Poems Under Saturn: Poèmes saturniens (Lockert Library of Poetry in Translation)
Poems lower than Saturn is the 1st whole English translation of the gathering that introduced Paul Verlaine (1844-1896) as a poet of promise and originality, person who could end up considered as one of many maximum of nineteenth-century writers. This new translation, via revered modern poet Karl Kirchwey, faithfully renders the collection's heady mixture of classical studying and earthy sensuality in poems whose rhythm and rhyme characterize one of many preferrred accomplishments of French verse. Restoring often anthologized poems to the context within which they initially seemed, Poems lower than Saturn testifies to the blazing skills for which Verlaine is celebrated.
The poems demonstrate precocious virtuosity, mingling the sights of the flesh with the longings of the spirit. Greek and Hindu fable collapse to intimate erotic meditations and wickedly satirical society graphics, mythological landscapes trade with gritty narratives of mid-nineteenth century Paris, visions of happiness yield to nightmarish glimpses of deep alienation, and actual and imaginary characters--including Achilles, Valmiki, Charlemagne, and Spain's baleful King Philip II--all determine because the subject material of a supremely bold younger poet.
Poems lower than Saturn offers the intense devotion and severe musicality of an artist for whom poetry remained the single actual passion.
Shivering Endlessly—Whether we disregard them or may be able to 87 . . . Ah! vienne vite le Printemps, Et son clair soleil qui caresse, Et ses doux oiseaux caquetants! Refleurisse l’enchanteresse Gloire des jardins et des champs Que l’âpre hiver tient en détresse! Et que,—des levers aux couchants,— L’or dilaté d’un ciel sans bornes Berce de parfums et de chants, Chers endormis, vos sommeils mornes! 88 . . . Weep for them!—Ah, enable the Spring Come speedy, and its shiny sunlight that caresses And its.
Ange!—ma Gouge! ninety Serenade just like the voice of a corpse who may sing From the ground of the pit, Mistress, listen my voice, sour, fake, emerging towards your retreat. Open your ear to the sound, open your soul To my mandolin: I made it for you, caressing and harsh, For you this song. i'll sing of your eyes’ gold and onyx Unshadowed, natural, Then the Lethe of your bosom, then the Styx Of your darkish hair. just like the voice of a corpse who might sing From the ground of the pit, Mistress, pay attention my.
Alignés scintillent de trois quart. Un homme en gown noire, à visage de guivre, Se penche, en caressant de los angeles major ses fémurs, Sur un lit, comme l’on se penche sur un livre. Des rideaux de drap d’or roides comme des murs Tombent d’un dais de bois d’ébène en droite ligne, Dardant à temps égaux l’oeil des diamants durs. Dans le lit, un vieillard d’une maigreur insigne Égrène un chapelet, qu’il baise par second, Entre ses doigts crochus comme des brins de vigne. Ses lèvres font ce sourd et lengthy.
Turmoil, ah! Gabriel and his lute, Apollo and his lyre, proposal, at 16 I referred to as to you! What we'd like, superb Poets, for us Who revere and think in not one of the Gods, round whose heads has shone no crown of rays, Whose steps no Beatrice has ever guided, For us who chisel our phrases stroke through stroke Like goblets and who write relocating verse coldly, For us one by no means sees walking in teams through the lake within the night, harmoniously, rapturously, What we'd like, for us, is, through the glimmering Of.
Disappointing one.) yet people who are born less than the signal of SATURN, expensive to necromancers, tawny planet, Shared, in response to the traditional Black books, a wide a part of misfortune and bile. mind's eye, stressed and feeble, In them brings to not anything the trouble of cause. The blood of their veins flows refined as a poison, Burning like lava, rarefied, it rolls, Crackling their unhappy perfect, which crumbles. So needs to those Saturnians endure And so needs to die,—admitting that we're Mortal,—their life’s plan.