The Meaning of Life is 42 (jpster) wrote in culture_geeks,
The Meaning of Life is 42

Translation -

OK somebody requested a translation of the poem of Mallarmé I posted yesterday... Mallarmé's language is extremely, beautifully metaphorical and he uses words of the French language in an almost musical way... I think some words don't even have a direct translation, so I'll do my best to give it the same meaning - and I'm no professional translator. You'll get an idea.


The sickly spring sadly chased away
Winter, season of serene art, the lucid winter,
And, in my being over whom presides a dismal blood
Powerlessness stretches itself in a long yawn.

White dusks are are cooling down under my skull
That an iron circle is gripping like an old grave
And sad, I roam after a vague and beautiful dream,
By the fields where the immense sap is strutting              [phew that sounds awful, but I can't think of anything for now]

Then I fall down, worked up from the perfume of trees, tired,
And digging with my face a pit to my dream,
Biting the warm earth where the lilacs grow,

I wait, while wasting away that my boredom arises...
- However Heaven laughs on the the hedge and the awakening
About so many birds in full bloom chirping under the sun.

Well I tried. :-)
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