Wednesday, September 26, 2007

The Original, The Homophone, and The Translation

A. L’original ("La Voix," by Henri de Regnier)

Je ne veux de personne aupres de ma tristesse
Ni meme ton cher pas et ton visage aime,
Ni ta main indolente et qui d’un doigt caresse
Le ruban paresseux et le livre ferme.

Laissez-moi. Que ma porte aujourd’hui reste close ;
N’ouvrez pas ma fenetre au vent frais du matin ;
Mon cœur est aujourd’hui miserable et morose
Et tout me parait sombre et tout me semble vain.

Ma tristesse me vient de plus loin que moi-meme,
Elle m’est étrangère et ne m’appartient pas,
Et tout homme, qu’il chante ou qu’il rie ou qu’il aime,
A son heure l’entend qui lui parle tout bas,

Et quelque chose alors se remue et s’eveille,
S’agite, se repand et se lamente en lui,
A cette sourde voix qui lui dit a l’orielle
Que la fleur da la vie est cendre dans son fruit.

B. Translation (“The Voice”)

I want nobody near my sadness
Nor same tone expensive not and your face like,
Nor your indolent hand and which of a finger cherishes
The lazy ribbon and the firm book.

Leave me. That my door today remains closed;
Do not open my window with the fresh wind of the morning;
My heart is miserable and morose today
And all appears dark to me and all seems to me vain.

My sadness is near me yet far from my body,
It feels foreign and does not belong to me,
And any man, whom it sings or which it laughs or that it likes,
At its hour which hears it speak to him softly,

And something then is stirred up and waked up,
Be agitated, spreads themselves and deplores in him,
With this deaf person voice who says to him in one ear
That the flower of the life is ash in its fruit.

C. The Homophone (“Voix vs. Voice”)

I want nobody aping my treaty
Needed to share an aimed vision
No indolent hand can caress me
Ruben’s parasail is living firm.

I’m lazy. Portable yesterday rests close;
Never passed my window to vent on the mat;
I concur that yesterday was miserable and morose
I tout my parrot as he resembles vanity.

The tryst of my large loin is out-of-body,
She is foreign, yet apparently close,
The man will chant, maybe or maybe not,
A son’s hour intends to tout the parlor,

Something chose to review my eye,
Agitated, he reprimands and laments the day,
A set of swords’ voice heard in my ear
That the flour lives in sin with the fruit.

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