Two French Poems
Cheval Attaque par un Jaguar

Cheval Attaque par un Jaguar (1910) by Henri Rousseau (Source)

These are two French poems I translated a long time ago, when I was still taking French. Perhaps they will be of use to somebody. The first is by Leconte de Lisle, a French poet of the mid-19th century. The poem below was published in 1862 in a collection entitled Poemes barbares. I mostly preserved the 12-syllable lines (so-called Alexandrines) and the rhyme.

Le Reve de Jaguar by Leconte de Lisle
1
Sous les noirs acajous, les lianes en fleur,       
Under the black mahoganies the vine abloom,
2
Dans l’air lourd, immobile et saturé de mouches,
In air that’s heavy, stale and congested with flies,
3
Pendent, et, s’enroulant en bas parmi les souches,  
Hangs down, and rolling up amid the stumps it lies,   
4
Bercent le perroquet splendide et querelleur,     
Cradling the grumpy parrot with his splendid plume,
5
L’araignée au dos jaune et les singes farouches.
The yellow-bodied spider, and the wild monkeys.
6
C’est là que le tueur de bœufs et de chevaux,     
The killer of the cow and horse, residing there,
7
Le long des vieux troncs morts à l’écorce moussue,
Along the mossy bark of ancient trunks that crack,
8
Sinistre et fatigué, revient à pas égaux.      
Wicked and weary, he returns stepping with care,
9
Il va, frottant ses reins musculeux qu’il bossue ;  
He goes, rubbing and hunching his strong back.
10
Et, du mufle béant par la soif alourdi,          
And, from his gaping jaw that thirst has tired,
11
Un souffle rauque et bref, d’une brusque secousse,  
A hoarse, sharp breath that in a sudden blast
12
Trouble les grands lézards, chauds des feux de midi, 
Troubles great lizards, hot from noontime fire,
13
Dont la fuite étincelle à travers l’herbe rousse. 
Whose flight sparks through the reddish grass.
14
En un creux du bois sombre interdit au soleil     
Into a gloomy hollow, closed to the sun
15
Il s’affaisse, allongé sur quelque roche plate ;
He settles, extended on some rocky heap;
16
D’un large coup de langue il se lustre la patte ;
In a great swab, shines his paw with his tongue;
17
Il cligne ses yeux d’or hébétés de sommeil ;
He blinks his golden eyes, heavy with sleep;
18
Et, dans l’illusion de ses forces inertes,
And, with his inert forces feeding him sensations,
19
Faisant mouvoir sa queue et frissonner ses flancs,
Causing his tail to move and shivering his side,
20
Il rêve qu’au milieu des plantations vertes,
He dreams himself in midst of green plantations,
21
Il enfonce d’un bond ses ongles ruisselants 
And in a jumping leap his streaming claws are plied
22
Dans la chair des taureaux effarés et beuglants.
Into the flesh of bulls, braying and terrified.
A nightingale

A nightingale (Source)

The second poem is by Paul Verlaine, who was 26 years younger than Lisle but “rubbed shoulders” with him in Paris. This poem was published in 1866 in Poemes Saturniens. Here the lines are ten syllables (uninterestingly called Decasyllables). I came pretty close to maintaining the syllable count and rhyme but took more liberties with the translation. I don’t like many of Verlaine’s poems but this one has an atmosphere which I found compelling.

Le Rossignol by Paul Verlaine
1
Comme un vol criard d'oiseaux en émoi,
Like a flock of birds dashes in fury,
2
Tous mes souvenirs s'abattent sur moi,        
All my memories converge to beat me,
3
S'abattent parmi le feuillage jaune       
They beat among the yellow foliage
4
De mon coeur mirant son tronc plié d'aune    
My heart’s twisted alder trunk whose image
5
Au tain violet de l'eau des Regrets,          
Gets violet tint from streams of regret
6
Qui mélancoliquement coule auprès,          
Whose melancholy flows get the roots wet,
7
S'abattent, et puis la rumeur mauvaise        
They beat, and after the wretched report
8
Qu'une brise moite en montant apaise,
By mounting of humid breezes cut short,
9
S'éteint par degrés dans l'arbre, si bien
Fades by degrees in the tree, till at last,
10
Qu'au bout d'un instant on n'entend plus rien,    
It cannot be heard just a few seconds past.
11
Plus rien que la voix célébrant l'Absente,      
What’s left? A voice celebrating what’s gone,
12
Plus rien que la voix -ô si languissante!–   
What’s left? A voice — such a languishing tone! —
13
De l'oiseau qui fut mon Premier Amour,        
Of the bird who held my Love ‘neath its wing1,
14
Et qui chante encor comme au premier jour;    
And just as at first, continues to sing;
15
Et, dans la splendeur triste d'une lune       
And, in the splendid sorrow of a moon
16
Se levant blafarde et solennelle, une         
Rising pale, solemn, as if from a swoon,
17
Nuit mélancolique et lourde d'été,         
A heavy, melancholic summer night,
18
Pleine de silence et d'obscurité,        
As full of silence as empty of light,
19
Berce sur l'azur qu'un vent doux effleure     
Rocks in the azure, in which the wind lies2,
20
L'arbre qui frissonne et l'oiseau qui pleure.
The tree that shivers and the bird that cries.
  1. Lit. who was my first love.
  2. Lit. which a soft wind caresses.

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