Romantic Love

Once For All

I said: This is a beautiful fresh rose.
I said: I will delight me with its scent,
Will watch its lovely curve of languishment,
Will watch its leaves unclose, its heart unclose.
I said: Old earth has put away her snows,
All living things make merry to their bent,
A flower is come for every flower that went.
In autumn, the sun glows, the south wind blows,
So walking in a garden of delight
I came upon one sheltered shadowed nook
Where broad leaf-shadows veiled the day with night
And there lay snow unmelted by the sun: -
I answered: Take who will the path I took,
Winter nips once for all; love is but one.

Monna Innominata: A Sonnet of Sonnets

1

Lo dì che han detto a' dolci amici addio. - Dante
Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci! - Petrarca


Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:--
Or come not yet, for it is over then,
And long it is before you come again,
So far between my pleasures are and few.
While, when you come not, what I do I do
Thinking "Now when he comes," my sweetest when:"
For one man is my world of all the men
This wide world holds; O love, my world is you.
Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang
Because the pang of parting comes so soon;
My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon
Between the heavenly days on which we meet:
Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang
When life was sweet because you call'd them sweet?


2


Era già 1'ora che volge il desio. - Dante
Ricorro al tempo ch' io vi vidi prima. - Petrarca


I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seem'd to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand--Did one but know!


3


O ombre vane, fuor che ne l'aspetto! - Dante
Immaginata guida la conduce. - Petrarca


I dream of you to wake: would that I might
Dream of you and not wake but slumber on;
Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone,
As summer ended summer birds take flight.
In happy dreams I hold you full in sight,
I blush again who waking look so wan;



Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone,
In happy dreams your smile makes day of night.
Thus only in a dream we are at one,
Thus only in a dream we give and take
The faith that maketh rich who take or give;
If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake,
To die were surely sweeter than to live,
Though there be nothing new beneath the sun.


4


Poca favilla gran fliamma seconda. - Dante
Ogni altra cosa, ogni pensier va fore,
E sol ivi con voi rimansi amore. - Petrarca


I lov'd you first: but afterwards your love
Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song
As drown'd the friendly cooings of my dove.
Which owes the other most? my love was long,
And yours one moment seem'd to wax more strong;
I lov'd and guess'd at you, you construed me--
And lov'd me for what might or might not be
Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong.
For verily love knows not "mine" or "thine;"
With separate "I" and "thou" free love has done,
For one is both and both are one in love:
Rich love knows nought of "thine that is not mine;"
Both have the strength and both the length thereof,
Both of us, of the love which makes us one.


5


Amor che a nullo amato amar perdona. - Dante
Amor m'addusse in sì gioiosa spene. - Petrarca


O my heart's heart, and you who are to me
More than myself myself, God be with you,
Keep you in strong obedience leal and true
To Him whose noble service setteth free,
Give you all good we see or can foresee,
Make your joys many and your sorrows few,
Bless you in what you bear and what you do,
Yea, perfect you as He would have you be.
So much for you; but what for me, dear friend?
To love you without stint and all I can
Today, tomorrow, world without an end;
To love you much and yet to love you more,
As Jordan at his flood sweeps either shore;
Since woman is the helpmeet made for man.



6


Or puoi la quantitate
Comprender de l'amor che a te mi scalda. - Dante
Non vo' che da tal nodo mi scioglia. - Petrarca


Trust me, I have not earn'd your dear rebuke,
I love, as you would have me, God the most;
Would lose not Him, but you, must one be lost,
Nor with Lot's wife cast back a faithless look
Unready to forego what I forsook;
This say I, having counted up the cost,
This, though I be the feeblest of God's host,
The sorriest sheep Christ shepherds with His crook.
Yet while I love my God the most, I deem
That I can never love you overmuch;
I love Him more, so let me love you too;
Yea, as I apprehend it, love is such
I cannot love you if I love not Him,
I cannot love Him if I love not you.


7


Qui primavera sempre ed ogni frutto. - Dante
Ragionando con meco ed io con lui. - Petrarca


"Love me, for I love you"--and answer me,
"Love me, for I love you"--so shall we stand
As happy equals in the flowering land
Of love, that knows not a dividing sea.
Love builds the house on rock and not on sand,
Love laughs what while the winds rave desperately;
And who hath found love's citadel unmann'd?
And who hath held in bonds love's liberty?
My heart's a coward though my words are brave
We meet so seldom, yet we surely part
So often; there's a problem for your art!
Still I find comfort in his Book, who saith,
Though jealousy be cruel as the grave,
And death be strong, yet love is strong as death.


8


Come dicesse a Dio: D'altro non calme. - Dante
Spero trovar pietà non che perdono. - Petrarca


"I, if I perish, perish"--Esther spake:
And bride of life or death she made her fair
In all the lustre of her perfum'd hair



And smiles that kindle longing but to slake.
She put on pomp of loveliness, to take
Her husband through his eyes at unaware;
She spread abroad her beauty for a snare,
Harmless as doves and subtle as a snake.
She trapp'd him with one mesh of silken hair,
She vanquish'd him by wisdom of her wit,
And built her people's house that it should stand:--
If I might take my life so in my hand,
And for my love to Love put up my prayer,
And for love's sake by Love be granted it!


9


O dignitosa coscienza e netta! - Dante
Spirto più acceso di virtuti ardenti. - Petrarca


Thinking of you, and all that was, and all
That might have been and now can never be,
I feel your honour'd excellence, and see
Myself unworthy of the happier call:
For woe is me who walk so apt to fall,
So apt to shrink afraid, so apt to flee,
Apt to lie down and die (ah, woe is me!)
Faithless and hopeless turning to the wall.
And yet not hopeless quite nor faithless quite,
Because not loveless; love may toil all night,
But take at morning; wrestle till the break
Of day, but then wield power with God and man:--
So take I heart of grace as best I can,
Ready to spend and be spent for your sake.


10


Con miglior corso e con migliore stella. - Dante
La vita fugge e non s'arresta un' ora. - Petrarca


Time flies, hope flags, life plies a wearied wing;
Death following hard on life gains ground apace;
Faith runs with each and rears an eager face,
Outruns the rest, makes light of everything,
Spurns earth, and still finds breath to pray and sing;
While love ahead of all uplifts his praise,
Still asks for grace and still gives thanks for grace,
Content with all day brings and night will bring.
Life wanes; and when love folds his wings above
Tired hope, and less we feel his conscious pulse,
Let us go fall asleep, dear friend, in peace:
A little while, and age and sorrow cease;
A little while, and life reborn annuls



Loss and decay and death, and all is love.

11

Vien dietro a me e lascia dir le genti. - Dante
Contando i casi della vita nostra. - Petrarca


Many in aftertimes will say of you
"He lov'd her"--while of me what will they say?
Not that I lov'd you more than just in play,
For fashion's sake as idle women do.
Even let them prate; who know not what we knew
Of love and parting in exceeding pain,
Of parting hopeless here to meet again,
Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view.
But by my heart of love laid bare to you,
My love that you can make not void nor vain,
Love that foregoes you but to claim anew
Beyond this passage of the gate of death,
I charge you at the Judgment make it plain
My love of you was life and not a breath.


12


Amor, che ne la mente mi ragiona. - Dante
Amor vien nel bel viso di costei. - Petrarca


If there be any one can take my place
And make you happy whom I grieve to grieve,
Think not that I can grudge it, but believe
I do commend you to that nobler grace,
That readier wit than mine, that sweeter face;
Yea, since your riches make me rich, conceive
I too am crown'd, while bridal crowns I weave,
And thread the bridal dance with jocund pace.
For if I did not love you, it might be
That I should grudge you some one dear delight;
But since the heart is yours that was mine own,
Your pleasure is my pleasure, right my right,
Your honourable freedom makes me free,
And you companion'd I am not alone.


13


E drizzeremo gli occhi al Primo Amore. - Dante
Ma trovo peso non da le mie braccia. - Petrarca


If I could trust mine own self with your fate,
Shall I not rather trust it in God's hand?



Without Whose Will one lily doth not stand,
Nor sparrow fall at his appointed date;
Who numbereth the innumerable sand,
Who weighs the wind and water with a weight,
To Whom the world is neither small nor great,
Whose knowledge foreknew every plan we plann'd.
Searching my heart for all that touches you,
I find there only love and love's goodwill
Helpless to help and impotent to do,
Of understanding dull, of sight most dim;
And therefore I commend you back to Him
Whose love your love's capacity can fill.


14


E la Sua Volontade è nostra pace. - Dante
Sol con questi pensier, con altre chiome. - Petrarca


Youth gone, and beauty gone if ever there
Dwelt beauty in so poor a face as this;
Youth gone and beauty, what remains of bliss?
I will not bind fresh roses in my hair,
To shame a cheek at best but little fair,--
Leave youth his roses, who can bear a thorn,--
I will not seek for blossoms anywhere,
Except such common flowers as blow with corn.
Youth gone and beauty gone, what doth remain?
The longing of a heart pent up forlorn,
A silent heart whose silence loves and longs;
The silence of a heart which sang its songs
While youth and beauty made a summer morn,
Silence of love that cannot sing again.

If I Were A Queen

If I were a Queen,
What would I do?
I’d make you King,
And I’d wait on you.
If I were a King,
What would I do?
I’d make you Queen,
For I’d marry you.

Hope Is Like A Harebell Trembling From Its Birth

Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth,
Love is like a rose the joy of all the earth;
Faith is like a lily lifted high and white,
Love is like a lovely rose the world's delight;
Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,
But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.

Autumn Violets

Keep love for youth, and violets for the spring:
Of if these bloom when worn-out autumn grieves,
Let them lie hid in double shade of leaves,
Their own, and others dropped down withering;
For violets suit when home birds build and sing,
Not when the outbound bird a passage cleaves;
Not with dry stubble of mown harvest sheaves,
But when the green world buds to blossoming.
Keep violets for the spring, and love for youth,
Love that should dwell with beauty, mirth, and hope:
Or if a later sadder love be born,
Let this not look for grace beyond its scope,
But give itself, nor plead for answering truth—
A grateful Ruth tho' gleaning scanty corn.

A Ring Upon Her Finger

A ring upon her finger,
Walks the bride,
With the bridegroom tall and handsome
At her side.
A veil upon her forehead
Walks the bride,
With the bridegroom proud and merry
At her side.
Fling flowers beneath the footsteps
Of the bride;
Fling flowers before the bridegroom
At her side.

A Birthday

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.


Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

Regret


Long ago I wished to leave
" The house where I was born; "
Long ago I used to grieve,
My home seemed so forlorn.
In other years, its silent rooms
Were filled with haunting fears;
Now, their very memory comes
O'ercharged with tender tears.


Life and marriage I have known,
Things once deemed so bright;
Now, how utterly is flown
Every ray of light !
'Mid the unknown sea of life
I no blest isle have found;
At last, through all its wild wave's strife,
My bark is homeward bound.


Farewell, dark and rolling deep !
Farewell, foreign shore !
Open, in unclouded sweep,
Thou glorious realm before !
Yet, though I had safely pass'd
That weary, vexed main,
One loved voice, through surge and blast,
Could call me back again.


Though the soul's bright morning rose
O'er Paradise for me,
William ! even from Heaven's repose
I'd turn, invoked by thee !
Storm nor surge should e'er arrest
My soul, exulting then:
All my heaven was once thy breast,
Would it were mine again !

As some red planet's gleam.

Talk not of thy Last Sacrament,
Tell not thy beads for me;

Both rite and prayer are vainly spent,
As dews upon the sea.

Speak not one word of Heaven above,
Rave not of Hell's alarms;

Give me but back my Walter's love,
Restore me to his arms !

Then will the bliss of Heaven be won;
Then will Hell shrink away,

As I have seen night's terrors shun
The conquering steps of day.

'Tis my religion thus to love,
My creed thus fixed to be;

Not Death shall shake, nor Priestcraft break
My rocklike
constancy !

Now go; for at the door there waits
Another stranger guest:

He callsI
comemy
pulse scarce beats,
My heart fails in my breast.

Again that voicehow
far away,
How dreary sounds that tone !
And I, methinks, am gone astray
In trackless wastes and lone.

I fain would rest a little while:
Where can I find a stay,
Till dawn upon the hills shall smile,
And show some trodden way ?
' I come ! I come !' in haste she said,
' 'Twas Walter's voice I heard !'
Then up she sprangbut
fell back, dead,
His name her latest word.

The Invitation to the Voyage
My sister, my child
imagine, exiled,
The sweetness, of being there, we two!
To live and to sigh,
to love and to die,
In the land that mirrors you!
The misted haze
of its clouded days
Has the same charm to my mind,
as mysterious,
as your traiterous
Eyes, behind glittering blinds.
There everything’s order and beauty,
calm, voluptuousness, and luxury.
The surface gleams
are polished it seems,
Through the years, to grace our room.
The rarest flowers
mix, with fragrant showers,
The vague, amber perfume.
The dark, painted halls,
the deep mirrored walls,
With Eastern splendour hung,
all secretly speak,
To the soul, its discrete,
Sweet, native tongue.
There, everything’s order and beauty,
calm, voluptuousness and luxury.
See, down the canals,
the sleeping vessels,
Those nomads, their white sails furled:
Now, to accomplish
your every wish,
They come from the ends of the world.
- The deep sunsets
surround the west,
The canals, the city, entire,
with blue-violet and gold;
And the Earth grows cold
In an incandescent fire.
There, everything’s order and beauty,
calm, voluptuousness and luxury.

The Balcony
Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses,
O you, all my pleasures! O you, all my learning!
You will remember the joy of caresses,
the sweetness of home and the beauty of evening,
Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses!
On evenings lit by the glow of the ashes
and on the balcony, veiled, rose-coloured, misted,
how gentle your breast was, how good your heart to me!
We have said things meant for eternity,
on evenings lit by the glow of the ashes.
How lovely the light is on sultry evenings!
How deep the void grows! How powerful the heart is!
As I leaned towards you, queen of adored ones
I thought I breathed perfume from your blood’s kiss.
How lovely the light is on sultry evenings!
The night it was thickening and closing around us,
and my eyes in the dark were divining your glance,
and I drank your nectar. Oh sweetness! Oh poison!
your feet held, here, in these fraternal hands.
The night it was thickening and closing around us.
I know how to summon up happiest moments,
and relive my past, there, curled, touching your knees.
What good to search for your languorous beauties
but in your dear body, and your heart so sweet?
I know how to summon up happiest moments!
Those vows, those perfumes, those infinite kisses,
will they be reborn, from gulfs beyond soundings,
as the suns that are young again climb in the sky,
after they’ve passed through the deepest of drownings?
-O vows! O perfumes! O infinite kisses

Afternoon Song
Though your wicked eyebrows call
Your nature into question
(Unangelic's their suggestion,
Witch whose eyes enthrall)
I adore you still
O foolish terrible emotion
Kneeling in devotion
As a priest to his idol will.
Your undone braids conceal
Desert, forest scents,
In your exotic countenance
Lie secrets unrevealed.
Over your flesh perfume drifts
Like incense 'round a censor,
Tantalizing dispenser
Of evening's ardent gifts.
No Philtres could compete
With your potent idleness:
You've mastered the caress
That raises dead me to their feet.
Your hips themselves are romanced
By your back and by your breasts:
By your languid dalliance.
Now and then, your appetite's
Uncontrolled, unassuaged:
Mysteriously enraged,
You kiss me and you bite.
Dark one, I am torn
By your savage ways,
Then, soft as the moon, your gaze
Sees my tortured heart reborn.
Beneath your satin shoe,
Beneath your charming silken foot.
My greatest joy I put
My genius and destiny, too.
You bring my spirit back,
Bringer of the light.
Exploding color in the night
Of my Siberia so black.

White Shoulders

Your white shoulders
I remember
And your shrug of laughter.


Low laughter
Shaken slow
From your white shoulders.

Horses and Men in Rain

Let us sit by a hissing steam radiator a winter's day, gray wind pattering frozen
raindrops on the window,
And let us talk about milk wagon drivers and grocery delivery boys.


Let us keep our feet in wool slippers and mix hot punches--and talk about mail carriers
and
messenger boys slipping along the icy sidewalks.
Let us write of olden, golden days and hunters of the
Holy Grail and men called "knights" riding horses in the rain, in the cold frozen rain for
ladies they loved.


A roustabout hunched on a coal wagon goes by, icicles drip on his hat rim, sheets of ice
wrapping
the hunks of coal, the caravanserai a gray blur in slant of rain.
Let us nudge the steam radiator with our wool slippers and write poems of Launcelot,
the hero, and
Roland, the hero, and all the olden golden men who rode horses in the rain.

Winter Nears

Winter nears. Once more
the bear’s secret retreat
will vanish under mud’s floor,
to a child’s fretful grief.

Huts will wake in the water,
reflecting paths of smoke,
circled by autumn’s tremor
lovers meet by the fire to talk.

Denizens of the harsh North
whose roof is the clear air,
‘In this sign conquer’, set forth,
marks each unreachable lair.

I love you, provincial haunts,
off the map, the road, past the farms,
the more tired and faded the book,
the greater for me its charms.

Slow files of carts lumbering by
you spell out an alphabet flowing
from meadow to meadow. And I
found you always my favourite reading.

And it’s suddenly written again,
here in first snow is the spider’s
cursive script, runners of sleighs,
where ice on the page embroiders.

A silvered hazel October.
Pewter glow since frost began.
Autumn twilight, of Chekhov,
Tchaikovsky, and Levitan.

Unique Days

How I remember solstice days
Through many winters long completed!
Each unrepeatable, unique,
And each one countless times repeated.


Of all these days, these only days,
When one rejoiced in the impression
That time had stopped, there grew in years
An unforgettable succession.


Each one of them I can evoke.
The year is to midwinter moving,
The roofs are dripping, roads are soaked,
And on the ice the sun is brooding.


Then lovers hastily are drawn
To one another, vague and dreaming,
And in the heat, upon a tree
The sweating nesting-box is steaming.


And sleepy clock-hands laze away
The clockface wearily ascending.
Eternal, endless is the day,
And the embrace is never-ending.

The shiv'ring piano, foaming at the mouth

The shiv'ring piano, foaming at the mouth,
Will wrench you by its ravings, discompose you.
'My darling,' you will murmur. 'No!' I'll shout.
'To music?!' Yet can two be ever closer


Than in the dusk, while tossing vibrant chords
Into the fireplace, like journals, tome by tome?
Oh, understanding wonderful, just nod,
And you will know I do not claim to own


Your soul and body. You may go where'er
You want. To others. Werther has been written
Already. Death these days is in the air.
One opens up one's veins much like a window.

Intoxication


Under osiers with ivy ingrown
We are trying to hide from bad weather.
I am clasping your arms in my own,
In one cloak we are huddled together.


I was wrong. Not with ivy-leaves bound,
But with hops overgrown is the willow.
Well then, let us spread out on the ground
This our cloak as a sheet and a pillow.

Hops


Beneath the willow wound round with ivy
we take cover from the worst
of the storm, with a greatcoat round
our shoulders and my hands around your waist.


I've got it wrong. That isn't ivy
entwined in the bushes round
the wood, but hops. You intoxicate me!
Let's spread the greatcoat on the ground.

The Sun Has Wept Rose

The sun has wept rose in the shell of your ears,
The world has rolled white from your back,
Your thighs:
The sea has stained rust at the crimson of your breasts,
And Man had bled black at your sovereign side.

The Sly One

In the brown dining-room,
which was perfumed
with the scent of polish and fruit,
I was shoveling up at my ease
a plateful of some Belgian dish
or other, and sprawling in my enormous chair.


While I ate, I listened, happy and silent, to the clock.
The kitchen door opened with a gust,
and the servant girl came in,
I don't know what for,
neckerchief loose, hair dressed impishly.


And, passing her little finger tremblingly across her cheek,
a pink and white peach-bloom,
pouting with her childish mouth,
she tidied the plates standing close to me,
to make me feel comfortable; - and then, just like that,
- to get a kiss of course said
very softly: 'Feel, then, I' got a cold in the cheek…'

Romance


When you are seventeen you aren't really serious.

-One fine evening, you've had enough of beer and lemonade,
And the rowdy cafes with their dazzling lights!
-You go walking beneath the green lime trees of the promenade.
The lime trees smell good on fine evenings in June!
The air is so soft sometimes, you close your eyelids;
The wind, full of sounds, - the town's not far away -
Carries odours of vines, and odours of beer...

II

-Then you see a very tiny rag
Of dark blue, framed by a small branch,
Pierced by an unlucky star which is melting away
With soft little shivers, small, perfectly white...
June night! Seventeen! - You let yourself get drunk.
The sap is champagne and goes straight to your head...
You are wandering; you feel a kiss on your lips
Which quivers there like something small and alive...


III


Your mad heart goes Crusoeing through all the romances,


-When, under the light of a pale street lamp,
Passes a young girl with charming little airs,
In the shadow of her father's terrifying stiff collar...
And because you strike her as absurdly naif,
As she trots along in her little ankle boots,
She turns, wide awake, with a brisk movement...
And then cavatinas die on your lips...
IV


You're in love. Taken until the month of August.
You're in love - Your sonnets make Her laugh.
All your friends disappear, you are not quite the thing.


-Then your adored one, one evening, condescends to write to you...!
That evening,... - you go back again to the dazzling cafes,
You ask for beer or for lemonade...

-You are not really serious when you are seventeen
And there are green lime trees on the promenade...
Original French

Roman

I


On n'est pas sérieux, quand on a dix-sept ans.

-Un beau soir, foin des bocks et de la limonade,
Des cafés tapageurs aux lustres éclatants !
-On va sous les tilleuls verts de la promenade.
Les tilleuls sentent bon dans les bons soirs de juin !
L'air est parfois si doux, qu'on ferme la paupière ;
Le vent chargé de bruits - la ville n'est pas loin -
A des parfums de vigne et des parfums de bière....


II


-Voilà qu'on aperçoit un tout petit chiffon
D'azur sombre, encadré d'une petite branche,
Piqué d'une mauvaise étoile, qui se fond
Avec de doux frissons, petite et toute blanche...


Nuit de juin ! Dix-sept ans ! - On se laisse griser.
La sève est du champagne et vous monte à la tête...
On divague ; on se sent aux lèvres un baiser
Qui palpite là, comme une petite bête....


III


Le coeur fou Robinsonne à travers les romans,
Lorsque, dans la clarté d'un pâle réverbère,
Passe une demoiselle aux petits airs charmants,
Sous l'ombre du faux col effrayant de son père...


Et, comme elle vous trouve immensément naïf,
Tout en faisant trotter ses petites bottines,
Elle se tourne, alerte et d'un mouvement vif....


-Sur vos lèvres alors meurent les cavatines...
IV

Vous êtes amoureux. Loué jusqu'au mois d'août.
Vous êtes amoureux. - Vos sonnets La font rire.
Tous vos amis s'en vont, vous êtes mauvais goût.

-Puis l'adorée, un soir, a daigné vous écrire...!
-Ce soir-là,... - vous rentrez aux cafés éclatants,
Vous demandez des bocks ou de la limonade..
-On n'est pas sérieux, quand on a dix-sept ans
Et qu'on a des tilleuls verts sur la promenade.

Nina's Reply (Les Reparties De Nina)

HE - Your breast on my breast,
Eh ? We could go,
With our nostrils full of air,
Into the cool light


Of the blue good morning that bathes you
In the wine of daylight ?…
When the whole shivering wood bleeds,
Dumb with love


From every branch green drops,
Pale buds,
You can feel in things unclosing
The quivering flesh :


You would bury in the lucerne
Your white gown,
Changing to rose-colour in the fresh air the blue tint which encircles
Your great black eyes,


In love with the country,
Scattering everywhere,
Like champagne bubbles,
Your crazy laughter :


breast,
Mingling our voices,
Slowly we'd reach the stream,
Then the great woods !…


Then, like a little ghost,
Your heart fainting,
You'd tell me to carry you,
Your eyes half closed…


I'd carry your quivering body
Along the path :
The bird would sping out his andante :
Hard by the hazeltree…


I'd speak into your mouth ;
And go on, pressing
Your body like a little girl's I was putting to bed,
Drunk with the blood


That runs blue under your white skin
With its tints of rose :
And speaking to you in that frank tongue…
There !… - that you understand…


Our great woods would smell of sap,
And the sunlight



Would dust with fine gold their great
Green and bronze dream.


……………………………………………


In the evening ?… We'd take the white road
Which meanders,
Like a grazing herd,
All over the place


Oh the pleasant orchards with blue grass,
And twisted apple trees !
How you can smell a whole league
Off their strong perfume !


We'd get back to the village
When the sky was half dark ;
And there'd be a smell of milking
In the evening air ;


It would smell of the cowshed, full
Of warm manure,
Filled with the slow rythm of breathing,
And with great backs


Gleaming under some light or other ;
And, right down at the far end,
There'd be a cow dunging proudly
At every step…


-Grandmother's spectacles
And her long nose
Deep in her missal ; the jug of beer
Circled with pewter
Foaming among the big-bowled pipes
Gallantly smoking :
And the frightfull blubber lips
Which, still puffing,


Snatch ham from forks :
So much, and more :
The fire lighting up the bunks
And the cupboards.


The shining fat buttocks
Of the fat baby
On his hands and knees, who nuzzles into the cups,
His white snout


Tickled by a gently
Growling muzzle,



That licks all over the round face
Of the little darling…


Black and haughty on her chair's edge,
A terrifying profile,
And old woman in front of the embers,
Spinning


What sights we shall see, dearest,
In those hovels,
When the bright fire lights up
The grey window panes !…


-And then, small and nestling
Inside the cool
Dark lilacs : the hidden window
Smiling in there…
You'll come, you will come, I love you so !
It will be lovely.
You will come, won't you ? and even…


ELLE : - And what about my office ?


Original French


Les reparties de Nina


LUI - Ta poitrine sur ma poitrine,
Hein ? nous irions,
Ayant de l'air plein la narine,
Aux frais rayons


Du bon matin bleu, qui vous baigne
Du vin de jour ?...
Quand tout le bois frissonnant saigne
Muet d'amour


De chaque branche, gouttes vertes,
Des bourgeons clairs,
On sent dans les choses ouvertes
Frémir des chairs :


Tu plongerais dans la luzerne
Ton blanc peignoir,
Rosant à l'air ce bleu qui cerne
Ton grand oeil noir,


Amoureuse de la campagne,
Semant partout,



Comme une mousse de champagne,
Ton rire fou :


Riant à moi, brutal d'ivresse,
Qui te prendrais
Comme cela, - la belle tresse,
Oh ! - qui boirais


Ton goût de framboise et de fraise,
O chair de fleur !
Riant au vent vif qui te baise
Comme un voleur,


Au rose, églantier qui t'embête
Aimablement :
Riant surtout, ô folle tête,
À ton amant !....


........................................................


-Ta poitrine sur ma poitrine,
Mêlant nos voix,
Lents, nous gagnerions la ravine,
Puis les grands bois !...
Puis, comme une petite morte,
Le coeur pâmé,
Tu me dirais que je te porte,
L'oeil mi-fermé...


Je te porterais, palpitante,
Dans le sentier :
L'oiseau filerait son andante
Au Noisetier...


Je te parlerais dans ta bouche..
J'irais, pressant
Ton corps, comme une enfant qu'on couche,
Ivre du sang


Qui coule, bleu, sous ta peau blanche
Aux tons rosés.
Et te parlant la langue franche - .....
Tiens !... - que tu sais...


Nos grands bois sentiraient la sève,
Et le soleil
Sablerait d'or fin leur grand rêve
Vert et vermeil


........................................................



Le soir ?... Nous reprendrons la route
Blanche qui court
Flânant, comme un troupeau qui broute,
Tout à l'entour


Les bons vergers à l'herbe bleue,
Aux pommiers tors !
Comme on les sent toute une lieue
Leurs parfums forts !


Nous regagnerons le village
Au ciel mi-noir ;
Et ça sentira le laitage
Dans l'air du soir ;


Ca sentira l'étable, pleine
De fumiers chauds,
Pleine d'un lent rythme d'haleine,
Et de grands dos


Blanchissant sous quelque lumière ;
Et, tout là-bas,
Une vache fientera, fière,
À chaque pas...


-Les lunettes de la grand-mère
Et son nez long
Dans son missel ; le pot de bière
Cerclé de plomb,
Moussant entre les larges pipes
Qui, crânement,
Fument : les effroyables lippes
Qui, tout fumant,


Happent le jambon aux fourchettes
Tant, tant et plus :
Le feu qui claire les couchettes
Et les bahuts.


Les fesses luisantes et grasses
D'un gros enfant
Qui fourre, à genoux, dans les tasses,
Son museau blanc


Frôlé par un mufle qui gronde
D'un ton gentil,
Et pourlèche la face ronde
Du cher petit.....


Que de choses verrons-nous, chère,
Dans ces taudis,



Quand la flamme illumine, claire,
Les carreaux gris !...

-Puis, petite et toute nichée,
Dans les lilas
Noirs et frais : la vitre cachée,
Qui rit là-bas....
Tu viendras, tu viendras, je t'aime !
Ce sera beau.
Tu viendras, n'est-ce pas, et même...


Elle - Et mon bureau ?

LINES, an excerpt from

When the world comes down to this one dark wood
Before our four astonished eyes...
To a beach for two faithful children...
To a house of music, for our clear accord...
I will find you.
Let there be no one here below but one old man,
Beautiful and calm, surrounded with 'unimagined luxury'...
I will be at your feet.
Let me penetrate all of your memories...
Let me be that woman who can bind you hand and foot...
I will strangle you.
When we are very strong - who can hold us back?
And very gay - how can ridicule harm us?
When we are very bad - what can they do to us?
Dress yourself up,
And dance,
And laugh.
I could never throw Love out the window.


(translated by Paul Schmidt)