S T É P H A N E M A L L A R M É (1842-1898)
The Swan
Virginal, vital, beautiful today,
how can a drunken wing-beat tear away
this hard forgotten lake encased in ice,
haunted by limpid bergs of fictive flights!
A swan of other days now calls to mind,
magnificent but hopelessly resigned,
its failure once to sing from winter’s places
alive in sterile but resplendent stasis.
Its neck shakes off white agony conferred
by space upon the all-denying bird,
but not the awful earth that grips its wing.
A phantom trapped by brilliance in this stream,
it’s frozen in the cold and scornful dream
the Swan shapes from its futile banishing.
Translated by Jan Schreiber
The Swan
Virginal, vital, beautiful today,
how can a drunken wing-beat tear away
this hard forgotten lake encased in ice,
haunted by limpid bergs of fictive flights!
A swan of other days now calls to mind,
magnificent but hopelessly resigned,
its failure once to sing from winter’s places
alive in sterile but resplendent stasis.
Its neck shakes off white agony conferred
by space upon the all-denying bird,
but not the awful earth that grips its wing.
A phantom trapped by brilliance in this stream,
it’s frozen in the cold and scornful dream
the Swan shapes from its futile banishing.
Translated by Jan Schreiber
