Thursday, 30 September 2021

Marie Dauguet: 'La rouge chanson'




La rouge chanson

 

Mes oiseaux à l’aile meurtrie,

           Le cœur en sang,

Que le vent d’octobre charrie

           Au hasard, sans

Egard pour vos ailes meurtries;

 

Mes vagues oiseaux qui sombrez

           Aux berges moites

Des étangs givreux, sur les prés

           Noirs où miroite

Cette eau glacée où vous sombrez;

 

Outardes, macreuses transies

           Dans les remous

Du vent froid qui vous supplicie,

           Cadavres fous

Que bercent les brumes transies;

 

Oiseaux, voici mon cœur en sang

           Dressant son phare

Parmi l’ouragan frémissant

           Qui vous égare

Oiseaux, voici mon cœur en sang.

 

Il est l’étrange sanctuaire,

           Tout luisant d’or,

Où mieux qu’au lit des estuaires

           Dorment des morts

Sous la pourpre de leurs suaires.

 

Brisez, brisez les vitraux d’or

           Ailes blafardes,

Qu’en moi s’éteigne votre essor,

           Grèbes, outardes;

Brisez, brisez les vitraux d’or.

 

Dormez, désirs, l’aile meutrie

           Mourez aussi,

Délivrés du vent qui charrie

           Les vols transis;

Dormez, désirs, l’aile meurtrie.

 

Dormez sous les damas sanglants,

           Les pourpres lourdes,

Dont le calme va s’étalant

           En splendeurs gourdes,

Dormez, dormez, oiseaux sanglants!

 

 

The red song

 

My birds with their half-battered wings

           And bloodied hearts

Which the wind of October flings

           like random darts,

Unconcerned by your battered wings;

 

My indistinct birds that sink down

           In spongy shores

Of ice-topped ponds, on blackish-brown

           Leas that once more

Reflect their gleam where you sink down;

 

You poor bustards, scoters transfixed

           In piercing swirls

Of cold wind that plays you cruel tricks,

           Mad corpse-like churls,

Now rocked by the mists that transfix.

 

You birds, here is my bloodied heart

           Its beacon leads

As the hurricane tears apart

           And you misleads,

You birds, here is my bloodied heart.

 

It is the strange sanctuary,

           Shining with gold,

Where, preferred to estuaries,

           The dead of old

Beneath their purple shrouds tarry.

 

Break, break all the gold stained-glass panes

           Pale wings that heave,

That your soaring in me may wane,

           Busters and grebes;

Break, break all the gold stained-glass panes.

 

Sleep now, desires, battered wings

           Die from your plight,

Delivered by wind that so stings

           And numbs each flight;

Sleep now, desires, battered wings.

 

Sleep now beneath damasks of blood,

           And purple gum,

Whose calm stretches out like a flood

           In splendours numb,

Sleep, sleep now you birds smeared with blood! 


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