Showing posts with label Arthur Rimbaud. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Arthur Rimbaud. Show all posts

Friday 26 October 2012

Arthur Rimbaud's "Mystic" (a few translations)

Mystic

On the slope of the knoll angels
whirl their woolen robes
in pastures of emerald and steel.
Meadows of flame leap up to the summit of the little hill.

At the left, the mold of the ridge is trampled by all the homicides
and all the battles, and all the disastrous noises
describe their curve. Behind the right-hand
ridge, the line of orients and of progress.

And while the band above the picture is composed of the revolving
and rushing hum of seashells and of human nights,
The flowering sweetness of the stars and of the night
and all the rest descends, opposite the knol
l, like a basket,-- against our face, and
makes the abyss perfumed and blue below. 

Mystic

On the gently rising slopes of the hill, the angels bleach their woollen robes in the herbage of steel and emerald.

Meadows of flame leap up the breast of the hill. On the ridge to the left, the ground is trampled by the feet of all the murderers and of all the battles of the world; and there, all disastrous rumors spin their crooked threads. Behind the ridge on the right, is the line of the Orient, of progress.

And whilst the group at the top of the picture is formed of the eddying, leaping murmurs of sea-shells and human nights,

The flowery softness of the stars, and of the heavens and the misty deeps, overflows in front of the hill, as from a basket, and makes the blue abyss to blossom.

 

Mystique

Sur la pente du talus, les anges tournent leurs robes de laine dans les herbages d'acier et d'émeraude. Des prés de flammes bondissent jusqu'au sommet du mamelon. À gauche, le terreau de l'arête est piétiné par tous les homicides et toutes les batailles, et tous les bruits désastreux filent leur courbe. Derrière l'arête de droite, la ligne des orients, des progrès.
Et tandis que la bande en haut du tableau est formée de la rumeur tournante et bondissante des conques des mers et des nuits humaines,
La douceur fleurie des étoiles et du ciel et du reste descend en face du talus, comme un panier, - contre notre face, et fait l'abîme fleurant et bleu là-dessous.