Шарль Бодлер (Charles Baudelaire) (1821-1867)
французский поэт, критик, эссеист и переводчик

• Список стихотворений поэта

Перевод стихотворения
«L’Héautontimorouménos»
на английский язык.

Heautontimoroumenos

Like a butcher I will strike you
Without anger and without hate
As Moses struck the rock!
And from your eyelid I will cause,

In order to irrigate my Sahara,
The waters of suffering to gush forth.
My desire swollen with hope
Will float on your salty tears

Like a vessel moving out from shore,
And in my heart which they will intoxicate
Your dear sobs will resound
Like a drum beating the charge!

Am I not a false chord
In the divine symphony,
Thanks to the voracious Irony
Which shakes and bites me?

The raucous girl is in my voice!
This black poison is my blood!
I am the sinister mirror
In which the megara looks at herself!

I am the wound and the blade!
I am the slap and the cheek!
I am the limbs and the wheel,
The victim and the executioner!

I am the vampire of my own heart
— One of the deserted men
Condemned to eternal laughter,
And who can no longer smile!

Heauton Timoroumenos

I mean to strike you without hate,
As butchers do; as Moses did
The rock. From under either lid
Your tears will flow to inundate

This huge Sahara which is I.
My heart, insensible with pain,
Caught in that flood will live again:
Will care whether it live or die —

Will strive as in the salty sea,
Drunken with brine and all but drowned,
Yet driven onward by the sound
Of your wild sobbing endlessly!

For look — I am at war, my dear,
With the whole universe. I know
There is no medicine for my woe.
Believe me, it is called Despair.

It runs in all my veins. I pray:
It cries in all my words. I am
The very glass where what I damn
Leers and admires itself all day.

I am the wound — I am the knife
The deep wound scabbards; the outdrawn
Rack, and the writhing thereupon;
The lifeless, and the taker of life.

I murder what I most adore,
Laughing: I am indeed of those
Condemned for ever without repose
To laugh — but who can smile no more.

L’Héautontimorouménos

         À J. G. F

Je te frapperai sans colère
Et sans haine, comme un boucher,
Comme Moïse le rocher !
Et je ferai de ta paupière,

Pour abreuver mon Saharah,
Jaillir les eaux de la souffrance.
Mon désir gonflé d’espérance
Sur tes pleurs salés nagera

Comme un vaisseau qui prend le large,
Et dans mon cœur qu’ils soûleront
Tes chers sanglots retentiront
Comme un tambour qui bat la charge !

Ne suis-je pas un faux accord
Dans la divine symphonie,
Grâce à la vorace Ironie
Qui me secoue et qui me mord ?

Elle est dans ma voix, la criarde !
C’est tout mon sang, ce poison noir !
Je suis le sinistre miroir
Où la mégère se regarde.

Je suis la plaie et le couteau !
Je suis le soufflet et la joue !
Je suis les membres et la roue,
Et la victime et le bourreau !

Je suis de mon cœur le vampire,
— Un de ces grands abandonnés
Au rire éternel condamnés,
Et qui ne peuvent plus sourire !

Последние стихотворения