
This is a second translation of my French poem, Les Maudites. I have decided again not to concerm myself with the exact end rhymes nor the rhyme scheme nor the eight-foot meter of the original, but to proceed even more loosely than i did with the first translation. This one, I think, is much more successful than the first.
Another cycle of hard nights
How I hate my ripened soul!
The sun is missed in winter
Emptying the severe trees and
Creating a double pain in my heart
You see a ghost watch over me
from September to mid-January
Calls never come from friends
Nor the steps of anyone
Nor my silent sister-soul
These gray skies doubled with clouds
Cannot penetrate our rages
Houses have to be heated
But a long cold remains in our thought
Awakening our most terrible fears
And so this somber poem
Again another winter without blame
I remain in prayer on bended knee
Awaiting the lover-murderer
Knocking at the door of pain
She cries out my name without stop
In the streets and in the forests
I search my bed for rest but
She seizes upon my instep
She becomes my accuser
"You never knew how to love me!
You left me! You went away!
In this filth you wallow!
You left me for another!
I will haunt you when the hour sounds!"
Each night she comes without a blow
And silently enters my canopy
She kisses me on the lips
After breaking all my dishes
At dawn she leaves like a thief
I can no longer breathe as
Over and over she breaks my heart
She rapes me in the dark
Like an old animal
She plays me like a pointsman (without direction)
At the end of winter she parts
With no sweet word of goodbye
My chills never stop
At midnight just I am there
Awaiting my belovèd ravisher
I swear! she does not come anymore
I have only this fresh sweat
I rolled the dice on silk and
Awaited the better part of me
If she does not come, I will die
Now it is I at the door
In the depths of dead winter
No one remains in that house
As I cry out with all my passion, then
at dawn dissipate in fury
Couverture, La Belle Edition illus. Edouard Chimot