Note from the translator: Finding myself dissatisfied with the available translations (online, at least; I've seen a few good ones in books whose titles I can no longer recall) I was motivated to create my own. In the versions I've read that rhyme like the original, I believe that the much of the meaning is lost. The non-rhyming versions, although they guard most precisely the beauty of Baudelaire's words, an essential component of the poem is lost. I think the great Verlaine describes this best when he said, "de la musique avant toutes choses." So, in the following, I try to create rhyme while preserving the meaning as accurately as possible; I think I accomplished such in an agreeable and lyrical manner. Of course, you shall be the judge of that. Thank you for reading.
First is my more creative translation, the second is the direct translation, the third is Baudelaire's magnificent poem from the 1857 collection Les Fleurs du Mal.
My child, my sister,
Think of the sweetness
Of going there to live so assembled.
To love and lie,
To love and to die
In the country that you once resembled.
The sodden sun, not dry,
Of these troubles skies,
Has for my spirit its fears.
It so mystifies
Your traitorous eyes,
Brilliant through their tears.
There, only is order,
allure,
Luxury, calm and
pleasure.
The furniture and its
shine,
Polished by time,
Will decorate our
chamber.
The most rare flower,
Its perfume will us
shower,
Mixing with the vague
scent of amber.
The ceilings steeped
With mirrors deep
Reflect the oriental
splendor.
All is softly spoken,
With hearts unbroken,
Your native language
that is so tender.
There, only is order,
allure,
Luxury, calm and
pleasure.
Look towards the sea,
The vessels do dream
Of vagrant mirth;
It's all to inquire
Of your least desire
For which they have
come from the ends of the earth.
The sun's slow slide
Enshrouds the
countryside,
The sea, the city
whole,
With hyacinth and gold,
In the warmth of
crepuscular light.
There, only is order,
allure,
Luxury, calm and
pleasure.
-Charles
Baudelaire
Translation by
J.S.K. Ellis,
01/25/07
My child, my sister,
Think of the sweetness
Of going there to live together!
To love at leisure,
To love and to die,
In the country that resembles you.
The wet suns
Of these scattered skies
Have for my spirit the charms,
So mysterious,
Of your traitorous eyes,
Brilliant through their tears.
There, only is order,
beauty,
Luxury, calm and
pleasure.
The shining furniture,
Polished by the years,
Will decorate our
rooms.
The most rare flowers
Mix their scents
Among the vague smell
of amber.
The rich ceilings,
The deep mirrors,
The oriental splendor.
All is spoken
Secretly
In your sweet native
language.
There, only is order,
beauty,
Luxury, calm and
pleasure.
Look, on the canals,
The vessels sleeping,
Whose mood is vagrant;
It's to serve
Your every desire
That they come from the
ends of the earth.
The sunsets
Cover the countryside
The canals, the whole
village,
Of hyacinth and gold,
In a light warmth.
There, only is order,
beauty,
Luxury, calm and
pleasure.
-Charles Baudelaire
Translation
by J.S.K. Ellis,
01/25/07
Mon enfant, ma soeur, Songe à la douceur
D'aller là-bas vivre ensemble!
Aimer à loisir,
Aimer et mourir
Au pays qui te ressemble!
Les soleils mouillés
De ces ciels brouillés
Pour mon esprit ont les charmes
Si mystérieux
De tes traîtres yeux,
Brillant à travers leurs larmes.
Là,
tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.
Des
meubles luisants,
Polis par les ans,
Décoreraient notre
chambre;
Les plus rares fleurs
Mêlant leurs odeurs
Aux
vagues senteurs de l'ambre,
Les riches plafonds,
Les miroirs
profonds,
La splendeur orientale,
Tout y parlerait
À
l'âme en secret
Sa douce langue natale.
Là,
tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.
Vois
sur ces canaux
Dormir ces vaisseaux
Dont l'humeur est
vagabonde;
C'est pour assouvir
Ton moindre désir
Qu'ils
viennent du bout du monde.
Les soleils couchants
Revêtent
les champs,
Les canaux, la ville entière,
D'hyacinthe et
d'or;
Le monde s'endort
Dans une chaude lumière.
Là,
tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.
-Charles Baudelaire