Le piano que baise une main frêle / Paul Verlaine

V

Son joyeux, importun d’un clavecin sonore. (Pétrus Borel)

Le piano que baise une main frêle
Luit dans le soir rose et gris vaguement,
Tandis qu'un très léger bruit d'aile
Un air bien vieux, bien faible et bien charmant
Rôde discret, épeuré quasiment,
Par le boudoir longtemps parfumé d'Elle.

Qu'est-ce que c'est que ce berceau soudain
Qui lentement dorlote mon pauvre être ?
Que voudrais-tu de moi, doux Chant badin ?
Qu'as-tu voulu, fin refrain incertain
Qui vas tantôt mourir vers la fenêtre
Ouverte un peu sur le petit jardin ?

Paul Verlaine ~ (Romances sans paroles, 1874)





V

Son joyeux, importun d’un clavecin sonore. (Pétrus Borel)

The piano, kissed by a hand soft and frail,
Shines vaguely in the twilight pink and gray.
Whilst lightly as a bird's wing, in a dale,
An old tune, very feeble, sweet and gay,
Circles discretely, ere its faint notes fail,
The room perfumed by Her since that far day.

What is this sudden rocking in my heart
This stirring of my inmost soul profound?
What wouldst thou of me? ghostly song thou art!
What is thy wish, thou sweet uncertain sound,
That, dying, seeks the window to depart
The garden window, open near the ground?

Paul Verlaine ~ (Songs without Words, 1874)

Translated from the French by Bergen Applegate

(Paul Verlaine: His Absinthe-Tinted Song. R. F. Seymour, The Alderbrink Press, 1916)





V (Second translation)

Son joyeux, importun d’un clavecin sonore. (Pétrus Borel)

The piano kissed by a delicate hand
Gleams distantly in rose-grey evening
While with a wingtips weightless sound
A fine old tune, so fragile, charming
Roams discreetly, almost trembling,
Through the chamber Shes long perfumed.

What is this sudden cradle song
That gradually lulls my poor being?
What do you want of me, playful one?
What do you wish, slight vague refrain
Drifting now, dying, towards the window
Opening a little on a patch of garden?

Paul Verlaine ~ (Songs without Words, 1874)

Translated by A. S. Kline





V

Suono allegro, importuno, d'un clavicembalo sonoro. (Pétrus Borel)

Il pianoforte baciato da una fragile mano
vagamente riluce nella sera rosa e grigia,
mentre con un lievissimo frèmito d'ala
un'aria molto antica, flebile, incantevole,
si aggira discreta, quasi spaurita,
nel boudoir che conserva il Suo profumo.

Cos'è questa nenia improvvisa
che lenta dondola il mio povero essere?
Che vorresti da me, dolce Canto scherzoso?
Cos'hai voluto, ritornello fine ed incerto
che morirai ben presto alla finestra
semiaperta sul piccolo giardino?

Paul Verlaine ~ (Romanze senza parole, 1874)





V

Sonido alegre, molesto, de un clavicémbalo. (Pétrus Borel)

El piano que besa una mano delicada
brilla vagamente en la tarde rosa y gris,
mientras que un ruido alado, muy ligero,
un aria antigua, débil y encantadora
merodea discreta, casi asustada,
en el salón perfumado de Ella.

¿Qué es esta niñez repentina
que mima lentamente mi pobre ser?
¿Qué quieres de mí, dulce canto juguetón?
¿Qué has buscado, fino estribillo incierto
que vas pronto a morir hacia la ventana
abierta brevemente sobre el pequeño jardín?

Paul Verlaine ~ (Romanzas Sin Palabras, 1874)





V

Öptüğü piyano narin parmakların
Kızıl akşamda ışıl ışıl yanıyor
Ve çok eski, ince, tatlı bir şarkının
Hafif kanat vuruşları dolanıyor
Ve odasında korkuyla salınıyor,
O teni burcu burcu kokan kadının

Neyin nesidir bu beşik ki aniden
Garip bedenimi nazlı nazlı sallar?
Söyleyin nedir istediğiniz benden
Tenimde dolanan garip ve inceden,
Ve ey uzaklaştıkça ölen şarkılar
Aralık pencerelerde can çekişen?

Paul Verlaine ~ (Sözsüz Şarkılar, 1874)

Çeviri: Erdoğan Alkan

Memoirs by Mecuro B Cotto