Le
Jardinier et la Mort
Un jeune jardinier persan dit à son prince
:
“J’ai rencontré la Mort ce matin.
Elle m’a fait un geste de menace.
Sauve-moi! Je voudrais être par miracle,
à Ispahan ce soir.”
Le bon prince prête ses chevaux.
L’après-midi, ce prince rencontre la Mort.
“Pourquoi lui demande-t-il avez-vous fait
ce matin,
à notre jardinier, un geste de menace?”
– “Je n’ai pas fait un geste de menace,”
répond-elle,
“mais un geste de surprise.
Car je le voyais loin d’Ispahan ce matin
et je dois le prendre à Ispahan ce soir.”
Jean
Cocteau
The
Gardener and Death
A young Persian gardener says to his
prince:
‘I met Death this morning.
It made a threatening gesture at me.
Save me! I would miraculously like to be
in Ispahan this evening.’
The good prince lends him his horses.
That afternoon, this prince meets Death.
‘Why,’ he asks him’ ‘did you make this
morning
a threatening gesture at our gardener?’
– ‘I did not make a threatening gesture,’
he replies,
‘but a gesture of surprise.
For I saw him far from Ispahan this morning
and am to take him this evening in
Ispahan.’
De tuinman en de dood
Een Perzisch Edelman:
Van morgen ijlt mijn tuinman, wit van schrik,
Mijn woning in: “Heer, Heer, één ogenblik!
Ginds, in de rooshof, snoeide ik loot na loot,
Toen keek ik achter mij. Daar stond de Dood.
Ik schrok, en haastte mij langs de andere kant,
Maar zag nog juist de dreiging van zijn hand.
Meester, uw paard, en laat mij spoorslags gaan,
Voor de avond nog bereik ik Ispahaan!” -
Van middag (lang reeds was hij heengespoed)
Heb ik in ‘t cederpark de Dood ontmoet.
“Waarom,” zo vraag ik, want hij wacht en zwijgt,
“Hebt gij van morgen vroeg mijn knecht gedreigd?”
Glimlachend antwoordt hij: “Geen dreiging was ‘t,
Waarvoor uw tuinman vlood. Ik was verrast,
Toen ‘k ‘s morgens hier nog stil aan ‘t werk zag
staan,
Die ‘k ‘s avonds halen moest in Ispahaan.”
P.N. van Eyck
The gardener and death
A Persian nobleman:
This morning, white with fear, my gardener flees
Into my house: ‘Master, a moment please!’
Out in the rose-beds, pruning shoots with care,
I looked behind me. Death was standing there.
I gave a start, and sought my getaway,
But glimpsed his hand that made as if to slay.
Master, your horse, and at full tilt I’ll ride,
Ere evening comes, in Isfahan I’ll hide!’ –
This afternoon (long since he off had set)
Amongst the cedars Death I also met.
‘Why,’ I inquire, since he waits silently,
‘Did you my servant treat so threateningly?’
Smiling he said: ‘A threat caused in no wise
Your gardener to flee. I showed surprise
To find still here and busy just the man
This evening I must fetch in Isfahan.’
2 comments:
both translations are mine - really and truly they are!
And the French poem is based on a much, much older source:
http://www.mftd.org/index.php?action=story&act=select&id=9739
...and so it goes.
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