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Epilogue, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem : Epilogue

     By way of a Farewell to « personal » poetry. Paul Verlaine, March 1895

(Towards the end of his rather short and tumultuous life, Verlaine in this poem – after composing somewhat in the manner of his times by distilling his own expériences in rhymed and fixed stanzaic forms -  makes us believe wishes to put an end to his « personal » compositions. He died of pulmonary congestion on January 8, 1896. 
T. Wignesan) 

So, therefore, Farewell Dear me-Myself
That which decent people have held to blame.
The poor people ! Who put much love to flame
Remain much flattered (Lady, as when she loves herself !)

Farewell, Dear Me, joy and chagrin
Of which, it seems, I spoke of far too much
That no one wants more of : I have done with such.
From now on , I must my Self drown.

In the heart of hearts – how might one holler ?
Of Impersonal Art, and to take a dignified stand
That I assume a cold-blooded stance,
To celebrate you ! O ! Walhalla !


For, Buddha, to celebrate your rites
And your customs in all countries !
And as for those of my country, O ! Ssh !
Talk of your drawbacks and your merits.

And in breath-stopping plays
Amidst novels put together synthetic
Or, well, in the manner analytic,
Stretch myself out in stupefying tropes !

Farewell, Dear Me-Myself, out of work
I feel the numbness of the tomb already
Casting sneaky glances at us through beauty
On towards a project for unique-headed Art

Farewell ! Heart ! No need for more fare-thee-wells :
This’s a little like mud somewhat
Piled up on one’s austere Head – and over Art –
What with these « unresolved farewells ».

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2013

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