Lament, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem : Lamento
Ma mie est morte.
Plourez mes yeux.
(from an old poet of the fourteenth century whose name escapes me. Paul Verlaine)
The town hoists its high roofs
Of a thousand zig-zagging hoods.
A sound of joyous bubbly words
Rises up to the heavens, reassuring voice.
____What this vile gaiety does to me
This gaiety of the city !
What vastness of peace reigns over the land !
The bird sings within a great oak tree,
Midday renders the plains all shiny
That turn golden at the setting of the sun.
—-Little does it irk me your glory pure
O ! Nature !
With the signals of her waves
With her solemn moan,
Call to us the vast ocean :
All of us, dreamers and sailors.
—-What do you want again of me
Sonorous sea ?
—-Ah ! Neither the waves of the Oceans,
Nor the countrysides and their shadows,
Nor the cities of ceaseless noises
That giants raised over lands,
Nothing will bring to life my beloved lover
O ! So long in deep slumber.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013