Je suis la ténébreuse, - la veuve, - l'inconsolée,
I am the shadowy one, the widow, the unconsoled
for what could now console me in my grief?
These eyes once bright in response to thine
are shadowed by a widow’s tears
as in the night of the grave.
La princesse d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie:
The princess of Aquitaine in the overthrown tower
seeing my principality stormed, usurped, taken,
striking these laments by turns on my Orphean lyre
The sighs of the holy woman
and the cries of the elf-maid
Ma seule étoile est morte, et mon luth constellé
porte le soleil noir de la mélancholie
My only star is dead, and my star-strewn lute
bears the black sun of melancholy
shedding a palpable darkness
that shows only dead things
Mon front est rouge encore du baiser de la reine;
My forehead is still red from the Queen’s kisses –
oh thou who hast my heart, kiss me once more,
or such a thirst will parch my lips
as only death can assuage
or fire conquer!
J’ai rêvé dans la grotte où nage la sirène
I have dreamed in the grotto where the mermaid swims,
and when such a dream is upon the heart
what then can ever take its place in the affections?
My arms stretch out to thee,
but they are never filled…
I am the shadowy one, the widow, the unconsoled
for what could now console me in my grief?
These eyes once bright in response to thine
are shadowed by a widow’s tears
as in the night of the grave.
La princesse d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie:
The princess of Aquitaine in the overthrown tower
seeing my principality stormed, usurped, taken,
striking these laments by turns on my Orphean lyre
The sighs of the holy woman
and the cries of the elf-maid
Ma seule étoile est morte, et mon luth constellé
porte le soleil noir de la mélancholie
My only star is dead, and my star-strewn lute
bears the black sun of melancholy
shedding a palpable darkness
that shows only dead things
Mon front est rouge encore du baiser de la reine;
My forehead is still red from the Queen’s kisses –
oh thou who hast my heart, kiss me once more,
or such a thirst will parch my lips
as only death can assuage
or fire conquer!
J’ai rêvé dans la grotte où nage la sirène
I have dreamed in the grotto where the mermaid swims,
and when such a dream is upon the heart
what then can ever take its place in the affections?
My arms stretch out to thee,
but they are never filled…
Author notes
I have taken some lines from Gerard de Nerval's poem "El Desdichado", rendered the language feminine, translated it freely, and developed some of the images and metaphors with words of my own.
Written February 11th, 2006
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I grow from you!
I read your work for one purpose. I desire to become a better poet. Your archaic romantic language is flawless. You do well in using visual imagery to draw out emotional archetypes. You show mastery in a 'style' that I wouldn't even attempt. Encore! Encore! I'll give it three reads and three happily applauding bunnies.


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De Nerval got a lobster on a string - I get bunnies.
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Beautifully Penned!
This is absolutely fantastic... my goodness what a wonderful work you've penned here my friend. I have not had the time to come over to check out your work but this is ansolutely precious and I am so very glad I came over to read you. I truly enjoyed the reading of this magnificent masterpiece. Thank you for sharing your work with me and for the wonderful gift of your creative pen. Blessed be Poetess, Nena -
I am glad you found it, Jillian, as you are the first to comment. I have always liked de Nerval's original - it is so comforting to find something so surreal, so symbolical in French, as if he were reeling off the names of the "major arcana" of a tarot pack (gives a slight shudder). Thank you for your praise.
Mb
xx -
Beautiful images - I like this very much. Your use of language is astounding.
Edited on Feb 11, 9:06 because 'missed a letter'.
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