Soon we shall plunge into the cold darkness,
Farewell, vivid brightness of our short-lived summers!
Already I hear the dismal sound of firewood
Falling with a clatter on the courtyard pavements.
All winter will possess my being : wrath,
Hate, horror, shivering, hard, forced labor,
And, like the sun in his polar Hades,
My heart will be no more than a frozen red block.
All atremble I listen to each falling log,
The building of a scaffold has no duller sound.
My spirit resembles the tower which crumbles
Under the tireless blows of the battering ram.
It seems to me, lulled by these monotonous shocks,
That somewhere they're nailing a coffin, in great haste.
For whom? — Yesterday was summer, here is autumn
That mysterious noise sounds like a departure.
I love the greenish light of your long eyes,
Sweet beauty, but today all to me is bitter,
Nothing, neither your love, your boudoir, nor your hearth
Is worth as much as the sunlight on the sea.
Yet, love me, tender heart! be a mother,
Even to an ingrate, even to a scapegrace,
Mistress or sister, be the fleeting sweetness
Of a gorgeous autumn or of a setting sun.
Short task ! The tomb awaits, it is avid !
Ah! let me, with my head bowed on your knees,
Taste the sweet, yellow rays of the end of autumn,
While I mourn for the white, torrid summer!
**************************************************
CHANT D'AUTOMNE
Bientôt nous plongerons dans les froides ténèbres,
Adieu, vive clarté de nos étés trop courts !
J'entends déjà tomber avec des chocs funèbres
Le bois retentissant sur le pavé des cours.
Tout l'hiver va rentrer dans mon être : colère,
Haine, frissons, horreur, labeur dur et forcé,
Et, comme le soleil dans son enfer polaire,
Mon coeur ne sera plus qu'un bloc rouge et glacé.
J'écoute en frémissant chaque bûche qui tombe
L'échafaud qu'on bâtit n'a pas d'écho plus sourd.
Mon esprit est pareil à la tour qui succombe
Sous les coups du bélier infatigable et lourd.
II me semble, bercé par ce choc monotone,
Qu'on cloue en grande hâte un cercueil quelque part.
Pour qui? — C'était hier l'été; voici l'automne!
Ce bruit mystérieux sonne comme un départ.
J'aime de vos longs yeux la lumière verdâtre,
Douce beauté, mais tout aujourd'hui m'est amer,
Et rien, ni votre amour, ni le boudoir, ni l'âtre,
Ne me vaut le soleil rayonnant sur la mer.
Et pourtant aimez-moi, tendre coeur! soyez mère,
Même pour un ingrat, même pour un méchant,
Amante ou soeur, soyez la douceur éphémère
D'un glorieux automne ou d'un soleil couchant.
Courte tâche! La tombe attend; elle est avide!
Ah! laissez-moi, mon front posé sur vos genoux,
Goûter, en regrettant l'été blanc et torride,
De l'arrière-saison le rayon jaune et doux !
Farewell, vivid brightness of our short-lived summers!
Already I hear the dismal sound of firewood
Falling with a clatter on the courtyard pavements.
All winter will possess my being : wrath,
Hate, horror, shivering, hard, forced labor,
And, like the sun in his polar Hades,
My heart will be no more than a frozen red block.
All atremble I listen to each falling log,
The building of a scaffold has no duller sound.
My spirit resembles the tower which crumbles
Under the tireless blows of the battering ram.
It seems to me, lulled by these monotonous shocks,
That somewhere they're nailing a coffin, in great haste.
For whom? — Yesterday was summer, here is autumn
That mysterious noise sounds like a departure.
I love the greenish light of your long eyes,
Sweet beauty, but today all to me is bitter,
Nothing, neither your love, your boudoir, nor your hearth
Is worth as much as the sunlight on the sea.
Yet, love me, tender heart! be a mother,
Even to an ingrate, even to a scapegrace,
Mistress or sister, be the fleeting sweetness
Of a gorgeous autumn or of a setting sun.
Short task ! The tomb awaits, it is avid !
Ah! let me, with my head bowed on your knees,
Taste the sweet, yellow rays of the end of autumn,
While I mourn for the white, torrid summer!
**************************************************
CHANT D'AUTOMNE
Bientôt nous plongerons dans les froides ténèbres,
Adieu, vive clarté de nos étés trop courts !
J'entends déjà tomber avec des chocs funèbres
Le bois retentissant sur le pavé des cours.
Tout l'hiver va rentrer dans mon être : colère,
Haine, frissons, horreur, labeur dur et forcé,
Et, comme le soleil dans son enfer polaire,
Mon coeur ne sera plus qu'un bloc rouge et glacé.
J'écoute en frémissant chaque bûche qui tombe
L'échafaud qu'on bâtit n'a pas d'écho plus sourd.
Mon esprit est pareil à la tour qui succombe
Sous les coups du bélier infatigable et lourd.
II me semble, bercé par ce choc monotone,
Qu'on cloue en grande hâte un cercueil quelque part.
Pour qui? — C'était hier l'été; voici l'automne!
Ce bruit mystérieux sonne comme un départ.
J'aime de vos longs yeux la lumière verdâtre,
Douce beauté, mais tout aujourd'hui m'est amer,
Et rien, ni votre amour, ni le boudoir, ni l'âtre,
Ne me vaut le soleil rayonnant sur la mer.
Et pourtant aimez-moi, tendre coeur! soyez mère,
Même pour un ingrat, même pour un méchant,
Amante ou soeur, soyez la douceur éphémère
D'un glorieux automne ou d'un soleil couchant.
Courte tâche! La tombe attend; elle est avide!
Ah! laissez-moi, mon front posé sur vos genoux,
Goûter, en regrettant l'été blanc et torride,
De l'arrière-saison le rayon jaune et doux !
Some day earth will cease to be
And with it, so will I.
I don't mind the leaving,
But I'd like to say goodbye.
Before I am swept away
In an unknown swell,
I wish the world would warn me
So I can say farewell
To the world that's sheltered me,
My home for many years.
It is far from perfect;
It coldly watched my tears.
As my mind grew far too much,
Its pressure never ceased,
Though I suppose that was my fault.
I'm the beauty, I'm the beast.
And that's why I fear going,
Though where, no one can say;
Wherever I go, so comes my mind,
I have no hideaway.
I don't think I'd mind nothingness,
But infinity with my head?
I'd rather live forever
With a monster under the bed.
Give me something I can fight,
I'll leave it black and blue,
But how can you beat a monster
That lives inside of you?
Some people fear the darkness.
Some people are not me.
I don't fear oblivion,
I fear eternity.
~an original poem by me~
And with it, so will I.
I don't mind the leaving,
But I'd like to say goodbye.
Before I am swept away
In an unknown swell,
I wish the world would warn me
So I can say farewell
To the world that's sheltered me,
My home for many years.
It is far from perfect;
It coldly watched my tears.
As my mind grew far too much,
Its pressure never ceased,
Though I suppose that was my fault.
I'm the beauty, I'm the beast.
And that's why I fear going,
Though where, no one can say;
Wherever I go, so comes my mind,
I have no hideaway.
I don't think I'd mind nothingness,
But infinity with my head?
I'd rather live forever
With a monster under the bed.
Give me something I can fight,
I'll leave it black and blue,
But how can you beat a monster
That lives inside of you?
Some people fear the darkness.
Some people are not me.
I don't fear oblivion,
I fear eternity.
~an original poem by me~
My senses all are backwards
and it really makes me wonder
if on the day that I was born
somebody made a blunder.
For, strange but true, my senses
all got totally reversed.
Now everything I like the best
is what you'd call the worst.
I only like the smell of things
that frighten other noses.
I love the odor of a skunk.
I hate the smell of roses.
I only like the taste of foods
that cause most folks to shiver.
I hate the taste of chocolate.
I'm crazy over liver.
I'm not too fond of music
but there's simply no denying
I like the sound of honking horns
and little babies crying.
I hate the feel of silky, velvet
softness on my skin.
I much prefer the way it feels
when sitting on a pin.
I hate the look of anything
that's really cute and snuggly.
The things I think are pretty
are what most consider ugly.
So let me tell you one more thing
before I have to go:
I think YOU are the most attractive
person that I know.
and it really makes me wonder
if on the day that I was born
somebody made a blunder.
For, strange but true, my senses
all got totally reversed.
Now everything I like the best
is what you'd call the worst.
I only like the smell of things
that frighten other noses.
I love the odor of a skunk.
I hate the smell of roses.
I only like the taste of foods
that cause most folks to shiver.
I hate the taste of chocolate.
I'm crazy over liver.
I'm not too fond of music
but there's simply no denying
I like the sound of honking horns
and little babies crying.
I hate the feel of silky, velvet
softness on my skin.
I much prefer the way it feels
when sitting on a pin.
I hate the look of anything
that's really cute and snuggly.
The things I think are pretty
are what most consider ugly.
So let me tell you one more thing
before I have to go:
I think YOU are the most attractive
person that I know.
we tie time
in knots and try
to connect the dots,
but time was meant
to measure between
things and all
we’re measuring
is the difference
between his time
and my time
or between this time
and last time.
30 seconds in the microwave
means nothing
until those 30 seconds
could have been spent
eating the food,
talking to a sister,
or practicing that new
dance move which is only
new because it is newer
than those other moves
because its distance
is shorter to the present
than the other dance class
and not because
it is the next big thing,
although that makes a different
move new.
what i mean to say
is that time is overused,
overemphasized. we give
time the throne
and it rules and makes rules.
we follow them
because we like to think
that time is important
and we are important
and our time is gold,
but even gold
would have no value
if there were an endless supply,
and time is endless, but
not for us, but
time is endless nevertheless.
in knots and try
to connect the dots,
but time was meant
to measure between
things and all
we’re measuring
is the difference
between his time
and my time
or between this time
and last time.
30 seconds in the microwave
means nothing
until those 30 seconds
could have been spent
eating the food,
talking to a sister,
or practicing that new
dance move which is only
new because it is newer
than those other moves
because its distance
is shorter to the present
than the other dance class
and not because
it is the next big thing,
although that makes a different
move new.
what i mean to say
is that time is overused,
overemphasized. we give
time the throne
and it rules and makes rules.
we follow them
because we like to think
that time is important
and we are important
and our time is gold,
but even gold
would have no value
if there were an endless supply,
and time is endless, but
not for us, but
time is endless nevertheless.