volt864

This poem is a tribute to Edgar Allen Poe, writer that mr. Mallarmé always admired.

Disclaimer: I am not up to date with French poets (generally), because I prefer local (Romanian) literature. Please tell me if the poems I post don't fit the definition of symbolism.

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Tel qu’en lui-même enfin l’éternité le change,

Le Poëte suscite avec un glaive nu

Son siècle épouvanté de n’avoir pas connu

Que la mort triomphait dans cette voix étrange !

Eux, comme un vil sursaut d’hydre oyant jadis l’ange

Donner un sens plus pur aux mots de la tribu

Proclamèrent très haut le sortilège bu

Dans le flot sans honneur de quelque noir mélange.

Du sol et de la nue hostiles, ô grief !

Si notre idée avec ne sculpte un bas-relief

Dont la tombe de Poe éblouissante s’orne,

Calme bloc ici-bas chu d’un désastre obscur,

Que ce granit du moins montre à jamais sa borne

Aux noirs vols du Blasphème épars dans le futur.

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Such as at last eternity transforms into Himself,

The Poet rouses with two-edged naked sword,

His century terrified at having ignored

Death triumphant in so strange a voice!

They, like a spasm of the Hydra, hearing the angel

Once grant a purer sense to the words of the tribe,

Loudly proclaimed it a magic potion, imbibed

From some tidal brew black, and dishonourable.

From soil, and hostile cloud, O grief,

If our imagination can’t carve a bas-relief

With which to deck Poe’s dazzling sepulchre,

Calm block fallen here from some dark disaster,

Let your granite at least mark a boundary forever

To dark flights of Blasphemy scattered in the future.

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Words can't accurately describe how much I love this poem, and it's accuracy & application in today's insane world, despite being published in aprox. 1930

Disclaimer: Profound symbolist influence, as mr. George Bacovia was a pure symbolist poet at the beginning of his journey.

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Eu trebuie să beau, să uit ceea ce nu stie nimeni

Ascuns în pivnita adânca, fără a spune un cuvânt

Singur să fumez acolo neștiut de nimeni

Altfel, e greu pe pământ..

Pe stradă urle viața, si moartea

Și plângă poetii poema lor vana..

Știu..

Dar foamea grozavă nu-i glumă, nu-i vis --

Plumb, si furtună, si pustiu,

Finis...

Istoria contemporană...

E timpul.. toți nervii te vor..

O, vino odată, măreț viitor.

Eu trebuie să plec, să uit ceea ce nu știe nimeni

Mâhnit de crimele burgheze, fără a spune un cuvânt

Singur să mă pierd în lume neștiut de nimeni

Altfel, e greu pe pământ..

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I must drink, to forget what no-one knows

Hidden in the deep basement, without saying a word

Alone, to smoke there, unnoticed by anyone

Otherwise, life's hard on Earth...

On the streets screams life, and death too...

And poets howl for their poems in vain...

I know...

But the great hunger isn't a joke, nor a dream —

Plight, and storm, and desert

Finis...

Contemporary history...

Is time itself... All my nerves give me pain...

Oh, come at last, great future.

I must to leave, to forget what no-one knows

Haunted by the crimes of the bourgeoisie, without saying a word

Alone, to fade within this world, unknown to all

Otherwise, life's hard on Earth...

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Translation by me, with the help of a fellow translator for difficult idioms.

This is a poem that all students grow to hate: strong modernist influence.

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Carbonizate flori, noian de negru...

Sicrie negre, arse, de metal,

Veștminte funerare de mangal,

Negru profund, noian de negru...

Vibrau scântei de vis... noian de negru,

Carbonizat, amorul fumega —

Parfum de pene arse, și ploua...

Negru, numai noian de negru...

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Carbonised flowers, flood of blackness...

Black coffins, burned, metallic

Funeral garments of charcoal,

Deep black, flood of blackness...

Sparks of dreams vibrated... Flood of blackness,

Carbonised, the love was smoldering —

Perfume of burned feathers, and rain...

Black, only a flood of blackness...

La tribu prophétique aux prunelles ardentes

Hier s’est mise en route, emportant ses petits

Sur son dos, ou livrant à leurs fiers appétits

Le trésor toujours prêt des mamelles pendantes.

Les hommes vont à pied sous leurs armes luisantes

Le long des chariots où les leurs sont blottis,

Promenant sur le ciel des yeux appesantis

Par le morne regret des chimères absentes.

Du fond de son réduit sablonneux, le grillon,

Les regardant passer, redouble sa chanson;

Cybèle, qui les aime, augmente ses verdures,

Fait couler le rocher et fleurir le désert

Devant ces voyageurs, pour lesquels est ouvert

L’empire familier des ténèbres futures.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — The prophetical tribe, that ardent eyed people,

Set out last night, carrying their children

On their backs, or yielding to those fierce appetites

The ever ready treasure of pendulous breasts.

The men travel on foot with their gleaming weapons

Alongside the wagons where their kin are huddled,

Surveying the heavens with eyes rendered heavy

By a mournful regret for vanished illusions.

The cricket from the depths of his sandy retreat

Watches them as they pass, and louder grows his song;

Cybele, who loves them, increases her verdure,

Makes the desert blossom, water spurt from the rock

Before these travelers for whom is opened wide

The familiar domain of the future's darkness.

— Translated by William Aggeler

cross-posted from: https://lemmy.world/post/25555392

Sorry if this isn't the right subreddit. I'm migrating from Reddit and this was the top community for Android.

I hate that game: run and gun, cash grabbers at every step. Enter the game? Bombarded by 17 events made to keep you hookied. Enter a match? Guess what: Random spawning and other things, such as post-death camera film that reveal your position... As a sniper. I do like their attachments system.

I want a game that's more realistic, with less cash grabbers, preferably offline. I don't care about graphics. Let me gun, without the need to run.