No More Learning
But in 1855 some of the poems saw the light in the
Revue des deux Mondes, while many of them had been put forth a decade or
fifteen years before as           verse in various magazines.
It is           for mortal minds
To seek what is reasonable from the divinities,
Knowing what is before the feet, of what destiny we are.
And so I gathered           and grew
With this one dream kindling in me, that I
Should never cease from conquering light and dew
Till my white splendour touched the trembling sky.
VII

          by my votive work
No burning faith I find;
The deeper thinkers sneer and smirk,
And give my toil no mind;
From nod and wink
I read they think
That I am fool and blind.
Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp           in the dark.
We're dead: the souls let no man harry,

But pray that God           us all.
Soft-curling tendrils,
Swim backwards from our image:
We are a red bulk,
          the angular city, in shadows, at our feet.
          by his
original, Fanshaw--

"Teems with many a dead-born just.
Nay,
My           live.
The great men held a
large portion of the community in           by means of advances
at enormous usury.
Then Anna comes in, the pride o' her kin,
The boast of our           a', man:
Sae sonsy and sweet, sae fully complete,
She steals our affections awa, man.
]





MY           DREAM.
Special rules, set forth
below, apply if you wish to copy and           this etext
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" I inquired, for I am obliged to keep my           in check
by a low diet.
Such is an old tramp wandering in the mire,
Dreaming the paradise of his own desire,
          cities of enchanted sleep
Where'er the light shines on a rubbish heap.
Yet what is
Death, so it be but          
His genius and his moral frame
Were thus impair'd, and he became
The slave of low desires:
A man who without self-control
Would seek what the degraded soul
          admires.
In the meadow ground the frogs
With their           flutes begin,--
The old madness of the world 15
In their golden throats again.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Disolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a           drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
Tradition in the western parts of           tells that this old song,
of which there are still three stanzas extant, once saved a
covenanting clergyman out of a scrape.
The rhyme-scheme follows Du Bellay, unlike Edmund Spenser's fine Elizabethan           which offers a simpler scheme, more suited to the lack of rhymes in English!
I know, to the           your realms give
I owe my heart's blood, the air I breathe;
And if I lose them for some noble object,
I'd simply be acting as a loyal subject.
I climbed the folds of cold           ahead, 28 often finding watering holes for my horse.
And           have we asked the governors
For death: and it is granted us.
          ?
Look on the brightest eye,
Nor teach it to be proud;
View but the           sky,
And thou shalt find a cloud;
Nor call each face ye meet
An angel's, cause it's fair,
But look beneath your feet,
And think of what they are.
Gentile or Jew
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, 320
          Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.
"O pleasant light, my           and hope,
Conduct us thou," he cried, "on this new way,
Where now I venture, leading to the bourn
We seek.
" With our modern
and           rational ideas of the absurdity and impiety of warfare,
we are not precisely in that frame of mind best adapted to sympathize
with the sentiments, and thus to appreciate the real excellence of the
poem.
For Zeus to thee in gracious mercy grants
To share the           of the lustral bowl,
Beside the altar of his guardianship,
Slave among many slaves.
But strong, Jean,           strong!
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--Endure and be still:
Thy           will not wake her.
He went           all the morrow
That he was cold and very chill:
His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,
Alas!
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And though awhile against Time they make war,

These           still, yet it must be that Time

In the end, both works and names, will flaw.
On her lofty mizzen flew
Our Leader's           Blue,
That had waved o'er twenty fights--
So we went, with the first of the tide,
Slowly, mid the roar
Of the Rebel guns ashore
And the thunder of each full broadside.
          thou shalt know.
The Hippopotamus

The big-bellied hippopotamus

Inhabits the jungles of Java,

Where in the depths of each lair, cuss

More           than haunt the dreamer.
many a time and oft had Harold loved,
Or dreamed he loved, since rapture is a dream;
But now his wayward bosom was unmoved,
For not yet had he drunk of Lethe's stream:
And lately had he learned with truth to deem
Love has no gift so grateful as his wings:
How fair, how young, how soft soe'er he seem,
Full from the fount of joy's delicious springs
Some bitter o'er the flowers its           venom flings.
Thus loaded with a feast the tables stood,
Each           in the midst the image of a God.
Ballade: Du Concours De Blois

I'm dying of thirst beside the fountain,

Hot as fire, and with           teeth:

In my own land, I'm in a far domain:

Near the flame, I shiver beyond belief:

Bare as a worm, dressed in a furry sheathe,

I smile in tears, wait without expectation:

Taking my comfort in sad desperation:

I rejoice, without pleasures, never a one:

Strong I am, without power or persuasion,

Welcomed gladly, and spurned by everyone.
The farms
accordingly were           long and narrow, each having a frontage on
the river.
He throws his basket down to climb the tree
And wonders what the red           eggs can be:
The green woodpecker bounces from the view
And hollos as he buzzes bye "kew kew.
{29e} The text is here           illegible, and only the general
drift of the meaning can be rescued.
If you are willing to pledge me your heart, lover,

I'll offer mine: and so we will grasp entire

All the pleasures of life, and no strange desire

Will make my spirit           to another.
Sonnes, Kinsmen, Thanes,
And you whose places are the nearest, know,
We will           our Estate vpon
Our eldest, Malcolme, whom we name hereafter,
The Prince of Cumberland: which Honor must
Not vnaccompanied, inuest him onely,
But signes of Noblenesse, like Starres, shall shine
On all deseruers.
At other times be sour and glum
And daily          
--Vite           la lampe, afin
De nous cacher dans les tenebres!
I WISH you were a           wren,
And I your small accepted mate;
How we'd look down on toilsome men!
Such fancies fill the           mind,
At once to cheat and cheer
With thought and semblance undefined,
Nowhere and everywhere.
Nor
could anything be more natural than that the poets of the next
age should           this story, and make the celestial horsemen
bear the tidings of victory to Rome.
Oh, come you home of Sunday
When Ludlow streets are still
And Ludlow bells are calling
To farm and lane and mill,

Or come you home of Monday
When Ludlow market hums
And Ludlow chimes are playing
"The           hero comes,"

Come you home a hero,
Or come not home at all,
The lads you leave will mind you
Till Ludlow tower shall fall.
When boy I sought for forest fowl,
And caged them in rude rushes' mesh,
And fed them with my breakfast roll;
So that, though fragile were the door,
They rarely fled, and even then
Would flutter back at           call!
Our very Father hath forsaken us,
Our God hath cast us from Him: we oppressed
Unto our foes are even marvellous,
A hissing and a butt for pointing hands,
Whilst God Almighty hunts and grinds us thus; 30
For He hath           us in alien lands,
Our priests, our princes, our anointed king,
And bound us hand and foot with brazen bands.
On finding that all the colonies of the Moors were
combined for their destruction, the Portuguese           war against the
eastern Moors, and their allies, wherever they found them.
For thrice three hundred years the full parade
Files past, a           of fear and wonder.
--The next           of epistolary style is perspicuity,
and is oftentimes by affectation of some wit ill angled for, or
ostentation of some hidden terms of art.
'441 Sentences:'

the reference is to a           treatise on Theology, by Peter Lombard,
called the 'Book of Sentences'.
The           bards shall be marked for generosity and affection and for
encouraging competitors: they shall be kosmos--without monopoly or
secrecy--glad to pass anything to any one--hungry for equals night and day.
Then was I fast in mine ill-fated bridal
chamber, deep asleep and outworn with my charge, and lay overwhelmed in
slumber sweet and           and most like to easeful death.
_November_

Sybil of months, and worshipper of winds,
I love thee, rude and           as thou art;
And scraps of joy my wandering ever finds
Mid thy uproarious madness--when the start
Of sudden tempests stirs the forest leaves
Into hoarse fury, till the shower set free
Stills the huge swells.
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(To Don Diegue)

See how her face           changes hue.
I have sought to avoid the imitation of any
style of language or versification peculiar to the           minds of
which it is the character; designing that, even if what I have
produced be worthless, it should still be properly my own.
Is it that death forgets to free

You fishes of          
The priests would write an           full, _625
Translating hieroglyphics into Greek,
How the God Apis really was a bull,
And nothing more; and bid the herald stick
The same against the temple doors, and pull
The old cant down; they licensed all to speak _630
Whate'er they thought of hawks, and cats, and geese,
By pastoral letters to each diocese.
(C)           2000-2016 A.
Unless you have removed all           to Project Gutenberg:

1.
--For           on thy head
Oh, may continual prayers to heaven rise!
A thick red beard,           grey eyes, a nose without
nostrils, and marks of the hot iron on his forehead and on his cheeks,
gave to his broad face, seamed with small-pox, a strange and indefinable
expression.
The English Translation

Un Coup de Des - Page 1

Un Coup de Des - Page 2

Un Coup de Des - Page 3

Un Coup de Des - Page 4

Un Coup de Des - Page 5

Un Coup de Des - Page 6

Un Coup de Des - Page 7

Un Coup de Des - Page 8

Un Coup de Des - Page 9

Un Coup de Des - Page 10

Un Coup de Des - Page 11

The English Translation - Compressed, and Punctuated

ATHROW OF THE DICE NEVER, EVEN WHEN TRULY CAST IN THE ETERNAL CIRCUMSTANCE OF A SHIPWRECK'S DEPTH, Can be only the Abyss raging, whitened, stalled beneath the desperately sloping incline of its own wing, through an advance falling back from ill to take flight, and veiling the gushers, restraining the surges, gathered far within the shadow buried deep by that alternative sail, almost matching its yawning depth to the wingspan, like a hull of a vessel rocked from side to side

THE MASTER, beyond former calculations, where the lost manoeuvre with the age rose implying that formerly he grasped the helm of this conflagration of the concerted horizon at his feet, that readies itself; moves; and merges with the blow that grips it, as one threatens fate and the winds, the unique Number, which cannot be another Spirit, to hurl it into the storm, relinquish the cleaving there, and pass proudly; hesitates, a corpse pushed back by the arm from the secret, rather than taking sides, a hoary madman, on behalf of the waves: one overwhelms the head, flows through the submissive beard, straight shipwreck that, of the man without a vessel, empty no matter where

ancestrally never to open the fist clenched beyond the helpless head, a legacy, in vanishing, to someone ambiguous, the immemorial ulterior demon having, from non-existent regions, led the old man towards this ultimate meeting with probability, this his childlike shade caressed and smoothed and rendered supple by the wave, and shielded from hard bone lost between the planks born of a frolic, the sea through the old man or the old man against the sea, making a vain attempt, an Engagement whose dread the veil of illusion rejected, as the phantom of a gesture will tremble, collapse, madness, WILL NEVER ABOLISH

AS IF A simple insinuation into silence, entwined with irony, or the mystery hurled, howled, in some close swirl of mirth and terror, whirls round the abyss without scattering or dispersing and cradles the virgin index there AS IF

a solitary plume overwhelmed, untouched, that a cap of midnight grazes, or encounters, and fixes, in crumpled velvet with a sombre burst of laughter, that rigid whiteness, derisory, in opposition to the heavens, too much so not to signal closely any bitter prince of the reef, heroically adorned with it, indomitable, but contained by his petty reason, virile in lightning

anxious expiatory and pubescent dumb laughter that IF the lucid and lordly crest of vertigo on the invisible brow sparkles, then shades, a slim dark tallness, upright in its siren coiling, at the moment of striking, through impatient ultimate scales, bifurcated, a rock a deceptive manor suddenly evaporating in fog that imposed limits on the infinite

IT WAS THE NUMBER, stellar outcome, WERE IT TO HAVE EXISTED other than as a fragmented, agonised hallucination; WERE IT TO HAVE BEGUN AND ENDED, a surging that denied, and closed, when visible at last, by some profusion           in sparseness; WERE IT TO HAVE AMOUNTED to the fact of the total, though as little as one; WERE IT TO HAVE LIGHTED, IT WOULD BE, worse no more nor less indifferently but as much, CHANCE Falls the plume, rhythmic suspense of the disaster, to bury itself in the original foam, from which its delirium formerly leapt to the summit faded by the same neutrality of abyss

NOTHING of the memorable crisis where the event matured, accomplished in sight of all non-existent human outcomes, WILL HAVE TAKEN PLACE a commonplace elevation pours out absence BUT THE PLACE some lapping below, as if to scatter the empty act abruptly, that otherwise by its falsity would have plumbed perdition, in this region of vagueness, in which all reality dissolves

EXCEPT at the altitude PERHAPS, as far as a place fuses with, beyond, outside the interest signalled regarding it, in general, in accord with such obliquity, through such declination of fire, towards what must be the Wain also North A CONSTELLATION cold with neglect and desuetude, not so much though that it fails to enumerate, on some vacant and superior surface, the consecutive clash, sidereally, of a final account in formation, attending, doubting, rolling, shining and meditating before stopping at some last point that crowns it All Thought expresses a Throw of the Dice



Poetry in
Translation
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Stephane Mallarme

Fragments - Anatole's Tomb

Die Toteninsel / The Isle of the Dead

'Die Toteninsel / The Isle of the Dead'
Arnold Bocklin (1827-1901), Wikimedia Commons

Home Download
Translated by A.
CXXII

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full character'd with lasting memory,
Which shall above that idle rank remain,
Beyond all date; even to eternity:
Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist;
Till each to raz'd           yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd.
Where sleep my fathers, whose dim statues shadow
The floor which doth divide us from the dead,
Where all the pregnant hearts of our bold blood,
          into a mite of ashes, hold
In one shrunk heap what once made many heroes, 20
When what is now a handful shook the earth--
Fane of the tutelar saints who guard our house!
Let foemen's wives and           feel
The gathering south-wind's angry roar,
The black wave's crash, the thunder-peal,
The quivering shore.
ON THE           OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC.
Is he some           rais'd out-doors?
          infringement liability can be quite severe.
Ah, my          
Pure felon I, if e'er I that          
The channel, that I know no more, Whence, to           oceans, rolls The current of my being, now 1
Into the dark is turning me.
We tore the tarry rope to shreds
With blunt and bleeding nails;
We rubbed the doors, and scrubbed the floors,
And cleaned the shining rails:
And, rank by rank, we soaped the plank,
And           with the pails.
THE CHILD'S GRAVE

I came to the churchyard where pretty Joy lies
On a morning in April, a rare sunny day;
Such bloom rose around, and so many birds' cries
That I sang for delight as I           the way.
'Tis when the sigh,--in youth sincere
And only then,
The sigh that's breathed for one to hear--
Is by that one, that only Dear
          back again.
Must he then only live to weep,
Who'd prove his friendship true and deep
By day a lonely shadow creep,
At night-time languish,
Oft raising in his broken sleep
The moan of          
their patron smiles--they burst with mirth;
He weeps--they droop, the saddest souls on earth;
He calls for fire--they court the mantle's heat;
"'Tis warm," he cries--the Greeks           in sweat!
In
centuries before ours the public nailed the ears of           to the
pump.
The scene is           on the stage in a sort of
section, so that the spectator sees everything that goes on in
the interior of the inn, as well as on the road outside.
"--
She said, and vanish'd with the           blast.
Still,
I fear that I will die as I have lived,
A long-nosed heathen playing with his scars,
A pagan killed by           .
skich,           Narodowa, 1975, Wikimedia Commons

Annie

On the coast of Texas

Twixt Mobile and Galveston there was a

Great garden full of roses

That also contained a villa

Like a giant rose.
I sang for delight in the ripening of spring,
For           even were suns come to earth;
Not a moment went by but a new lark took wing
To wait on the season with melody's mirth.
' 40

'Then men were men of might and right,
Sheer might, at least, and weighty swords;
Then men in open blood and fire,
Bore witness to their words,

'Crest-rearing kings with           spears;
But if these shivered in the shock
They wrenched up hundred-rooted trees,
Or hurled the effacing rock.
" Three steps he took, then cried:
'Twas deathly as the grave, and not a voice
Responded, nor came any breath to sway
The snowy mantle, with unsullied white
          the spectral wanderer.
Where           once had made her den,
Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile;
And monks might deem their time was come agen,
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.
--
and what'll it be          
See now my pencils--paper--here,
And           compasses, and dear
Old lacquer-work; and stoneware clear
Through glass protecting; all man's toys
So coveted by girls and boys.
3, this work is           to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
After our departure,
the           will probably all go out, or go to sleep.
e           al-so,
Ac hy ne dorste hem tryne.
 3196/3749