Sunday, December 30, 2012

Matt Hetherington


srry wll b late bout
45 u cool w that

no u no how it
is smtmes am jus v

chnge of plans cn we
do 2moro wll txt u

hey rite now its th
best i cn do all
i cn say is hey

jus go til all yr
eyes c is pixels x








The Tomb of Edgar Poe

As to Himself at last eternity changes him,
The Poet incites with a naked sword
His age aghast at never having heard
That death had triumphed in this strange voice!

They, as the vile hydra once recoiled to hear the angel
Give a purer meaning to the words of the tribe
Proclaimed most loudly the fateful spell imbibed
In the humourless flood of some darkened brew.

From hostile soil and cloud, O grief!
If our idea cannot carve a bas-relief
For the resplendent tomb of Poe to be adorned,

Calm block fallen here below from some obscure disaster,
May this granite at least forever mark a bourne
To the dark flights of Blasphemy scattered in the future.

Stephane Mallarme, trans. Matt Hetherington

1 comment:

  1. Hey Matt. Didn't know you translated French as well as Iranian. Great poem by great poet. Here's my portrait poem on Poe from my new book which uses the opening line of Mallarme's poem. cheers Ray.

    Once upon a midnight dreary

    ‘Tel qu’en lui-même enfin l’éternité le change’.
    Two days before, befuddled, sluing the streets
    Of Baltimore, dressed in the clothes of a stranger.
    Such an ending he could write in his sleep.
    So, what had Baudelaire and Mallarmé seen
    America did not? Beyond a chamber door,
    The discordant melody of an ominous raven,
    The moment of birth, the unforgiving storm,
    The beautiful, cruel cold fists of ice seizing the Boston harbour.