So the poets are damned. No, that’s not it.
takes care of all that.
And to think that I possess the truth. That I possess judgment both sound and sure on any subject, that I am prepared for perfection Shut up, it’s pride! Now. I’m just a babe in the woods the skin on my scalp dries to dust. Pity! I am afraid, O Lord! my Lord! my lord. I am afraid, pity. Ah I’m thirsty, o my childhood, my village, the fields, the lake on the strand the moonlight when the clock strikes twelve. Satan is in the clock so that I’ll go mad. O Mary, Holy Virgin false feeling, false prayer.
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[FROM DELIRIA II: ALCHEMY OF THE WORD]
At last my spirit becomes[ ]
From London or Peking, or Ber[ ]
Which disappear we joke on [ ]
of general celebration. Look [ ]
the little [illegible] [ ]
I would have wanted the chalky desert of [ ]
I loved ward drinks, sunbleached shops, scorched orchards. I spent many hours with my tongue hanging out, like an exhausted animal: I dragged myself through the stinking streets, and eyes closed, I prayed to offered myself to the sun. God of fire, may he upend me, and, General, king, I say, if you still have an old cannons [sic] on your collapsing ramparts, bombarding man with pieces lumps of dry earth. Strike splendid shop mirrors! Cool sitting rooms! May spiders And [illegible word] Make cities eat their dust! Coat gargoyles in
rust. On timequickly tossburning boudoirs ruby sand the
I wore clothing made of canvas. I [four illegible words] I broke stones on roads forever swept clean. The sun set towards the shit, at the center of the earth [three illegible words] a shit in
the valleyconvulsion a the drunken gnat in the urinal of an isolated inn,
smitten with the borage and which will wilt in the sundissolves in a sunbeam
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HUNGER
I think about I thought about about animals the happiness of animals, caterpillars were the crowd [illegible word], little
bodies white bodies limbs:innocent the romantic spider made a romantic shadow invaded by the opal dawn; the brown bug
person, waited for us to [illegible word][illegible word] impassioned. Happy The mole, all virginity’s sleep!
I withdrew from contact Shocking virginity, which I try to describe with a sort of romance Song from the tallest tower.
I [several illegible words, crossed out]I believed I had found reason and happiness. I listened from the sky, the blue, which is black, and I lived, a spark of gold struck from the natural light. It’s veryI expressed the most stupidly.
serious.
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ETERNITY
And the crowning blow Out of joy, I became a fabulous opera.
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GOLDEN AGE
In this period it was it was my eternal life, unwritten, unsung,
—something likeworldly laws Providence in which one believes and which do not sing.
After these noble minutes, came utter stupidity. I myse see a propensity for being undone by bliss in everyone: the action
wasn’t but anot life instinctive means of wastingbad a belly full of life: only, me I leave with the knowledge, a sweet and sinister risk, an disturbance, deviation bad habits. The moral genius was the weakness of the brain
[ ]beings and everything seemed to me
[ ]other lives around them. This monsieur
[ ]an angel. This family isn’t
[ ]With many men
[ ]moment from one of their other lives
[ ]history no more principles. Nor another sophism of
imprisoned madness.I could repeat them all and others I no longer felt a thing. The hallucinations
and many others and others
I know how to do it
were [several illegible crossed-out words] But now I would not try to make myself heard.
A month of this. My sanityI believed fled was threatened. I had more to do than merely live. The hallucinations were more alive moresadder and more remote
horrifying the terror no longer came! I dreamt everywhere.
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MEMORY
I found myself ripe for demise, death and my weakness drew me to the edges of the earth and to a life where the whirlwind […] in dark Cimmeria, country of the dead, where a great […] took a dangerous route left nearly the whole soul with a […] on a skiff coursed for dread.
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ENDS OF THE EARTH
I traveled a bit. I went North: I will remember in will shut mybrain all
the feudal odors, shepherdesses, primitive sources.wanted to recognize the I loved the sea [illegible phrase] the magic ting in the luminous water illuminated as if it was for her to wash me clean of these aberrations of a stain. I saw the consoling cross. I had been damned by the rainbow and religious; and thanks to Bliss,
my remorse my fate, my worm, and whomagics I however the world seems brand new, to me who had raised every the possible impressions; making my life too immense drained even after
my [illegible crossed-out word] to sincerelyonly very trulylove strength and
beauty.
In the biggest cities, at dawn, ad diluculum,matutinum when Christus venit when for the strong among us Christ comes her tooth, sweet as the death, warning me with the cock’s crow.
ad diluculum: Dawn.
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BL[IS]S
So weak I no longer thought society could bear my
presence, except out of ^Pity^Such misfortuneWhat possible pasture for this beautiful disgust? Benevol[ence].
[Illegible phrase] Little by little it passed.
Now I can’t stand mystical leaps and stylistic strangenesses.
Now I can say that art is folly.My beauty[?] Our great poets just as easily: art is folly.
Hail beauty.
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Self-portrait, Rimbaud, c. 1883.
A draft of one version of “O saisons, o châteaux.”
FOUR SEASONS
Although multiple manuscript versions of many of Rimbaud’s poems exist, in most instances the differences are illustrative of ambivalence over issues of capitalization or punctuation. The case of “O saisons, o châteaux” is very different, as the four versions we possess differ in substantial ways. They offer a partial view of Rimbaud leaping from an interesting, if messy, series of possibilities to a beautiful certainty, or certainties. The first two versions have never been translated into English before. The third is available everywhere, and the fourth is Rimbaud’s final refinement printed in A Season in Hell.
In versions 1 and 2, my translations gloze the originals line by line. Version 3 is an alternate wording of the poem as it appears in Rimbaud Complete, page 132. Version 4 is based on the French text of the poem as it appears A Season in Hell; however, the translation reproduced here differs considerably from the one on this page. I reproduce these alternate solutions to offer a glimpse at the sorts of decisions faced by a translator of poetry.
VERSION 1
c’est pour dire que ce n’est rien, la vie
which is to say that life is nothing
voilà donc los saisons
so here are the seasons
O los saisons et châtoaux
O the seasons and châteaux
Où court où volo où coulo
Where runs where flies or flows
L’âmo n’ost pas sans défauts
The soul isn’t without flaws
J’ai fait la magiquo étudo
I made a magical study
Du Bonhour quo nul n’éludo
Of Bliss, which no one escapes
Chaque […] son coq gaulouis
Each […] his Gallic cock
Je suis à lui, chaque fois
I follow him, every time
Si chanto son coq gaulois
If his Gallic cock sings
Puis J[…]rai rion: plus d’onvio
Then I […] nothing: no more desire
Il s’ost chargé do ma vio
It has taken control of my life
Ce Charmo! il prit âmo et corps
This charm! It takes soul and body
Et disporsa mos offorts
And disperses my efforts
Quoi comprondro à ma parolo
What is to be understood from my words
Il fait qu’ollo fuio et volo
The result is that they flee and fly
Eh! si lo malhour m’ontraîno
If misfortune conditions me
Sa disgrâco m’ost cortaino
My disgrace is assured at its hands
C’est pour moi
It’s for mo
Il faut quo son dédain, las!
Alas his disdain
Soit pour moi
Either for me
Me livre ay plus prompt trép[as]
Delivers me directly to death[.]
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VERSION 2
O saison O châteaux
O season O châteaux
Quelle L’âme n’est pas sans défauts
What The soul isn’t without flaws
J’ai fait la magique étude
I made a magical study
Du Bonheur que nul n’élude
Of Bliss, which no one escapes
Je suis à lui, chaque fois
I follow him, every time
Si chante son coq gaulois
If his Gallic cock sings
[…] rien: plus d’envie
[…] nothing: no more desire
Il s’est chargé de ma vie
It has taken control of my life.
Ce Charme! il prit âme et corps
This charm! It takes soul and body
Je me crois libro d’efforts
I think I’m freed from exertions
Quoi comprondro à ma parole
What is to be understood from my words
Il fait qu’elle fuie et vole
The result is that they flee and fly
Oh! si ce malheur m’entraîne
Oh! If this misfortune conditions
Sa disgrâce m’est certaine me
My disgrace is assured at its hands
Il faut quo son dédain, las!
Alas his disdain
Me livre au plus prompt trép[as]
Delivers me directly to death[.]
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VERSION 3
O saisons, ô châteaux
O seasons, o châteaux
Quelle âme est sans défauts?
Who possesses a perfect soul?
O saisons, ô châteaux!
O seasons, o châteaux!
J’ai fait la magique étude
I made a magical study
Du Bonheur, que nul n’élude.
Of inescapable Bliss.
O vive lui, chaque fois
All hail Bliss, throughout Gaul
Que chante son coq Gaulois.
When you hear the rooster’s call.
Mais! je n’aurai plus d’envie,
Bliss has finally set me free
Il s’est chargé de ma vie.
From desire’s tyranny.
Ce Charme! il prit âme et corps.
Its spell took soul and shape,
Et dispersa tous efforts.
Letting every goal escape.
Que comprendre à ma parole.?
What do my words mean.?
Il fait qu’elle fuie et vole!
Meaning flees, takes wing!
o saisons, ô châteaux
o seasons, o châteaux
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VERSION 4
O saisons, ô châteaux!
O seasons, o châteaux!
Quelle âme est sans défauts?
Weakness visits every soul.
J’ai fait la magique étude
I made a magical exegesis
Du bonheur, qu’aucun n’élude.
Of this Bliss that won’t release us.
Salut à lui, chaque fois
Think of Bliss each time you hear
Que chante le coq gaulois.
The rooster’s call, far or near.
Ah! je n’aurai plus d’envie:
I’ve been unburdened of desire:
Il s’est chargé de ma vie.
Bliss is all I now require.
Ce charme a pris âme et corps
Its spell took shape and soul,
Et dispersé les efforts.
Eradicating every goal.
O saisons, ô châteaux!
O seasons, o châteaux!
L’heure de sa fuite, hélas!
When Bliss departs at last
Sera l’heure du trépas.
Death takes us each, alas.
O saisons, ô châteaux!
O seasons, o châteaux!
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JADIS, SI JE ME SOUVIENS BIEN
Jadis, si je me souviens bien, ma vie était un festin où s’ ouvraient tous les cœurs, où tous les vins coulaient.
Un soir, j’ai assis la Beauté sur mes genoux.—Et je l’ai trouvée amère.—Et je l’ai injuriée.
Je me suis armé contre la justice.
Je me suis enfui. Ô sorcières, ô misère, ô haine, c’est à vous que mon trésor a été confié!
Je parvins à faire s’évanouir dans mon esprit toute l’espérance humaine. Sur toute joie pour l’étrangler j’ai fait le bond sourd de la bête féroce.
J’ai appelé les bourreaux pour, en périssant, mordre la crosse de leurs fusils. J’ai appelé les fléaux, pour m’étouffer avec le sable, le sang. Le malheur a été mon dieu. Je me suis allongé dans la boue. Je me suis séché à l’air du crime. Et j’ai joué de bons tours à la folie.
Et le printemps m’a apporté l’affreux rire de l’idiot.
Or, tout dernièrement m’étant trouvé sur le point de faire le dernier couac! j’ai songé à rechercher la clef du festin ancien, où je reprendrais peut-être appétit.
La charité est cette clef.—Cette inspiration prouve que j’ai rêvé!
«Tu resteras hyène, etc …», se récrie le démon qui me couronna de si aimables pavots. «Gagne la mort avec tous tes appétits, et ton égoïsme et tous les péchés capitaux.»
Ah! j’en ai trop pris:—Mais, cher Satan, je vous en conjure, une prunelle moins irritée! et en attendant les quelques petites lâchetés en retard, vous qui aimez dans l’écrivain l’absence des facultés descriptives ou instructives, je vous détache ces quelques hideux feuillets de mon carnet de damné.
MAUVAIS SANG
J’ai de mes ancêtres gaulois l’œil bleu blanc, la cervelle étroite, et la maladresse dans la lutte. Je trouve mon habillement aussi barbare que le leur. Mais je ne beurre pas ma chevelure.
Les Gaulois étaient les écorcheurs de bêtes, les brûleurs d’herbes les plus ineptes de leur temps.
D’eux, j’ai: l’idolâtrie et l’amour du sacrilège;—oh! tous les vices, colère, luxure,—magnifique, la luxure;—surtout mensonge et paresse.
J’ai horreur de tous les métiers. Maîtres et ouvriers, tous paysans, ignobles. La main à plume vaut la main à charrue.—Quel siècle à mains!—Je n’aurai jamais ma main. Après, la domesticité mène trop loin. L’honnêteté de la mendicité me navre. Les criminels dégoûtent comme des châtrés: moi, je suis intact, et ça m’est égal.
Mais! qui a fait ma langue perfide tellement, qu’elle ait guidé et sauvegardé jusqu’ici ma paresse? Sans me servir
pour vivre même de mon corps, et plus oisif que le crapaud, j’ai vécu partout. Pas une famille d’Europe que je ne connaisse.—J’entends des familles comme la mienne, qui tiennent tout de la déclaration des Droits de l’Homme.—J’ai connu chaque fils de famille!
Si j’avais des antécédents à un point quelconque de l’histoire de France!
Mais non, rien.
Il m’est bien évident que j’ai toujours été race inférieure. Je ne puis comprendre la révolte. Ma race ne se souleva jamais que pour piller: tels les loups à la bête qu’ils n’ont pas tuée.
Je me rappelle l’histoire de la France fille aînée de l’Église. J’aurais fait, manant, le voyage de terre sainte; j’ai dans la tête des routes dans les plaines souabes, des vues de Byzance, des remparts de Solyme; le culte de Marie, l’attendrissement sur le crucifié s’éveillent en moi parmi mille féeries profanes.—Je suis assis, lépreux, sur les pots cassés et les orties, au pied d’un mur rongé par le soleil.—Plus tard, reître, j’aurais bivaqué sous les nuits d’Allemagne.
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