Translation from French by A. James Arnold and
Clayton Eshleman
Blazon of blows on the
shattered body of dreams
first snowy morning
today
very amorphous when all
lights out
the landscapes collapse
onto the most distant
sandbanks
the sirens of lightships
have been sounding two nights
Paul ELUARD has died
you who were the lay of
innocence
who returned science to
its origins
standard of the fragile
seed stronger
than chance in the
struggle of the wind
ELUARD
neither can you lie in
nor have access to earth
purer
than these eyelids
than these simple people
than these tears
in which pushing aside the
finest grass of the fog
you stroll quite clear
joining hands
connecting paths
challenging the purple
word of the shipwreckers of dawn
perched on the sun
It is however much too
gripping to hear you
winding up the great rose
window of time
we have never seen you so
sharply and so near
as in this effervescence
of the bread of snow that
raises when its time has come
in the smoldering utmost
depth of the compost of the storm
an abyss of silex
ELUARD
cavalier of men’s eyes for
whom gleams
veracious the water hole
for grazing on the mirage
gentle severe
incorruptible tough
when by degrees you
prepared to dismount
to confound by surprise
the death of the
impossible and the deed of spring
Captain of the goodness of
bread
he passed beneath the
skies fighting
with his voice scourged by
the inflexible flower of the midday flail
and his step converting
into bread
the highlands of the
future
with a trembling of
monsters vomited through the nostrils insisting that in
the
left auricle of
the
left auricle of
each prisoner blaze up
as a single heart
all the dead wood in the
world and the singing forest
Listen
decoder
under your eyelids you
never make night having
in order the better to see
night and day
thrown into the cross-fire
of the cobblestone’s swirls
the false fire driven away
by the consecration of gems
Surveyor measurer of the
wider horizon
lookout beneath a fire’s
cellars beneath blowholes
on grey seas greeter of
the most subtle flakes
o time thanks to your
opulent tongue
at this hour the water
shines man like water in the meadows shall shine
behold him toward him
whistles the docility of a leafy
season
Look basilisk
the breaker of gazes today
gazes at you
whom an impure evening of
ice floes warmed in its fingers like the secret of summer
Reason
what root surprise
will embrace you this evening
or the torrent
are you possibly already descending
the other face of the divide
in vain a deafness
thickens the non-miraculous vigil
from its pierced eyes the
rukh lets loose its birds
o capricorn pack
the words their pulse beat
are known to be fabulous
suckled outside of time by
an aviary hand the fallen words
gathered the seasons
folded rounded like carriage gates
seasons
seasons for him wide open
ELUARD
to preserve your body
no climber of rituals
on the jade of your own
words may you be laid down in simplicity
conjured by the warmth of
triumphant life
in compliance with the
operculated mouth of your silence
and the lofty amnesty of
seashells
note. This translation is from The Complete Poetry of Aimé Césaire, translated
by Arnold and Eshleman, to be published in 2017 by Wesleyan University Press.
No comments:
Post a Comment