Green

Green

Paul Verlaine (1844-96)

After deserting his wife for Rimbaud, wounding Rimbaud, released from prison: he writes to his wife...
Green
Voici des fruits, des fleurs, des feuilles et des branches Et puis voici mon coeur qui ne bat que pour vous. Ne le déchirez pas avec vos deux mains blanches Et qu'à vos yeux si beaux l'humble présent soit doux. J'arrive tout couvert encore de rosée Que le vent du matin vient glacer à mon front. Souffrez que ma fatigue à vos pieds reposée Rêve des chers instants qui la délasseront. Sur votre jeune sein laissez rouler ma tête Toute sonore encore de vos derniers baisers ; Laissez-la s'apaiser de la bonne tempête, Et que je dorme un peu puisque vous reposez.
Green
Here are fruits and flowers, here are leaves and fronds And here is my heart, only you can make it beat. Don’t tear it to pieces with your two white hands! To your beautiful eyes may this humble gift be sweet. I come before you still all covered with dew That was frozen on my brow by the morning breeze. I lay my fatigue at your feet, in the hope that you Will permit it to dream of imminent remedies. Allow my head to loll on your youthful breast, Still ringing with your kisses when they are strewn; Let it find peace when the pleasant storm is done, Let me sleep awhile, for you will be taking your rest.
Copyright © Timothy Adès Debussy, Hahn, Fauré : Teresa Stich-Randall, soprane: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CqFhD9vuZQA Fauré : Gérard Souzay : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZDzdzjIFiqg Léo Ferré : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=biy9NwOzz64 Julos Beaucarne : http://mimiclectik.canalblog.com/archives/2018/02/14/36117763.html

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

More poems by Paul Verlaine...

Las Clavellinas de Indias

Indian Pinks

Salvador Jacinto Polo de Medina (1603-76)

Indian Pinks
Breve tesoro, rica flor indiana, y sol rizado en hojas, oro florido que tu patria niegas, que a tu oriente despojas y en extranjeros valles te avecinas, y a ser desvelo llegas de laureles y rústicas encinas. Por ti en alado pino, por selvas de coral, pasó animoso el avariento, el vano codicioso, sin que el fatal destino que le asalta, presuma en valles de cristal, montes de espuma.
Las Clavellinas de Indias
Brief treasure, Indian rich flower, And sun curled into petals: This flowered gold betrays Its country, robs its eastern bower, In foreign valleys settles, Arriving in the vigils Of rustic oaks and laurels. For this in his winged vessel One, vaunting, avaricious, Comes covetously, travels Through reefs and groves of corals, Ambitious; Nor does the deadly power Of fate, that takes the cudgels, Presume In crystal vales to raise Mountains of spume.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

More poems by Salvador Jacinto Polo de Medina...