Baudelaire, L'Albatros

Arnaud d' Hauterives – L'Albatros, 1985
http://www.idburyprints.com/

Souvent, pour s'amuser, les hommes d'équipage
Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers,
Qui suivent, indolents compagnons de voyage,
Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.

À peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches,
Que ces rois de l'azur, maladroits et honteux,
Laissent piteusement leurs grandes ailes blanches
Comme des avirons traîner à côté d'eux.

Ce voyageur ailé, comme il est gauche et veule!
Lui, naguère si beau, qu'il est comique et laid!
L'un agace son bec avec un brûle-gueule,
L'autre mime, en boitant, l'infirme qui volait!

Le Poète est semblable au prince des nuées
Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer;
Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées,
Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.

Claude Serre, The Albatross, 1982
http://www.idburyprints.com/

Here are some English versions of the poem, followed by renderings into Romanian. Enjoy!

The Albatross

Often, to amuse themselves, the men of a crew
Catch albatrosses, those vast sea birds
That indolently follow a ship
As it glides over the deep, briny sea.

Scarcely have they placed them on the deck
Than these kings of the sky, clumsy, ashamed,
Pathetically let their great white wings
Drag beside them like oars.

That winged voyager, how weak and gauche he is,
So beautiful before, now comic and ugly!
One man worries his beak with a stubby clay pipe;
Another limps, mimics the cripple who once flew!

The poet resembles this prince of cloud and sky
Who frequents the tempest and laughs at the bowman;
When exiled on the earth, the butt of hoots and jeers,
His giant wings prevent him from walking.

— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)

(Léo Ferré chante L'Albatros)
(video by bredouilleSKB)

Sometimes for sport the men of loafing crews
Snare the great albatrosses of the deep,
The indolent companions of their cruise
As through the bitter vastitudes they sweep.

Scarce have they fished aboard these airy kings
When helpless on such unaccustomed floors,
They piteously droop their huge white wings
And trail them at their sides like drifting oars.

How comical, how ugly, and how meek
Appears this soarer of celestial snows!
One, with his pipe, teases the golden beak,
One, limping, mocks the cripple as he goes.

The Poet, like this monarch of the clouds,
Despising archers, rides the storm elate.
But, stranded on the earth to jeering crowds,
The great wings of the giant baulk his gait.

— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)

(L'Albatros - Une Interpretation Visuelle)
with Thomas Vande Castele and Yann Vanhalewin
(video by Yannie penguin)

Sometimes, to entertain themselves, the men of the crew
Lure upon deck an unlucky albatross, one of those vast
Birds of the sea that follow unwearied the voyage through,
Flying in slow and elegant circles above the mast.

No sooner have they disentangled him from their nets
Than this aerial colossus, shorn of his pride,
Goes hobbling pitiably across the planks and lets
His great wings hang like heavy, useless oars at his side.

How droll is the poor floundering creature, how limp and weak —
He, but a moment past so lordly, flying in state!
They tease him: One of them tries to stick a pipe in his beak;
Another mimics with laughter his odd lurching gait.

The Poet is like that wild inheritor of the cloud,
A rider of storms, above the range of arrows and slings;
Exiled on earth, at bay amid the jeering crowd,
He cannot walk for his unmanageable wings.

— George Dillon, Flowers of Evil (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)

(video by mocasaki)

Often our sailors, for an hour of fun,
Catch albatrosses on the after breeze
Through which these trail the ship from sun to sun
As it skims down the deep and briny seas.

Scarce have these birds been set upon the poop,
Than, awkward now, they, the sky's emperors,
Piteous and shamed, let their great white wings droop
Beside them like a pair of idle oars.

These wingèd voyagers, how gauche their gait!
Once noble, now how ludicrous to view!
One sailor bums them with his pipe, his mate
Limps, mimicking these cripples who once flew.

Poets are like these lords of sky and cloud,
Who ride the storm and mock the bow's taut strings,
Exiled on earth amid a jeering crowd,
Prisoned and palsied by their giant wings.

— Jacques LeClercq, Flowers of Evil (Mt Vernon, NY: Peter Pauper Press, 1958)

(Poème interprété librement)
(video by Bakou Zaka)

Often, to amuse themselves, the men of the crew
Catch those great birds of the seas, the albatrosses,
lazy companions of the voyage, who follow
The ship that slips through bitter gulfs.

Hardly have they put them on the deck,
Than these kings of the skies, awkward and ashamed,
Piteously let their great white wings
Draggle like oars beside them.

This winged traveler, how weak he becomes and slack!
He who of late was so beautiful, how comical and ugly!
Someone teases his beak with a branding iron,
Another mimics, limping, the crippled flyer!

The Poet is like the prince of the clouds,
Haunting the tempest and laughing at the archer;
Exiled on earth amongst the shouting people,
His giant's wings hinder him from walking.

— Geoffrey Wagner, Selected Poems of Charles Baudelaire (NY: Grove Press, 1974)

(video by jaidumalachanter)

And here are two Romanian versions: the renderings of Alexandru Philippide and Tudor Arghezi. Gorgeous verses! Look at mari pasari calatorind pe mare and pasari tacute ale marii! At corabia pornita pe valurile-amare and corabiile duse de razvratirea marii! And the poet, Printul dintre nori!

Albatrosul

Din joaca, marinarii pe bord, din cand in candc
Prind albatrosi, mari pasari calatorind pe mare
Care-nsotesc, tovarasi de drum cu zborul bland
Corabia pornita pe valurile-amare.

Pe punte jos ei care sus in azur sunt regi
Acuma par fiinte stangace si sfiioase
Si-aripile lor albe si mari le lasa, blegi
Ca niste vasle grele s-atarne caraghioase

Cat de greoi se misca drumetul cu aripe!
Frumos candva, acuma ce slut e si plapand
Unu-i loveste pliscul cu gatul unei pipe
Si altul fara mila il stramba schiopatand.

Poetul e asemeni cu printul vastei zari
Ce-si rade de sageata si prin furtuni alearga
Jos pe pamant si printre batjocuri si ocari
Aripele-i imense l-impiedica sa mearga.

- Alexandru Philippide, in Florile Raului - editie bilingva alcatuita de Geo Dumitrescu (Bucuresti: Editura pentru Literatura Universala, 1968)

1880's wood engraving by Specht and Closs
http://mogolospolemistisvalkaniosagrotis.blogspot.com/2008/09/v.html

Ca sa se joace uneori unii marinari
Prind albatrosii, pasari tacute ale marii,
Care-nsotesc de-aproape, ca niste steaguri mari,
Corabiile duse de razvratirea marii.

Abia lasati din brate pe scanduri, sub catarg,
Acestor soimi puternici ai marelui azur
Incep sa le atarne, ca un vestmant prea lard,
Aripile greoaie, din umeri, imprejur.

Infuntatorul boltii e-acum stangaci si sui.
Semet pin'adineauri, viteazul s-a prostit.
Glumind, un om ii vara in cioc luleaua lui
Ori il maimutareste cu mersul izmenit.

Asemeni e poetul cu Printul dintre nori.
Stapan peste furtuna, prapastie si vant,
E-mpiedicat sa mearga, hulit de muritori,
Cand aripile-i vaste l-arunca de pamant.

- Tudor Arghezi, in Florile Raului - editie bilingva alcatuita de Geo Dumitrescu (Bucuresti: Editura pentru Literatura Universala, 1968)

(Baudelaire)

Intalniri neasteptate cu Romani - Tudor Arghezi

Cel ce gandeste singur si scormone lumina
A dat o viata noua si-um om de fier, masina,
Fiinta zamislita cu gandul si visarea,
Neinchipuit mai tare ca bratul si spinarea.
Cu ea brazdezi pamantul in lung si lat si sameni,
Si una tine locul la mii de mii de oameni
Topitorii, cuptoare, mori, puturi, fierastraie,
O sarma de lumina, o teava valvataie,
O lampa duce graiul si da-n vazduhuri vesti
Ca omul zamisleste puterea din povesti
Se face departarea mai scurta decat pasul
La mii de posti s-aude si se cunoaste glasul.
Vorbesti cu fundul lumii, la tine, din odaie
Secunda-ntrece veacul si timpul se-ncovoaie:
Pe-o sfoara cat e firul de par si se agata
Vecia, nesfarsitul, pe un crampei de ata.


Se-nalta slabul, omul, pe aripi in Ţarii
Si-aduce de acolo noi legi si marturii.
Iata-l, scoboara-n hauri cu coiful lui rotund
Si racaie oceanele pe fund,
El trece prin valvoare, prin cremene si gheata,
Pornise de cu seara, sa-ntors de dimineata,
Si nu l-a ars dogoarea, nu l-a-mpietrit nici gerul,
E tara lui pamantul si l-a-mpletit cu cerul.
Si-aprinde langa Arges, luleaua, si vapaia
Din pipa inca-i arde, ajuns pe Himalaia,
Si painea coapta-acasa, intr-un cuptor domol,
I-o gusta pinguinii tot proaspata, la Pol,
Si, in sfarsit, urmasul lui Prometeu, el, omul,
A prins si taina mare, a tainelor, atomul.
El poate omenirea, in cateva secunde,
S-o-ntinereasca noua pe veci, ori s-o scufunde.

E timpul, sluga veche si robul celui rau,
Tu, omule si frate, sa-ti fii stapanul tau.

Este poemul cu care Tudor Arghezi isi incepe Cantare Omului. Mi-a placut mult poezia lui Arghezi, iar acest imn inchinat celui ce gandeste singur mi-a ramas inscris in micul florilegiu de stihuri pe care nu le-am uitat niciodata, alaturi de alte versuri, ale lui Eminescu, ale lui Alecsandri, ale lui Cosbuc, ale lui Blaga, ale lui Barbu, ale lui Bacovia, ale lui Toparceanu, ale lui Minulescu... Si de alte versuri, tot argheziene, cu care el isi incepea Cuvintele Potrivite:

Nu-ti voi lasa drept urme, dupa moarte,
Decat un nume, adunat pe-o carte...

Anii au trecut peste versurile pe care le-am deprins in liceu, le-am purtat cu mine in gand pe unde m-a dus viata, uneori cand mi-a fost mai greu, amintirea lor m-a ajutat.

Dar anii mai sterg din prospetime, si incepi sa mai uiti. Uitasem cateva versuri din poemul arghezian, il incepeam in minte, ma poticneam pe undeva pe la mijloc. Si ma durea, ca o rana.

Am intrebat astazi cativa prieteni, daca stiu unde as putea gasi pe web versurile. Doamna Edelina Stoian a avut generozitatea sa imi raspunda aproape pe loc, indicandu-mi adresa de pe site-ul Agonia unde am gasit versurile. In acelasi timp cu Edelina mi-a raspuns si domnul Adrian Boldan, aBeul cum ne place sa il alintam intre prieteni. Amandurora, Edelinei si aBeului le inchin versurile cu care Arghezi continua dupa numele adunat pe-o carte:

In seara razvratita care vine
De la strabunii mei pana la tine,
Prin rapi si gropi adanci,
Suite de batranii mei pe branci,
Si care, tanar, sa le urci te-asteapta,
Cartea mea-i, fiule, o treapta.

si apoi:

Aseaz-o cu credinta capatai.
Ea e hrisovul vostru cel dintai,
Al robilor cu saricile, pline
De osemintele varsate-n mine.

Ca sa schimbam, acum, intaia oara,
Sapa-n condei si brazda-n calimara,
Batranii-au adunat, printre plavani,
Sudoarea muncii sutelor de ani.
Din graiul lor cu-ndemnuri pentru vite
Eu am ivit cuvinte potrivite
Si leagane urmasilor stapani.
Si, framantate mii de saptamani,
Le-am prefacut in versuri si-n icoane.
Facui din zdrente muguri si coroane.
Veninul strans l-am preschimbat in miere,
Lasand intreaga dulcea lui putere.
Am luat ocara, si torcand usure
Am pus-o cand sa-mbie cand sa-njure.
Am luat cenusa mortilor din vatra
Si am facut-o Dumnezeu de piatra,
Hotar inalt, cu doua lumi pe poale,
Pazind in piscul datoriei tale.
Durerea noastra surda si amara
O gramadii pe-o singura vioara,
Pe care ascultand-o a jucat
Stapanul, ca un tap injunghiat.
Din bube, mucegaiuri si noroi
Iscat-am frumuseti si preturi noi.
Biciul rabdat se-ntoarce in cuvinte
Si izbaveste-ncet pedepsitor
Odrasla vie-a crimei tuturor.
E-ndreptatirea ramurei obscure
Iesita la lumina din padure
Si dand in varf, ca un ciorchin de negi,
Rodul durerii de vecii intregi.
Intinsa lenese pe canapea
Domnita sufera in cartea mea.
Slova de foc si slova faurita
Imparechiate-n carte se marita,
Ca fierul cald imbratisat in cleste.
Robul a scris-o, Domnul o citeste,
Far-a cunoaste ca-n adancul ei
Zace mania bunilor mei.

(Intalniri neasteptate cu Romani)