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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books.php/item_id/1202414-The-French-Poems-of-Rilke/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/sort_by_last/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/3
Rated: 13+ · Book · Tribute · #1202414
Rilke's French poems are not often translated into English. I am beginning a new version.
October 31, 2007.

I've started to add the 80  poems which make up the "Orchards" cycle.  The first 15 are here for your enjoyment. Further on you'll find the 10 poems from "The Windows" and the 24 poems included in "The Roses" cycles.

I hope to complete my translation of the 130 odd poems in my possession in the next few months. I don't know if I've chosen the proper book format so that people can easily comment, but that may be able to be changed once the item is established, we'll see.
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January 15, 2007 at 6:36pm
January 15, 2007 at 6:36pm
#481620
Let us not speak of you. You are overwhelming;
it is your nature.
Other flowers decorate the table
that you transfigure.

I place you in a simple vase-—,
now everything is transformed:
'tis maybe the same melody
but sung by an angel.



         Ne parlons pas de toi. Tu es ineffable
         selon ta nature.
         D'autres fleurs ornent la table
         que tu transfigures.

         On te met dans un simple vase—,
         voici que tout change:
         c'est peut-être la même phrase,
         mais chantée par un ange.

January 23, 2007 at 4:48pm
January 23, 2007 at 4:48pm
#483177
It is you who prepares, inside,
more than yourself, your quintessence.
This troubling sensation emanating from you,
is called your dance.

Each petal consents
and spins on the wind
several invisible
fragrant steps.

Oh music for eyes
surrounded by their grace
you become an intangible
center.




         C'est toi qui prépares en toi
         plus que toi, ton ultime essence.
         Ce qui sort de toi, ce troublant émoi,
         c'est ta danse.

         Chaque pétale consent
         et fait dans le vent
         quelques pas odorants
         invisibles.

         O musique des yeux,
         toute entourée d'eux,
         tu deviens au milieu
         intangible.
January 15, 2007 at 6:53pm
January 15, 2007 at 6:53pm
#481622
You share all that moves us.
But we know not what happens to you.
It would take a hundred butterflies
to read all of your pages.

There are roses among you who are like dictionaries;
those who gather them
would bind all the single leaves as pages.
Me, I prefer a journal of roses.



         Tout ce qui nous émeut, tu le partages.
         Mais ce qui t'arrive, nous l'ignorons.
         Il faudrait être cent papillons
         pour lire toutes tes pages.

         Il y en a d'entre vous qui sont comme des dictionnaires;
         ceux qui les cueillent
         ont envie de faire relier toutes ces feuilles.
         Moi, j'aime les roses épistolaires.
January 23, 2007 at 4:56pm
January 23, 2007 at 4:56pm
#483180
Is it as an example that you show yourself?
Can one replenish oneself like the roses
by multiplying the subtle substance
which was made for doing nothing?

To be a rose, so they say,
is to be leisurely.
God, gazing from the window,
builds a home.



         Est-ce en exemple que tu te proposes?
         Peut-on se remplir comme les roses,
         en multipliant sa subtile matière
         qu'on avait faite pour ne rien faire?

         Car ce n'est pas travailler que d'être
         une rose, dirait-on.
         Dieu, en regardant par la fenêtre,
         fait la maison.
January 23, 2007 at 5:10pm
January 23, 2007 at 5:10pm
#483187
Tell me rose, from where,
within yourself enfolded,
your slow fragrance imposes
upon this place of prose,
come all of these aerial joys?

How many times does this air
profess that things pierce it,
or, sulking,
it becomes bitter.
While around your flesh,
rose, it dances circles.


         Dis-moi, rose, d'où vient
         qu'en toi-même enclose,
         ta lente essence impose
         à cet espace en prose
         tous ces transports aériens?

         Combien de fois cet air
         prétend que les choses le trouent,
         ou, avec une moue,
         il se montre amer.
         Tandis qu'autour de ta chair,
         rose, il fait la roue.

January 23, 2007 at 5:18pm
January 23, 2007 at 5:18pm
#483191

Don't you get dizzy
spinning around yourself on your stem
as you complete yourself, round rose?
But when your own momentum floods you

you ignore yourself, lost in your bud.
The rest of the world pirouettes
so that your calm center dares become
the round respite of the round rose.



         Cela ne te donne-t-il pas le vertige
         de tourner autour de toi sur ta tige
         pour te terminer, rose ronde?
         Mais quand ton propre élan t'inonde,

         tu t'ignores dans ton bouton.
         C'est un monde qui tourne en rond
         pour que son calme centre ose
         le rond repos de la ronde rose.


January 23, 2007 at 5:22pm
January 23, 2007 at 5:22pm
#483194
You again, you come out
of the land of the dead
rose, you carry
towards a golden day

this absolute happiness.
Will they permit it,
with their hollow heads,
who have never known as much?



         Vous encore, vous sortez
         de la terre des morts,
         rose, vous qui portez
         vers un jour tout en or

         ce bonheur convaincu.
         L’autorisent-ils, eux
         dont le crâne creux
         n’en a jamais tant su?
January 23, 2007 at 5:26pm
January 23, 2007 at 5:26pm
#483195

Rose, come very late, that the bitter nights stop
by their overly celestial clarity,
rose, can you guess the perfectly easy delights
of your summer sisters?

For days upon days I watch you hesitate
locked in your tight prison.
Rose who, at birth, imitates the reverse
of death’s slow steps.

Does your exceptional state show you
in a mixture where everything blends together
this unexpressed treaty between oblivion and the being
that we do not yet know?



         Rose, venue très tard, que les nuits amères arrêtent
         par leur trop sidéral clarté,
         rose, devines-tu les faciles délices complètes
         de tes soeurs d’été?

         Pendant des jours et des jours je te vois qui hésites
         dans ta gaine serrée trop fort.
         Rose, qui en naissant, à rebours imites
         les lenteurs de la mort.

         Ton innombrable état te fait-il connaître
         dans un mélange où tout se confond,
         cet ineffable accord du néant et de l’être
         que nous ignorons?

January 23, 2007 at 5:35pm
January 23, 2007 at 5:35pm
#483196
Rose, would it have been better to leave you outdoors,
dear exquisite creature?
What happens to a rose when destiny
daunts us?

There is no return. Here you are
sharing
with us, lost, this life, a life
that was unfit for your youth.



         Rose, eût-il fallu te laisser dehors,
         chère exquise?
         Que fait une rose là où le sort
         sur nous s'épuise?

         Point de retour. Te voici
         qui partages
         avec nous, éperdue, cette vie, cette vie
         qui n'est pas de ton âge.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books.php/item_id/1202414-The-French-Poems-of-Rilke/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/sort_by_last/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/3