| seclusive |
2009-02-25 10:32 |
L'après-midi d'un faune.
by Stéphane Mallarmé (1842-1898)
Le Faune:
Ces nymphes, je les veux perpétuer.
Si clair,
Leur incarnat léger, qu'il voltige dans l'air
Assoupi de sommeils touffus.
Aimai-je un rêve?
Mon doute, amas de nuit ancienne, s'achève
En maint rameau subtil, qui, demeuré les vrais
Bois même, prouve, hélas! que bien seul je m'offrais
Pour triomphe la faute idéale de roses.
Réfléchissons...
ou si les femmes dont tu gloses
Figurent un souhait de tes sens fabuleux!
Faune, l'illusion s'échappe des yeux bleus
Et froids, comme une source en pleurs, de la plus chaste:
Mais, l'autre tout soupirs, dis-tu qu'elle contraste
Comme brise du jour chaude dans ta toison?
Que non! par l'immobile et lasse pâmoison
Suffoquant de chaleurs le matin frais s'il lutte,
Ne murmure point d'eau que ne verse ma flûte
Au bosquet arrosé d'accords; et le seul vent
Hors des deux tuyaux prompt à s'exhaler avant
Qu'il disperse le son dans une pluie aride,
C'est, à l'horizon pas remué d'une ride
Le visible et serein souffle artificiel
De l'inspiration, qui regagne le ciel.
O bords siciliens d'un calme marécage
Qu'à l'envi de soleils ma vanité saccage
Tacite sous les fleurs d'étincelles, CONTEZ
« Que je coupais ici les creux roseaux domptés
» Par le talent; quand, sur l'or glauque de lointaines
» Verdures dédiant leur vigne à des fontaines,
» Ondoie une blancheur animale au repos:
» Et qu'au prélude lent où naissent les pipeaux
» Ce vol de cygnes, non! de naïades se sauve
» Ou plonge...
Inerte, tout brûle dans l'heure fauve
Sans marquer par quel art ensemble détala
Trop d'hymen souhaité de qui cherche le la:
Alors m'éveillerai-je à la ferveur première,
Droit et seul, sous un flot antique de lumière,
Lys! et l'un de vous tous pour l'ingénuité.
Autre que ce doux rien par leur lèvre ébruité,
Le baiser, qui tout bas des perfides assure,
Mon sein, vierge de preuve, atteste une morsure
Mystérieuse, due à quelque auguste dent;
Mais, bast! arcane tel élut pour confident
Le jonc vaste et jumeau dont sous l'azur on joue:
Qui, détournant à soi le trouble de la joue,
Rêve, dans un solo long, que nous amusions
La beauté d'alentour par des confusions
Fausses entre elle-même et notre chant crédule;
Et de faire aussi haut que l'amour se module
Évanouir du songe ordinaire de dos
Ou de flanc pur suivis avec mes regards clos,
Une sonore, vaine et monotone ligne.
Tâche donc, instrument des fuites, ô maligne
Syrinx, de refleurir aux lacs où tu m'attends!
Moi, de ma rumeur fier, je vais parler longtemps
Des déesses; et par d'idolâtres peintures
À leur ombre enlever encore des ceintures:
Ainsi, quand des raisins j'ai sucé la clarté,
Pour bannir un regret par ma feinte écarté,
Rieur, j'élève au ciel d'été la grappe vide
Et, soufflant dans ses peaux lumineuses, avide
D'ivresse, jusqu'au soir je regarde au travers.
O nymphes, regonflons des SOUVENIRS divers.
« Mon oeil, trouant les joncs, dardait chaque encolure
» Immortelle, qui noie en l'onde sa brûlure
» Avec un cri de rage au ciel de la forêt;
» Et le splendide bain de cheveux disparaît
» Dans les clartés et les frissons, ô pierreries!
» J'accours; quand, à mes pieds, s'entrejoignent (meurtries
» De la langueur goûtée à ce mal d'être deux)
» Des dormeuses parmi leurs seuls bras hasardeux;
» Je les ravis, sans les désenlacer, et vole
» À ce massif, haï par l'ombrage frivole,
» De roses tarissant tout parfum au soleil,
» Où notre ébat au jour consumé soit pareil.
Je t'adore, courroux des vierges, ô délice
Farouche du sacré fardeau nu qui se glisse
Pour fuir ma lèvre en feu buvant, comme un éclair
Tressaille! la frayeur secrète de la chair:
Des pieds de l'inhumaine au coeur de la timide
Qui délaisse à la fois une innocence, humide
De larmes folles ou de moins tristes vapeurs.
« Mon crime, c'est d'avoir, gai de vaincre ces peurs
» Traîtresses, divisé la touffe échevelée
» De baisers que les dieux gardaient si bien mêlée:
» Car, à peine j'allais cacher un rire ardent
» Sous les replis heureux d'une seule (gardant
» Par un doigt simple, afin que sa candeur de plume
» Se teignît à l'émoi de sa soeur qui s'allume,
» La petite, naïve et ne rougissant pas: )
» Que de mes bras, défaits par de vagues trépas,
» Cette proie, à jamais ingrate se délivre
» Sans pitié du sanglot dont j'étais encore ivre.
Tant pis! vers le bonheur d'autres m'entraîneront
Par leur tresse nouée aux cornes de mon front:
Tu sais, ma passion, que, pourpre et déjà mûre,
Chaque grenade éclate et d'abeilles murmure;
Et notre sang, épris de qui le va saisir,
Coule pour tout l'essaim éternel du désir.
À l'heure où ce bois d'or et de cendres se teinte
Une fête s'exalte en la feuillée éteinte:
Etna! c'est parmi toi visité de Vénus
Sur ta lave posant tes talons ingénus,
Quand tonne une somme triste ou s'épuise la flamme.
Je tiens la reine!
O sûr châtiment...
Non, mais l'âme
De paroles vacante et ce corps alourdi
Tard succombent au fier silence de midi:
Sans plus il faut dormir en l'oubli du blasphème,
Sur le sable altéré gisant et comme j'aime
Ouvrir ma bouche à l'astre efficace des vins!
Couple, adieu; je vais voir l'ombre que tu devins.
V1: L’Apres-midi d’un Faune
Translated by A. S. Kline
Eclogue
The Faun
These nymphs, I would perpetuate them.
So bright
Their crimson flesh that hovers there, light
In the air drowsy with dense slumbers.
Did I love a dream?
My doubt, mass of ancient night, ends extreme
In many a subtle branch, that remaining the true
Woods themselves, proves, alas, that I too
Offered myself, alone, as triumph, the false ideal of roses.
Let’s see….
or if those women you note
Reflect your fabulous senses’ desire!
Faun, illusion escapes from the blue eye,
Cold, like a fount of tears, of the most chaste:
But the other, she, all sighs, contrasts you say
Like a breeze of day warm on your fleece?
No! Through the swoon, heavy and motionless
Stifling with heat the cool morning’s struggles
No water, but that which my flute pours, murmurs
To the grove sprinkled with melodies: and the sole breeze
Out of the twin pipes, quick to breathe
Before it scatters the sound in an arid rain,
Is unstirred by any wrinkle of the horizon,
The visible breath, artificial and serene,
Of inspiration returning to heights unseen.
O Sicilian shores of a marshy calm
My vanity plunders vying with the sun,
Silent beneath scintillating flowers, RELATE
‘That I was cutting hollow reeds here tamed
By talent: when, on the green gold of distant
Verdure offering its vine to the fountains,
An animal whiteness undulates to rest:
And as a slow prelude in which the pipes exist
This flight of swans, no, of Naiads cower
Or plunge…’
Inert, all things burn in the tawny hour
Not seeing by what art there fled away together
Too much of hymen desired by one who seeks there
The natural A: then I’ll wake to the primal fever
Erect, alone, beneath the ancient flood, light’s power,
Lily! And the one among you all for artlessness.
Other than this sweet nothing shown by their lip, the kiss
That softly gives assurance of treachery,
My breast, virgin of proof, reveals the mystery
Of the bite from some illustrious tooth planted;
Let that go! Such the arcane chose for confidant,
The great twin reed we play under the azure ceiling,
That turning towards itself the cheek’s quivering,
Dreams, in a long solo, so we might amuse
The beauties round about by false notes that confuse
Between itself and our credulous singing;
And create as far as love can, modulating,
The vanishing, from the common dream of pure flank
Or back followed by my shuttered glances,
Of a sonorous, empty and monotonous line.
Try then, instrument of flights, O malign
Syrinx by the lake where you await me, to flower again!
I, proud of my murmur, intend to speak at length
Of goddesses: and with idolatrous paintings
Remove again from shadow their waists’ bindings:
So that when I’ve sucked the grapes’ brightness
To banish a regret done away with by my pretence,
Laughing, I raise the emptied stem to the summer’s sky
And breathing into those luminous skins, then I,
Desiring drunkenness, gaze through them till evening.
O nymphs, let’s rise again with many memories.
‘My eye, piercing the reeds, speared each immortal
Neck that drowns its burning in the water
With a cry of rage towards the forest sky;
And the splendid bath of hair slipped by
In brightness and shuddering, O jewels!
I rush there: when, at my feet, entwine (bruised
By the languor tasted in their being-two’s evil)
Girls sleeping in each other’s arms’ sole peril:
I seize them without untangling them and run
To this bank of roses wasting in the sun
All perfume, hated by the frivolous shade
Where our frolic should be like a vanished day.’
I adore you, wrath of virgins, O shy
Delight of the nude sacred burden that glides
Away to flee my fiery lip, drinking
The secret terrors of the flesh like quivering
Lightning: from the feet of the heartless one
To the heart of the timid, in a moment abandoned
By innocence wet with wild tears or less sad vapours.
‘Happy at conquering these treacherous fears
My crime’s to have parted the dishevelled tangle
Of kisses that the gods kept so well mingled:
For I’d scarcely begun to hide an ardent laugh
In one girl’s happy depths (holding back
With only a finger, so that her feathery candour
Might be tinted by the passion of her burning sister,
The little one, naïve and not even blushing)
Than from my arms, undone by vague dying,
This prey, forever ungrateful, frees itself and is gone,
Not pitying the sob with which I was still drunk.’
No matter! Others will lead me towards happiness
By the horns on my brow knotted with many a tress:
You know, my passion, how ripe and purple already
Every pomegranate bursts, murmuring with the bees:
And our blood, enamoured of what will seize it,
Flows for all the eternal swarm of desire yet.
At the hour when this wood with gold and ashes heaves
A feast’s excited among the extinguished leaves:
Etna! It’s on your slopes, visited by Venus
Setting in your lava her heels so artless,
When a sad slumber thunders where the flame burns low.
I hold the queen!
O certain punishment…
No, but the soul
Void of words, and this heavy body,
Succumb to noon’s proud silence slowly:
With no more ado, forgetting blasphemy, I
Must sleep, lying on the thirsty sand, and as I
Love, open my mouth to wine’s true constellation!
Farewell to you, both: I go to see the shadow you have become.
V2: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Nook/2689/mallarme/faun.html
THE AFTERNOON OF A FAUN
ECOLOGUE
THE FAUN
Translation by Roger Fry
These nymphs I would perpetuate.
So clear
Their light carnation, that it floats in the air
Heavy with tufted slumbers.
Was it a dream I loved?
My doubt, a heap of ancient night, is finishing
In many a subtle branch, which, left the true
Wood itself, proves, alas! that all alone I gave
Myself for triumph the ideal sin of roses.
Let me reflect . . .
if the girls of which you tell
Figure a wish of your fabulous senses!
Faun, the illusion escapes from the blue eyes
And cold, like a spring in tears, of the chaster one:
But, the other, all sighs, do you say she contrasts
Like a breeze of hot day in your fleece!
But no! through the still, weary faintness
Choking with heat the fresh morn if it strives,
No water murmurs but what my flute pours
On the chord sprinkled thicket; and the sole wind
Prompt to exhale from my two pipes, before
It scatters the sound in a waterless shower,
Is, on the horizon's unwrinkled space,
The visible serene artificial breath
Of inspiration, which regains the sky.
Oh you, Sicilian shores of a calm marsh
That more than the suns my vanity havocs,
Silent beneath the flowers of sparks, RELATE
"That here I was cutting the hollow reeds tamed
By talent, when on the dull gold of the distant
Verdures dedicating their vines to the springs,
There waves an animal whiteness at rest:
And that to the prelude where the pipes first stir
This flight of swans, no! Naiads, flies
Or plunges . . ."
Inert, all burns in the fierce hour
Nor marks by what art all at once bolted
Too much hymen desired by who seeks the Ia:
Then shall I awake to the primitive fervour,
Straight and alone, 'neath antique floods of light,
Lilies and one of you all through my ingenuousness.
As well as this sweet nothing their lips purr,
The kiss, which a hush assures of the perfid ones,
My breast, though proofless, still attests a bite
Mysterious, due to some august tooth;
But enough! for confidant such mystery chose
The great double reed which one plays 'neath the blue:
Which, the cheek's trouble turning to itself
Dreams, in a solo long, we might amuse
Surrounding beauties by confusions false
Between themselves and our credulous song;
And to make, just as high as love modulates,
Die out of the everyday dream of a back
Or a pure flank followed by my curtained eyes,
An empty, sonorous, monotonous line.
Try then, instrument of flights, oh malign
Syrinx, to reflower by the lakes where you wait for me!
I, proud of my rumour, for long I will talk
Of goddesses; and by picturings idolatrous,
From their shades unloose yet more of their girdles:
So when of grapes the clearness I've sucked,
To banish regret by my ruse disavowed,
Laughing, I lift the empty bunch to the sky,
Blowing into its luminous skins and athirst
To be drunk, till the evening I keep looking through.
Oh nymphs, we diverse MEMORIES refill.
"My eye, piercing the reeds, shot at each immortal
Neck, which drowned its burning in the wave
With a cry of rage to the forest sky;
And the splendid bath of their hair disappears
In the shimmer and shuddering, oh diamonds!
I run, when, there at my feet, enlaced. Lie
(hurt by the languor they taste to be two)
Girls sleeping amid their own casual arms;
them I seize, and not disentangling them, fly
To this thicket, hated by the frivilous shade,
Of roses drying up their scent in the sun
Where our delight may be like the day sun-consumed."
I adore it, the anger of virgins, the wild
Delight of the sacred nude burden which slips
To escape from my hot lips drinking, as lightning
Flashes! the secret terror of the flesh:
From the feet of the cruel one to the heart of the timid
Who together lose an innocence, humid
With wild tears or less sorrowful vapours.
"My crime is that I, gay at conquering the treacherous
Fears, the dishevelled tangle divided
Of kisses, the gods kept so well commingled;
For before I could stifle my fiery laughter
In the happy recesses of one (while I kept
With a finger alone, that her feathery whiteness
Should be dyed by her sister's kindling desire,
The younger one, naive and without a blush)
When from my arms, undone by vague failing,
This pities the sob wherewith I was still drunk."
Ah well, towards happiness others will lead me
With their tresses knotted to the horns of my brow:
You know, my passion, that purple and just ripe,
The pomegranates burst and murmur with bees;
And our blood, aflame for her who will take it,
Flows for all the eternal swarm of desire.
At the hour when this wood's dyed with gold and with ashes
A festival glows in the leafage extinguished:
Etna! 'tis amid you, visited by Venus
On your lava fields placing her candid feet,
When a sad stillness thunders wherein the flame dies.
I hold the queen!
O penalty sure . . .
No, but the soul
Void of word and my body weighed down
Succumb in the end to midday's proud silence:
No more, I must sleep, forgetting the outrage,
On the thirsty sand lying, and as I delight
Open my mouth to wine's potent star!
Adieu, both! I shall see the shade you became.
V3：牧神的午后
飞白 译
牧神：
林泽的仙女们，我愿她们永生。
多么清楚
她们轻而谈的肉色在空气中飞舞，
空气却睡意丛生。
莫非我爱的是个梦？
我的疑问有如一堆古夜的黑影
终结于无数细枝，而仍是真的树林，
证明孤独的我献给了我自身——
唉！一束祝捷玫瑰的理想的假象。
让咱们想想……
也许你品评的女性形象
只不过活生生画出了你虚妄的心愿！
牧神哪，幻象从最纯净的一位水仙
又蓝又冷的眼中象泪泉般涌流，
与她对照的另一位却叹息不休，
你觉得宛如夏日拂过你羊毛上的和风？
不，没有这事！在寂静而困倦的昏晕中，
凉爽的清晨如欲抗拒，即被暑气窒息，
哪有什么潺潺水声？唯有我的芦笛
把和弦洒向树丛；那仅有的风
迅疾地从双管芦笛往外吹送，
在它化作一场旱雨洒遍笛音之前，
沿着连皱纹也不动弹的地平线，
这股看得见的、人工的灵感之气，
这仅有的风，静静地重回天庭而去。
啊，西西里之岸，幽静的泽国，
被我的虚荣和骄阳之火争先掠夺，
你在盛开的火花下默认了，请你作证：
“正当我在此地割取空心的芦梗
“并用天才把它驯化，远方的青翠
‘闪耀着金碧光辉，把葡萄藤献给泉水，
“那儿波动着一片动物的白色，准备休息，
一听到芦笛诞生的前奏曲悠然响起，
惊飞了一群天鹅——不！是仙女们仓皇
逃奔
“或潜入水中……”
一切都烧烤得昏昏沉沉，
看不清追求者一心渴望了那么多姻缘
凭什么本领，竟能全部逃散不见
于是我只有品味初次的热情，挺身站直，
在古老的光流照耀下形单影只，
百合花呀！你们当中有最纯真的一朵。
除此甜味，她们的唇什么也没有传播，
除了那柔声低语保证着背信的吻。
我的胸口（作证的处女）可以证明：
那儿有尊严的牙留下的神秘的伤处，
可是，罢了！这样的奥秘向谁倾诉？
只有吐露给向天吹奏的双管芦笛，
它把脸上的惶惑之情转向它自己，
在久久的独奏中入梦，梦见咱俩一同
假装害羞来把周围的美色逗弄，
让美和我们轻信的歌互相躲闪；
让曲调悠扬如同歌唱爱情一般，
从惯常的梦中，那纯洁的腰和背——
我闭着双眼，眼神却把它紧紧追随——
让那条响亮、虚幻、单调的线就此消逝。
阿，狡诈的芦笛，逃遁的乐器，试试！
你快重新扬花，在你等待我的湖上！
我以嘈杂而自豪，要把女神久久宣扬；
还要用偶像崇拜的画笔和色彩
再次从她们的影子上除去裙带。
于是，当我把葡萄里的光明吸干，
为了把我假装排除的遗憾驱散，
我嘲笑这夏日炎灸的天，向它举起
一串空葡萄，往发亮的葡萄皮里吹气，
一心贪醉，我透视它们直到傍晚。
哦，林泽的仙女、让我们把变幻的回亿
吹圆：
“我的眼穿透苇丛，射向仙女的颈项，
“当她们把自己的灼热浸入波浪，
“把一声怒叫向森林的上空掷去，
“于是她们秀发如波的辉煌之浴
“隐人了碧玉的颤栗和宝石的闪光！
“我赶来了；啊，我看见在我脚旁
“两位仙女（因分身为二的忧戚而憔悴）
“在冒险的手臂互相交织间熟睡；
“我没解开她们的拥抱，一把攫取了她们，
“奔进这被轻薄之影憎恨的灌木休，
“这儿，玫瑰在太阳里汲干全部芳香，
“这儿，我们的嬉戏能与燃烧的白昼相
象。”
我崇拜你，处女们的怒火，啊，欢乐——
羞怯的坎乐来自神圣而赤裸的重荷，
她们滑脱，把我着火的嘴唇逃避，
嘴唇如颤抖的闪电！痛饮肉体秘密的战栗：
从无情的她的脚，到羞怯的她的心，
沾湿了的纯洁同时抛弃了她们，——
不知那是狂热的泪，还是无动于衷的露？
“当我快活地征服了背叛的恐怖，
“我的罪孽是解开了两位女神
。纠缠得难分难解的丛丛的吻；
“当我刚想要把一朵欢笑之火
“藏进一位女神幸福的起伏之波，
（同时用一个手指照看着另一位——
“那个没泛起红晕的天真的妹妹，
“想让姐组的激情也染红她的白羽，）
“谁料到，我的双臂因昏晕之死而发虚，
“我的猎获物竟突然挣脱，不告而别，
“薄情的，毫不怜悯我因之而醉的呜咽。”
随她去吧！别人还会把我引向福气，
把她们的辫子和我头上的羊角系在一起。
你知道，我的激情已熟透而绛红，
每个石榴都会爆裂并作蜜蜂之嗡嗡，
我们的血钟情于那把它俘虏的人，
为愿望的永恒之蜂群而奔流滚滚。
当这片森林染成了金色和灰色，
枯叶之间升起一片节日的狂热：
埃特纳火山！维纳斯恰恰是来把你寻访，
她真诚的脚跟踏上你的火热的岩浆，
伤心的梦雷鸣不止，而其火焰渐渐消失。
我捉住了仙后！
逃不掉的惩罚……
不，只是，
沉重的躯体和空无一语的心灵
慢慢地屈服于中午高傲的寂静。
无能为力，咱该在焦渴的沙滩上躺下．
赶快睡去，而忘却亵渎神明的蠢话，
我还爱张着嘴，朝向葡萄酒的万应之星！
别了，仙女们；我还会看见你们化成的影。 |
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呵呵 我是新手来的，以后多多向大家请教。
