Le Cimetière marin. The Cemetery by the Sea

THE CEMETERY BYTHE SEA

μη, φιλα ψυχα, ßιoν αθανατoν σπευδε, ταν δ εμπρακτoν αντλει μαχαναν.

III. PINDAR, Pythian Odes,

THIS tranquil roof, now walked upon by doves, Shimmers between the pines, between the tombs; Impartial Midday builds there with its fires The sea, the sea, always recommencing! O more than recompense after a thought This long look at the calmness of the gods!

What pure work of subtle glints consume Many a diamond of imperceptible foam, And what a peace appears to be conceived! When over the abyss a sun reposes, Pure effects of an eternal cause, The Times scintillate and the Dream is to know.

Stable treasure, simple temple to Minerva, Expanse of calm, and visible reserve, Disdainful water, Eye in yourself containing So much of sleep beneath a veil of flame, O my silence!... Edifice in the soul, But thatched now with a thousand gold tiles, Roof!

Temple of Time, summed up in a single sigh, To this pure point I climb and grow accustomed, Surrounded by my prospect of the sea; And like my supreme offering to the gods, The serene scintillations sow the seed Of a sovereign disdain upon the heights.

Like the fruit that melts into enjoyment, Like the delight which replaces its absence In a mouth where its living form must die, I sense here my future dissolution, And the sky sings to the soul that is consumed The changing murmurs of the rumoured shore.

Beautiful sky, true sky, watch me as I change! After so much of pride, after so much of strange Idle leisure, although full of power, I abandon myself to this brilliant space, Over the houses of the dead my shadow passes And pacifies me with its frail movement.

The soul exposed to the flames of the solstice, I find you acceptable, admirable justice Of the light which is armed so pitilessly! I send you back pure to where you began: Look at yourself!... But to send back the light Supposes an equal half of mournful shadow.

O for myself, by myself, in me alone, Close to a heart, to the source of the poem, Between the blank page and the pure event, I wait for the echo of my grandeur within, Bitter, sombre and sonorous cistern, Sounding in the soul an always hollow future!

Do you know, feigned captive of the foliage, Gulf consuming this meagre maze of branches, Above my closed eyes, dazzling secrets, What body drags me to its sluggish end, What mind attracts me to this bony earth? A spark there calls to mind my dead ones.

Closed, sacred, full of a fire without substance, Terrestrial fragment offered to the light, This place pleases me, ruled over by torches, Composed of gold, of stone and sombre trees, Where so much marble trembles over so much shadow; The faithful sea sleeps there upon my tombs!

Splendid bitch, keep the idolater at bay! When all alone and with a shepherd's smile, I graze for long, o sheep mysterious, The white flock of my ever tranquil tombs, Keep well away from them the prudent doves, The futile dreams, the questions of the angels!

When once come here, the future is idleness. The insect sounds the depth of his own dryness; All is burnt up, unmade, resolved by the air Into I do not know what severe essence... Life is vast, being drunken on absence, And bitterness is sweet, and the spirit clear.

The dead are too well hidden in this earth Which heats them through and dries their mystery. Midday on high, Midday without motion In its own thought its own sufficiency... Head complete in itself and perfect crown, I am in you the secret alteration.

You have only me in which to contain your fears! My repentances, my doubts, my constraints Are the sole flaw in your great diamond... But in their night weighed down by slabs of marble, A vague people mixed with the roots of trees Have already slowly taken up your option.

They are melted into a palpable absence, The reddish clay has drunk the pallid race, The gift of life has passed into the flowers! Where are the familiar phrases of the dead, The personal art, the soul's singularity? The larva crawls where tear-ducts once formed tears.

The piercing cries of young girls titillated, The eyes, the teeth, the eyelids moist with laughter, The charming breasts that liked to play with fire, The blood that shone in lips as they surrendered, The ultimate gifts, the fingers they defended, All goes under the earth and returns as play!

And you, great soul, do you hope for a dream That does not share the colours of the lie Which to eyes of flesh the wave and the gold make here? Will you still sing when you are fire and air? Come on! All things pass! My presence is most thin, Impatience for the Divine will die also!

Meagre immortality black and golden, Consolatrix with your hideous laurels, Who would make of death a maternal breast, The beautiful lie and the pious ruse! Who does not know, and who does not refuse, The empty skull and the eternal laugh!

Fathers profound, o heads untenanted, Who beneath the weight of many a shovelful Become the earth and inhibit our steps, The true rodent, the worm irrefutable Is not for you who sleep under the slabs, He lives on life, he never quits my side!

Love of myself, perhaps, or is it hatred? His secret tooth to me is so very close That all the names he goes by suit him well! What matter! He sees, he wants, he dreams, he touches! My flesh pleases him, and even on my couch, To this living creature I live to belong!

Zeno! Cruel Zeno! Zeno of Elea! Have you transfixed me with this feathered shaft Which quivers, flies, and yet does not fly! The sound gives me life and the arrow kills! Ah! the sunlight... What a shadow-tortoise For the soul, Achilles immobile with his great steps!

No, no!... Arise! Into the new epoch! Shatter, my body, this old mode of thought! Drink in, my breast, the birth of the wind! A freshness, given off by the sea, Gives me back my soul... O salty powers! Let us run to the waves and be swept back alive!

Yes! Great sea gifted with all delirium, Panther skin and chlamyde shot through with Thousands and thousands of idols of the sun, Absolute hydra, drunk on the blue of your flesh, Writhing to bite at your own sparkling tail In a tumult more to silence akin,

The wind is rising!... We must endeavour to live! The air forces open and closes my book, The daring wave powders and spurts from the rocks! Fly away, pages so dazzlingly bright! Break, waves! Break with your waters rejoicing This tranquil roof on which the jib-sails pecked!