies are less pure than your face.
You flee, you move fluidly;
Your hair falls in gentle reeds;
Your voice is a treacherous tide;
Your arms are supple reeds.
Along high river reeds, their embrace
Enlaces, chokes, strangles savagely;
Deep in the waves, an agony
Extinguishes in a nightly swoon.
Renée Vivien (1877 - 1909) * Undine was a water-nymph who fell deeply in love with a human. She was permitted to be with him but would die if he ever was unfaithful to her.
Undine *
Your laughter is light, your caress is deep,
Your cold kisses love the harm they do;
Your eyes are blue like lotus waves
And the water lilies are less pure than your face.
You flee, you move fluidly;
Your hair falls in gentle reeds;
Your voice is a treacherous tide;
Your arms are supple reeds.
Along high river reeds, their embrace
Enlaces, chokes, strangles savagely;
Deep in the waves, an agony
Extinguishes in a nightly swoon.
Renée Vivien (1877 - 1909) * Undine was a water-nymph who fell deeply in love with a human. She was permitted to be with him but would die if he ever was unfaithful to her.
Don't write !
Marceline Desbordes Valmore - French female poet (1786-1859)
Les séparés / The separated
N'écris pas - Je suis triste, et je voudrais m'éteindre
Don’t write – I am sad, and I want to fade away
Les beaux étés sans toi, c'est la nuit sans flambeau
The beautiful summers without you, it’s the night without torch
J'ai refermé mes bras qui ne peuvent t'atteindre,
I closed my arms which cannot reach you
Et frapper à mon coeur, c'est frapper au tombeau
And to knock at my heart, is to knock at the grave
N'écris pas !
Don’t write !
N'écris pas - N'apprenons qu'à mourir à nous-mêmes
Don’t write - Let us learn only to die to ourselves
Ne demande qu'à Dieu ... qu'à toi, si je t'aimais !
Ask only God…only you, if I loved you!
Au fond de ton absence écouter que tu m'aimes,
In the bottom of your absence to listen that you love me,
C'est entendre le ciel sans y monter jamais
it is to hear the sky without ever going up there
N'écris pas !
Don’t write !
N'écris pas - Je te crains; j'ai peur de ma mémoire;
Don’t write - I fear you; I am afraid of my memory
Elle a gardé ta voix qui m'appelle souvent
It kept your voice which often calls me
Ne montre pas l'eau vive à qui ne peut la boire
Do not show the white-water to whom cannot drink it
Une chère écriture est un portrait vivant
A dear writing is a living portrait
N'écris pas !
Don’t write !
N'écris pas ces mots doux que je n'ose plus lire
D'ont write these soft words which I don’t dare to read any more
Il semble que ta voix les répand sur mon coeur;
It seems that your voice spreads them on my heart
Et que je les voie brûler à travers ton sourire;
And that I see them burn through your smile;
Il semble qu'un baiser les empreint sur mon cœur
It seems that a kiss imprints them on my heart
N'écris pas !
Don’t write !
Les séparés / The separated
N'écris pas - Je suis triste, et je voudrais m'éteindre
Don’t write – I am sad, and I want to fade away
Les beaux étés sans toi, c'est la nuit sans flambeau
The beautiful summers without you, it’s the night without torch
J'ai refermé mes bras qui ne peuvent t'atteindre,
I closed my arms which cannot reach you
Et frapper à mon coeur, c'est frapper au tombeau
And to knock at my heart, is to knock at the grave
N'écris pas !
Don’t write !
N'écris pas - N'apprenons qu'à mourir à nous-mêmes
Don’t write - Let us learn only to die to ourselves
Ne demande qu'à Dieu ... qu'à toi, si je t'aimais !
Ask only God…only you, if I loved you!
Au fond de ton absence écouter que tu m'aimes,
In the bottom of your absence to listen that you love me,
C'est entendre le ciel sans y monter jamais
it is to hear the sky without ever going up there
N'écris pas !
Don’t write !
N'écris pas - Je te crains; j'ai peur de ma mémoire;
Don’t write - I fear you; I am afraid of my memory
Elle a gardé ta voix qui m'appelle souvent
It kept your voice which often calls me
Ne montre pas l'eau vive à qui ne peut la boire
Do not show the white-water to whom cannot drink it
Une chère écriture est un portrait vivant
A dear writing is a living portrait
N'écris pas !
Don’t write !
N'écris pas ces mots doux que je n'ose plus lire
D'ont write these soft words which I don’t dare to read any more
Il semble que ta voix les répand sur mon coeur;
It seems that your voice spreads them on my heart
Et que je les voie brûler à travers ton sourire;
And that I see them burn through your smile;
Il semble qu'un baiser les empreint sur mon cœur
It seems that a kiss imprints them on my heart
N'écris pas !
Don’t write !
There is no happy love - Louis Aragon
Louis Aragon (1897-1982), a French poet.
There is no happy love - Il n'y pas d'amour heureux
(Free and imperfect translation)
man never truly possesses anything
neither his strength, nor his weakness, nor his heart
and when he opens his arms his shadow is that of a cross
and when he tries to embrace happiness he crushes it
his life is a strange and painful divorce
there is no happy love
his life resembles those soldiers without weapons
who have been dressed up for a different fate
why should they get up in the morning
when night finds them idle, uncertain
say these words, my Life, and hold back your tears
there is no happy love
my beautiful love, my dear love, my tear
i carry you within me like a wounded bird
and those without knowing watch us pass by
repeat after me these words I braided together
which for your big eyes died straight away
there is no happy love
by the time we learn to live it’s already too late
let our hearts cry in unison at night
how much unhappiness it takes for the least song
how many regrets to pay for a thrill
how many tears for a guitar melody
there is no happy love
there is no love which is not pain
there is no love which does not bruise
there is no love which does not wither
and no greater than you the love for the country
there is no love which does not live from weeping
there is no happy love
but it is our love to the two of us
Louis Aragon
There is no happy love - Il n'y pas d'amour heureux
(Free and imperfect translation)
man never truly possesses anything
neither his strength, nor his weakness, nor his heart
and when he opens his arms his shadow is that of a cross
and when he tries to embrace happiness he crushes it
his life is a strange and painful divorce
there is no happy love
his life resembles those soldiers without weapons
who have been dressed up for a different fate
why should they get up in the morning
when night finds them idle, uncertain
say these words, my Life, and hold back your tears
there is no happy love
my beautiful love, my dear love, my tear
i carry you within me like a wounded bird
and those without knowing watch us pass by
repeat after me these words I braided together
which for your big eyes died straight away
there is no happy love
by the time we learn to live it’s already too late
let our hearts cry in unison at night
how much unhappiness it takes for the least song
how many regrets to pay for a thrill
how many tears for a guitar melody
there is no happy love
there is no love which is not pain
there is no love which does not bruise
there is no love which does not wither
and no greater than you the love for the country
there is no love which does not live from weeping
there is no happy love
but it is our love to the two of us
Louis Aragon
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