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rfmcdonald( Winter Evening )
Hewn out of solid gold, a tall ship sailed:
Its masts reached up to heaven, on unknown seas;
Venus, naked, her hair cast to the breeze,
In scorching sun, stood at the prow unveiled.
But then one night on Ocean's cheating wave
While Sirens sang, it struck a reef head on,
And dreadful shipwreck beat its hull right down
To the depths of the gulf, that rigid grave.
A gold ship, whose translucence in each part
Disclosed the treasures that those impious tars,
Disgust and Hate and Madness, fought to keep.
How much remains after the storm's brief wars?
And what of that deserted craft, my heart?
In Dream-Abyss, alas, it foundered deep!
- from The Complete Poems of Émile Nelligan, edited and translated by Fred Cogswell, (Montréal: Harvest House, 1983), p 2.
A violin sighs its song of grief profound,
And a horn joins in, filling the calm night;
The Sylphides mourn, like souls in fearful plight,
And the tall yews' hearts emit a dying sound.
By a waking breeze, each leaf to life is sped
And the light limbs sway in a rhythm free.
The song birds dream; under the milky eye
Of a Summer moon, my grief is harvested.
To the whispered concert by the crickets borne,
Those sabbath-seeking elves beneath the boughs,
In my pounding heart there echoes suddenly
The distant song of all night's majesty
Whose murmurs in the lazy heaven's drowse
Prolong under the rise of humid morn.
- from The Complete Poems of Émile Nelligan, edited and translated by Fred Cogswell, (Montréal: Harvest House, 1983), p 30-31.
All crimson now the pink verandah clothes
To the soft mild lilt of a mandolin;
In evening reds, to the sweet scent of rose,
All crimson now the pink verandah clothes.
Amid gold streams on Egyptian vases
Under the balmy breeze, sweet smelling plants
Dissolve to blue and find their hidden haunts
Amid gold streams on Egyptian vases.
The birds get drunk on music's fragrant charms
As the skies continue their starry dance;
And Love goes by, held in the breezes arms,
The soul gets drunk on music's fragrant charms.
And crimson now the pink verandah clothes
As in her Louisianan paradise
Amid the stillness, to the sweet scent of rose,
In a rosy hammock the creole finds repose.
- from The Complete Poems of Émile Nelligan, edited and translated by Fred Cogswell, (Montréal: Harvest House, 1983), p 56.
Hewn out of solid gold, a tall ship sailed:
Its masts reached up to heaven, on unknown seas;
Venus, naked, her hair cast to the breeze,
In scorching sun, stood at the prow unveiled.
But then one night on Ocean's cheating wave
While Sirens sang, it struck a reef head on,
And dreadful shipwreck beat its hull right down
To the depths of the gulf, that rigid grave.
A gold ship, whose translucence in each part
Disclosed the treasures that those impious tars,
Disgust and Hate and Madness, fought to keep.
How much remains after the storm's brief wars?
And what of that deserted craft, my heart?
In Dream-Abyss, alas, it foundered deep!
- from The Complete Poems of Émile Nelligan, edited and translated by Fred Cogswell, (Montréal: Harvest House, 1983), p 2.
A violin sighs its song of grief profound,
And a horn joins in, filling the calm night;
The Sylphides mourn, like souls in fearful plight,
And the tall yews' hearts emit a dying sound.
By a waking breeze, each leaf to life is sped
And the light limbs sway in a rhythm free.
The song birds dream; under the milky eye
Of a Summer moon, my grief is harvested.
To the whispered concert by the crickets borne,
Those sabbath-seeking elves beneath the boughs,
In my pounding heart there echoes suddenly
The distant song of all night's majesty
Whose murmurs in the lazy heaven's drowse
Prolong under the rise of humid morn.
- from The Complete Poems of Émile Nelligan, edited and translated by Fred Cogswell, (Montréal: Harvest House, 1983), p 30-31.
All crimson now the pink verandah clothes
To the soft mild lilt of a mandolin;
In evening reds, to the sweet scent of rose,
All crimson now the pink verandah clothes.
Amid gold streams on Egyptian vases
Under the balmy breeze, sweet smelling plants
Dissolve to blue and find their hidden haunts
Amid gold streams on Egyptian vases.
The birds get drunk on music's fragrant charms
As the skies continue their starry dance;
And Love goes by, held in the breezes arms,
The soul gets drunk on music's fragrant charms.
And crimson now the pink verandah clothes
As in her Louisianan paradise
Amid the stillness, to the sweet scent of rose,
In a rosy hammock the creole finds repose.
- from The Complete Poems of Émile Nelligan, edited and translated by Fred Cogswell, (Montréal: Harvest House, 1983), p 56.
