Les Pas

Tes pas, enfants de mon silence,
Saintement, lentement placés,
Vers le lit de ma vigilance
Procèdent muets et glacés.

by Paul Valery Click to read full poem

Comments (6)

I PASSI Nati dal mio silenzio, posati santamente, lentamente, i tuoi passi procedono al mio letto di veglia muti e gelidi. Persona pura, ombra divina, come dolci i passi che trattieni. O iddii, quali indovino i doni che mi attendono sopra quei piedi nudi! Se da protese labbra, per' acquietarlo, all'ospite dei miei sogni prepari d'un bacio il nutrimento, non affrettarlo il gesto tenero, dolcezza di essere e non essere: io vissi dell'attesa di te, il mio lento cuore non era che i tuoi passi.
Bien écrit! Félicitations!
.....................a wonderful poem....thanks for sharing...
Great fellas, thanks for the firework translations! It's so marvellous to watch a gifted french symbolist, descibing so lonely pictures...
Good job on the translation, Jan! I think I like your version better than that by David Paul in the official Vol.1 of Valery's Collected Works (which is long out of print and damned hard to find!) . Here is Paul's version: The Footsteps Your footsteps, children of my silence, With gradual and saintly pace Towards the bed of my watchfulness, Muted and frozen, approach. Pure one, divine shadow, How gentle are your cautious steps! Gods! ...all the gifts that I can guess Come to me on those naked feet! If, with your lips advancing, You are preparing to appease The inhabitant of my thoughts With the sustenance of a kiss, Do not hasten the tender act, Bliss of being and not being, For I have lived on waiting for you, And my heart was only your footsteps. (The original appeared in some French journal in Nov.1921.)
Footsteps Children of my silence, your saintly steps, unrushed, approach my pallet’s vigil, frozen, timeless, hushed. Pure one, divinest shadow, steps verging on retreat, Gods – what gifts I envision borne on those naked feet! If with lips pressed toward me you deign to nourish this dweller in my obsessions with an appeasing kiss, don’t hasten to your mercy. Being and not being is sweet. My life is a vivid waiting, my heart your padding feet. (translation by Jan Schreiber)