smsisms
srry wll b late bout
45 u cool w that
:)
no u no how it
is smtmes am jus v
busy
chnge of plans cn we
do 2moro wll txt u
k?
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
Quiet
in
morning
light
still
after
you
went
before
true
night
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
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.
ReplyDeleteOnce 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.