The Idea of Perfection
Page 17
Makes ripples in the clear dividing blade.
You tremble! … Yet these words I speak on my knees
Are just a hesitating soul between
Your purest brow and my weighted memory …
So near that I could drink you, O so near,
Your face! … My thirst stripped naked as a slave …
Until these hours’ delight, I did not know,
Nor know to cherish nor to join myself,
But seeing you as a slave obey the slightest
Of my heart’s shadows, fleetingly revealed,
Seeing on my brow a secret’s storm and fire,
Seeing the fine betrayal of my mouth
Tracing a flowering thought on the still water,
And all the acts that sparkle in the eye!
I find there such a treasure of impotence
And pride, that no lithe virgin whose clever step
And artful stumble slipped the satyr’s grasp,
None of the nymphs, no love, entices me
As you upon the water, boundless Me! …
II
Fountain, my fountain, chilling waters, sweet
To the pure animals, welcoming to those
Who tempted by their selves would follow death,
For you it’s all a dream, calm Sister of Fate!
Hardly is promise changed to memory
Than from your sleep the skies are torn away,
Ever the mirror of its fleeing face.
However pure you stay of all you see,
Waters on which the years glide by like clouds,
You must have known so many things: the stars,
Roses, the seasons, bodies and their loves.
Clear but so deep and ever lightly brushed,
Living from what approaches her, a nymph
Nurtures a wisdom shaded by her rock
Against the day she paints beneath the trees.
What lasts a moment is her timeless care …
O pensive presence, waters that calmly gather
A whole dark treasure of turbid tales and leaves,
Dead birds and ripened fruit descending slow,
The rarest glint of bright and vanished rings,
You have interred in you their solemn loss.
Yet love, upon your pure, eternal face
Passes and dies …
And when the scattered leaves
Tremble, begin to flee, weep from all sides,
You watch as love’s dark torment plays its part,
The hard and burning lover grasps his white love
And breaks her soul … You know the softness of
His powerful hand that parts the densities
Of tresses spilling from her precious nape,
Rests there, and feels its strength and mystery;
It speaks at her shoulders, reigning over her flesh.
Their eyes, then, closed to the abiding air
See nothing but the blood that gilds their lids.
Its fearsome crimson dims their lights; their feet
Confused, the couple mingle, moan, and tell
Their lies … The Earth calls softly to those great
Unsteady bodies struggling mouth to mouth,
That dare to mold a bed of virgin sand,
Compose of love a monster that expires …
Their breathing settles to a happy rumor,
Each soul believes that it inhales the other,
But, venerable fountain, you know better than I
What fruits these moments of enchantment bear!
For hardly do their hearts fall back, content
And calm, from burning union spent in bliss,
Than you reflect, of disentangled love,
The spite, the days that break, woven of lies,
The births of griefs too tenderly conceived.
My knowing waters, faithless and the same,
Time leads these fools who had believed in love
So soon with dragging feet down memory’s paths
To sigh their deepest sorrows to your reeds …
Crushed on your banks by weakness and by shades,
Dazed by a sky whose beauty wounds, not having
Lost the brilliance of their finest days,
They go to find the grave of each lost joy …
“This shady spot was tranquil, and was ours.”
“The other loved this cypress,” says the other,
“From here we smelled the breezes of the sea.”
Even the rose is bitter in the air,
Alas! … Less bitter are the last wisps of smoke
That the burned leaves relinquish to the wind …
They breathe this wind, and blindly walk about,
Crush underfoot the bleak, unending hours …
O slow and sudden walk, so like the thoughts
That speak in turns in their unbalanced minds!
Caress and murder tremble in their hands,
Their hearts that think to break at every bend
Struggle and cling to an expiring hope.
And yet their minds race through this labyrinth
Which leads astray whoever spurns the sun!
Their maddening solitude, akin to sleep,
Peoples the absence and deceives them where
Their secret ear perceives a matchless voice.
Nothing can dissipate their perfect dreams,
The sun can shed no light on what is no more.
But though they let their dry and somber eyes
Rest in the gold, they think to guard their shadows,
More dear than all the fires of day, with tears.
And in this hidden body scarred by the love
The soul still carries bitterly, that once
Was happy, burns a secret, maddening kiss …
But I, beloved Narcissus, crave to know
Only my own essence;
The hearts of others are a mystery,
Others are only absence.
You’re all I have, dear body, my greatest treasure!
The jewel of mortals can only love himself …
Is there a golden idol holier
Among a flaming forest girded and set
In azure come alive with so many birds?
Or of the water’s favor, a finer gift,
Or of the dying day a dearer use,
Than granting my eyes the honor of my face?
Between us, whom the light unites, in silence
And grace may there flow an infinite exchange!
I greet you, child of the waters and my soul,
Dear treasure of a world-dividing glass!
My tenderness leans close and rises drunk
From seeing desire enthralled by its own power!
You are the likeness of my every wish,
And yet so fragile, yet inviolable,
For you are nothing but light, exquisite half
Of a love that too resembles feeble friendship!
Alas, it’s the nymph who separates our charms!
Can I aspire to more than vain alarms?
How sweet they are, the dangers we could choose,
To seize ourselves and take ourselves by surprise,
Clasp hands and let our sufferings make one end,
Take time to teach our silences their dreams,
And with our arms enclosing the same sobs,
One night commingling our closed eyes in tears,
Press our one heart, about to break of love …
O leave the silence, dare at last to speak,
Beautiful cruel Narcissus, distant child,
Graced with my charms forbidden by the nymph …
III
… Does this pure body know it can seduce me?
What soundless depths do you desire to teach me,
Creature of the abyss, illusive dweller
Of a dark sky, cast from the heavens here below? …
What cool adornment of my sorry leanings,
&
nbsp; This smile so near and flush with secrecy
That lends my lips a dangerous allure
And makes me fear the shadow of strange desire!
What breath on the water, offering your cold rose! …
I love … I love … And who can love what is not
Himself? …
I love, O cherished body, only
You, that alone preserve me from the dead.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Let us make, you on my lips and I in silence,
A prayer, that softened by such love, the gods
Might stop the day’s descent into the gloaming …
O Happy Masters, Fathers of just frauds,
Speak, so a glint of emerald or rose,
Lifted from evening’s reveries by your scepter,
Pure and just like the purest of the mind,
Will hang in the sky, my love, until you live
And choose to make a bed of leaves beside me,
Step trembling from the side of the cold nymph,
And remaining in my gaze, remaining me,
Offer your pale white bark and your fresh form! …
Oh, to have you at last! … To take this breast,
More pure than woman’s, and not formed of fruit …
The temple where I kneel and live is made
Of common stone … I mean, your selfish lips …
O my dear body, temple estranging me
From my divinity, I long to soothe
Your mouth … and soon I will shatter with a kiss
What little keeps us back from extreme being,
This trembling, frail and pious distance between
Myself and my soul, the waters, and the gods …
Farewell … Do you not feel the farewells gathering?
Soon, the quivering disorder of the shadows,
The blind tree reaching out to the blind tree,
Its dark limbs seeking the tree that disappears …
And so my soul is lost in its own forest,
Where its supreme forms are emptied, their forces fled …
The soul, the black-eyed soul, expands to touch
The very shadows, grows vaster, and finds nothing …
What a look it gives between the self and death!
O Gods, the pale remains of this great day
Go tender to the dismal fate of days;
They sink into the hell of deepest memory!
Alas, poor body, it’s time to join myself …
Lean closer … Kiss yourself. Tremble within!
The elusive love you promised passes with
A tremor, breaks Narcissus, and is gone …
_____________
Cur aliquid vidi?: “Why did I see what I saw?” from Ovid’s Tristia, II, 103.
LA PYTHIE
À PIERRE LOUŸS
Haec effata silet ; pallor simul occupat ora.
VIRGILE, ÆN., IV
La Pythie exhalant la flamme
De naseaux durcis par l’encens,
Haletante, ivre, hurle! … l’âme
Affreuse, et les flancs mugissants!
Pâle, profondément mordue,
Et la prunelle suspendue
Au point le plus haut de l’horreur,
Le regard qui manque à son masque
S’arrache vivant à la vasque,
À la fumée, à la fureur!
Sur le mur, son ombre démente
Où domine un démon majeur,
Parmi l’odorante tourmente
Prodigue un fantôme nageur,
De qui la transe colossale,
Rompant les aplombs de la salle,
Si la folle tarde à hennir,
Mime de noirs enthousiasmes,
Hâte les dieux, presse les spasmes
De s’achever dans l’avenir!
Cette martyre en sueurs froides,
Ses doigts sur ses doigts se crispant,
Vocifère entre les ruades
D’un trépied qu’étrangle un serpent :
—Ah! maudite! … Quels maux je souffre!
Toute ma nature est un gouffre!
Hélas! Entr’ouverte aux esprits,
J’ai perdu mon propre mystère! …
Une Intelligence adultère
Exerce un corps qu’elle a compris!
Don cruel! Maître immonde, cesse
Vite, vite, ô divin ferment,
De feindre une vaine grossesse
Dans ce pur ventre sans amant!
Fais finir cette horrible scène!
Vois de tout mon corps l’arc obscène
Tendre à se rompre pour darder,
Comme son trait le plus infâme,
Implacablement au ciel l’âme
Que mon sein ne peut plus garder!
Qui me parle, à ma place même?
Quel écho me répond : Tu mens!
Qui m’illumine? … Qui blasphème?
Et qui, de ces mots écumants,
Dont les éclats hachent ma langue,
La fait brandir une harangue
Brisant la bave et les cheveux
Que mâche et trame le désordre
D’une bouche qui veut se mordre
Et se reprendre ses aveux?
Dieu! Je ne me connais de crime
Que d’avoir à peine vécu! …
Mais si tu me prends pour victime
Et sur l’autel d’un corps vaincu
Si tu courbes un monstre, tue
Ce monstre, et la bête abattue,
Le col tranché, le chef produit
Par les crins qui tirent les tempes,
Que cette plus pâle des lampes
Saisisse de marbre la nuit!
Alors, par cette vagabonde
Morte, errante, et lune à jamais,
Soit l’eau des mers surprise, et l’onde
Astreinte à d’éternels sommets!
Que soient les humains faits statues,
Les cœurs figés, les âmes tues,
Et par les glaces de mon œil,
Puisse un peuple de leurs paroles
Durcir en un peuple d’idoles
Muet de sottise et d’orgueil!
Eh! Quoi! … Devenir la vipère
Dont tout le ressort de frissons
Surprend la chair que désespère
Sa multitude de tronçons! …
Reprendre une lutte insensée! …
Tourne donc plutôt ta pensée
Vers la joie enfuie, et reviens,
Ô mémoire, à cette magie
Qui ne tirait son énergie
D’autres arcanes que des tiens!
Mon cher corps … Forme préférée,
Fraîcheur par qui ne fut jamais
Aphrodite désaltérée,
Intacte nuit, tendres sommets,
Et vos partages indicibles
D’une argile en îles sensibles,
Douce matière de mon sort,
Quelle alliance nous vécûmes,
Avant que le don des écumes
Ait fait de toi ce corps de mort!
Toi, mon épaule, où l’or se joue
D’une fontaine de noirceur,
J’aimais de te joindre ma joue
Fondue à sa même douceur! …
Ou, soulevée à mes narines,
Ouverte aux distances marines,
Les mains pleines de seins vivants,
Entre mes bras aux belles anses
Mon abîme a bu les immenses
Profondeurs qu’apportent les vents!
Hélas! ô roses, toute lyre
Contient la modulation!
Un soir, de mon triste délire
Parut la constellation!
Le temple se change dans l’antre,
Et l’ouragan des songes entre
Au même ciel qui fut si beau!
Il faut gémir, il faut atteindre
Je ne sais quelle extase, et ceindre
Ma chevelure d’un lam
beau!
Ils m’ont connue aux bleus stigmates
Apparus sur ma pauvre peau ;
Ils m’assoupirent d’aromates
Laineux et doux comme un troupeau ;
Ils ont, pour vivant amulette,
Touché ma gorge qui halète
Sous les ornements vipérins ;
Étourdie, ivre d’empyreumes,
Ils m’ont, au murmure des neumes,
Rendu des honneurs souterrains.
Qu’ai-je donc fait qui me condamne
Pure, à ces rites odieux?
Une sombre carcasse d’âne
Eût bien servi de ruche aux dieux!
Mais une vierge consacrée,
Une conque neuve et nacrée
Ne doit à la divinité
Que sacrifice et que silence,
Et cette intime violence
Que se fait la virginité!
Pourquoi, Puissance Créatrice,
Auteur du mystère animal,
Dans cette vierge pour matrice,
Semer les merveilles du mal!
Sont-ce les dons que tu m’accordes?
Crois-tu, quand se brisent les cordes
Que le son jaillisse plus beau?
Ton plectre a frappé sur mon torse,
Mais tu ne lui laisses la force
Que de sonner comme un tombeau!
Sois clémente, sois sans oracles!
Et de tes merveilleuses mains,
Change en caresses les miracles,
Retiens les présents surhumains!
C’est en vain que tu communiqués
À nos faibles tiges, d’uniques
Commotions de ta splendeur!
L’eau tranquille est plus transparente
Que toute tempête parente
D’une confuse profondeur!
Va, la lumière la divine
N’est pas l’épouvantable éclair
Qui nous devance et nous devine
Comme un songe cruel et clair!
Il éclate! … Il va nous instruire! …
Non! … La solitude vient luire
Dans la plaie immense des airs
Où nulle pâle architecture,
Mais la déchirante rupture
Nous imprime de purs déserts!
N’allez donc, mains universelles,
Tirer de mon front orageux
Quelques suprêmes étincelles!
Les hasards font les mêmes jeux!
Le passé, l’avenir sont frères
Et par leurs visages contraires
Une seule tête pâlit
De ne voir où qu’elle regarde
Qu’une même absence hagarde
D’îles plus belles que l’oubli.
Noirs témoins de tant de lumières
Ne cherchez plus … Pleurez, mes yeux! …
Ô pleurs dont les sources premières
Sont trop profondes dans les cieux! …