Le
voyageur
A Fernand
Fleuret.
Ouvrez-moi
cette porte où je frappe en pleurant
La vie est
variable aussi bien que l'Euripe
Tu regardais
un banc de nuages descendre
Avec le
paquebot orphelin vers les fièvres futures
Et de tous
ces regrets de tous ces repentirs
Te
souviens-tu
Vagues
poissons arqués fleurs surmarines
Une nuit c'était
la mer
Et les
fleuves s'y répandaient
Je m'en
souviens je m'en souviens encore
Un soir je
descendis dans une auberge triste
Auprès de
Luxembourg
Dans le fond
de la salle il s'envolait un Christ
Quelqu'un
avait un furet
Un autre un
hérisson
L'on jouait
aux cartes
Et toi tu
m'avais oublié
VOYAGER
to Fernand
Fleuret
Open up
can't you hear me crying at your door
Life rises
and runs away like the tides of Euripe
You watched
the clouds roll in
Aboard the
orphan steamer with fevers off the bow
With all of
your regrets and your if onlys
Do you
remember
Waves flying
fish anemones
A night that
was the sea
Receiver of
every river
I remember I
always remember
An evening I
went down to a cheap hotel
Near
Luxembourg
At the back
of the parlor Christ was rising
Someone had
a ferret
Somebody had
a hedgehog
A card game
was going on
And you'd
forgotten me
[The Paris
Review]
Love in
a mist
Yêu trong sương mù (1)
La Chanson
du Mal-Aimé
A Paul Léautaud.
Et je
chantais cette romance
En 1903 sans
savoir
Que mon
amour à la semblance
Du beau
Phénix s'il meurt un soir
Le matin
voit sa renaissance.
[Tôi hát bản
tình ca này
Vào năm 1903, không biết rằng, tình tôi
Giống như Phượng Hoàng
Chết buổi chiều trước
Tái sinh sáng sau]
Un soir de
demi-brume à Londres
Un voyou qui
ressemblait à
Mon amour
vint à ma rencontre
Et le regard
qu'il me jeta
Me fit
baisser les yeux de honte
One foggy
night in London town
A hoodlum who resembled so
My love came marching up
to me -
The look he threw me
caused my eyes
To drop and made me blush
with shame.
[TLS]
Bài ca
của
tên thất tình
Buổi
chiều Luân Đôn lù mù
sương mù
Một tên du côn giống người yêu của tôi
Tới gặp tôi
Cái nhìn của hắn làm tôi cúi đầu vì hổ thẹn.
Thơ
Mỗi Ngày
Le Pont
Mirabeau {French} by Guillaume Apollinaire (1)
Sous le pont
Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos
amours
Faut-il
qu'il m'en souvienne
La joie
venait toujours après la peine.
Vienne la
nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours
s'en vont je demeure
Les mains
dans les mains restons face à face
Tandis que
sous
Le pont de
nos bras passe
Des éternels
regards l'onde si lasse
Vienne la
nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours
s'en vont je demeure
L'amour s'en
va comme cette eau courante
L'amour s'en
va
Comme la vie
est lente
Et comme
l'Espérance est violente
Vienne la
nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours
s'en vont je demeure
Passent les
jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps
passé
Ni les
amours reviennent
Sous le pont
Mirabeau coule la Seine.
English
Translation
Under the
Mirabeau Bridge there flows the Seine
Must I recall
Our loves recall
how then
After each
sorrow joy came back again
Let night come on bells end the day
The days go by me still I stay
Hands joined
and face to face let's stay just so
While underneath
The bridge of our
arms shall go
Weary of
endless looks the river's flow
Let night come on bells end the day
The days go
by me still I stay
All love
goes by as water to the sea
All love goes by
How slow life
seems to me
How violent
the hope of love can be
Let night come on bells end the day
The days go by me still I stay
The days the
weeks pass by beyond our ken
Neither time past
Nor love comes
back again
Under the
Mirabeau Bridge there flows the Seine
Let night come on bells end the day
The days go by me still I stay
LE PONT
MIRABEAU
Under Eads
Bridge over the Mississippi at Saint Louis
Flows the
Seine
And our past
loves.
Do I really
have to remember all that again
And remember
Joy came
only after so much pain?
Hand in
hand, face to face,
Let the
belfry softly bong the late hour.
Nights go
by. Days go by.
I'm alive.
I'm here. I'm in flower.
The days go
by. But I'm still here. In full flower.
Let night
come. Let the hour chime on the mantel.
Love goes
away the way this river flows away.
How
violently flowers fade. How awfully slow life is.
How
violently a flower fades. How violent our hopes are.
The days
pass and the weeks pass.
The past
does not return, nor do past loves.
Under the
Pont Mirabeau flows the Seine.
Hand in
hand, standing face to face,
Under the
arch of the bridge our outstretched arms make
Flows our
appetite for life away from us downstream,
And our
dream
Of getting
back our love of life again.
Under the
Pont Mirabeau flows the Seine.
Note: Bản dịch tiếng Anh,
ngay trên, là của ban biên tập tờ The
Paris Review số Mùa
Thu 2012
Cors de
chasse
Notre histoire est noble
et tragique
Comme le masque d'un tyran
Nul drame hasardeux ou magique
Aucun detail indifferent
Ne rend notre amour pathétique
Et Thomas de Quincey buvant
L'opium poison doux et chaste
A sa pauvre Anne allait revant
Passons passons puisque tout passe
Je me retournerai souvent
Les souvenirs sont cors de
chasse
Dont meurt le bruit parmi le vent
Apollinaire: Alcools
CORS DE CHASSE
Our story is noble and
tragic
As the face of a tyrant not fun not for everyone
No drama or magic
No detail of what we've done
Can make our love pathetic
And Thomas De Quincey drinking
Opium poison sweet and chaste
Went dreaming to his poor Ann and listened to his own eyelids blinking
Let it pass let it pass because everything will pass and be effaced
I will be back not yet erased
Memories
Are hunting horns whose sound dies in the breeze
Ban biên tập The Paris Review dịch, số Mùa Thu 2012
Tù và săn
Chuyện chúng
mình thì phong nhã và bi thương
Như cái mặt
nạ của tên bạo chúa
Chẳng bi kịch,
phiêu lưu hay thần kỳ
Chẳng chi tiết,
dửng dưng
Có thể làm
cho cuộc tình của chúng ta thống thiết
Gấu chơi xì
ke,
Dịu dàng và
trong trắng
Mơ màng nhớ
BHD
Thôi bỏ đi,
bỏ đi Tám
Mọi chuyện đều
qua đi
Gấu sẽ thường
quay trở lại
Kỷ niệm
thì
giống như tiếng tù và săn
Lặng dần
trong gió
Les
Fiancailles
À Picasso
J'ai eu le
courage de regarder en arrière
Les cadavres
de mes jours
Marquent ma
route et je les pleure
Les uns
pourrissent dans les églises italiennes
Ou bien dans
de petits bois de citronniers
Qui
fleurissent et fructifient
En même
temps et en toute saison
D'autres
jours ont pleuré avant de mourir dans des
tavernes
Ou d'ardents
bouquets rouaient
Aux yeux
d'une mulâtresse qui inventait la poésie
Et les roses
de l'électricité s'ouvrent encore
Dans le
jardin de ma mémoire
FROM
"LES FIANCAILLES"
to Picasso
I have had
the courage to look back
At the dead
bodies of my days
They litter
the roads I've taken and I miss them
That's me
rotting in so many Italian churches
And in the
nearby lemon groves
Which flower
and produce little lemons
Also and in
every season
Other days
died weeping late at night in a bar
Where
bouquets of dazzle spun around
In the eyes
of a mulatto woman who invented poetry
The roses of
electricity open even now
In the
garden of my memory
- Translated from French
by the
Editors
Le Pont
Mirabeau {French} by Guillaume Apollinaire (1)
Sous le pont
Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos
amours
Faut-il
qu'il m'en souvienne
La joie
venait toujours après la peine.
Vienne la
nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours
s'en vont je demeure
Les mains
dans les mains restons face à face
Tandis que
sous
Le pont de
nos bras passe
Des éternels
regards l'onde si lasse
Vienne la
nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours
s'en vont je demeure
L'amour s'en
va comme cette eau courante
L'amour s'en
va
Comme la vie
est lente
Et comme
l'Espérance est violente
Vienne la
nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours
s'en vont je demeure
Passent les
jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps
passé
Ni les
amours reviennent
Sous le pont
Mirabeau coule la Seine.
English
Translation
Under the
Mirabeau Bridge there flows the Seine
Must I recall
Our loves recall
how then
After each
sorrow joy came back again
Let night come on bells end the day
The days go by me still I stay
Hands joined
and face to face let's stay just so
While underneath
The bridge of our
arms shall go
Weary of
endless looks the river's flow
Let night come on bells end the day
The days go
by me still I stay
All love
goes by as water to the sea
All love goes by
How slow life
seems to me
How violent
the hope of love can be
Let night come on bells end the day
The days go by me still I stay
The days the
weeks pass by beyond our ken
Neither time past
Nor love comes
back again
Under the
Mirabeau Bridge there flows the Seine
Let night come on bells end the day
The days go by me still I stay
LE PONT
MIRABEAU
Under Eads
Bridge over the Mississippi at Saint Louis
Flows the
Seine
And our past
loves.
Do I really
have to remember all that again
And remember
Joy came
only after so much pain?
Hand in
hand, face to face,
Let the
belfry softly bong the late hour.
Nights go
by. Days go by.
I'm alive.
I'm here. I'm in flower.
The days go
by. But I'm still here. In full flower.
Let night
come. Let the hour chime on the mantel.
Love goes
away the way this river flows away.
How
violently flowers fade. How awfully slow life is.
How
violently a flower fades. How violent our hopes are.
The days
pass and the weeks pass.
The past
does not return, nor do past loves.
Under the
Pont Mirabeau flows the Seine.
Hand in
hand, standing face to face,
Under the
arch of the bridge our outstretched arms make
Flows our
appetite for life away from us downstream,
And our
dream
Of getting
back our love of life again.
Under the
Pont Mirabeau flows the Seine.
Note: Bản dịch tiếng Anh,
ngay trên, là của ban biên tập tờ The Paris Review số Mùa
Thu 2012
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