una noche, senté a la Belleza en mis rodillas::one evening I took Beauty in my arms
Antaño, si mal no recuerdo, mi vida ear un festín en el que se abrían todos los corazones, donde todos los vinos corrían
Una noche, senté a la Belleza en mis rodillas. Y la encontré
amarga. Y la injurié.
Yo me he armado contra la justicia.
Yo me he fugado. ¡Oh brujas, oh miseria, odio, mi tesoro fue
confiado a vosotros!
Retomemos los caminos de aquí, cargado con mi
vicio, el vicio que ha hundido sus raíces de sufrimiento en mi
flanco desde la edad de la razón, que sube al cielo, me golpea, me
derriba, me arrastra.
La última timidez y la última inocencia. Está dicho.
No mostrar al mundo mis ascos y mis traiciones.
¡Vamos! La caminata, el fardo, el desierto, el hastío y la
cólera.
¿A quién alquilarme? ¿Qué bestia hay que
adorar? ¿Qué santa imagen atacamos? ¿Qué
corazones romperé? ¿Qué mentira debo sostener?
¿Entre qué sangre caminar?
Mas vale guardarse de la justicia. La vida dura, el simple
embrutecimiento, levantar, con el puño seco, la tapa del
ataúd, sentarse, sofocarse. Así, nada de vejez, ni de
peligros: el terror no es francés.
Arthur Rimbaud
Maldoror Ediciones (2009)
Once, if my memory serves me well, my life was a banquet where every heart revealed itself, where every wine flowed.
One evening I took Beauty in my arms - and I thought her bitter - and I insulted her.
I steeled myself against justice.
I fled. O witches, O misery, O hate, my treasure was left in your care!
I have withered within me all human hope. With the silent leap of a sullen beast, I have downed and strangled every joy.
I have called for executioners; I want to perish chewing on their gun butts. I have called for plagues, to suffocate in sand and blood. Unhappiness has been my god. I have lain down in the mud, and dried myself off in the crime-infested air. I have played the fool to the point of madness.
And springtime brought me the frightful laugh of an idiot.
Now recently, when I found myself ready to croak! I thought to seek the key to the banquet of old, where I might find an appetite again.
That key is Charity. - This idea proves I was dreaming!
"You will stay a hyena, etc...," shouts the demon who once crowned me with such pretty poppies. "Seek death with all your desires, and all selfishness, and all the Seven Deadly Sins."
Ah! I've taken too much of that: - still, dear Satan, don't look so annoyed, I beg you! And while waiting for a few belated cowardices, since you value in a writer all lack of descriptive or didactic flair, I pass you these few foul pages from the diary of a Damned Soul.
A season in hell
Translation by Paul Schmidt
Harper Colophon Books, Harper & Row, NY (1976)
Comments