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different translation

La Beauté

Je suis belle, ô mortels! comme un rêve de pierre,
Et mon sein, où chacun s'est meurtri tour à tour,
Est fait pour inspirer au poète un amour
Eternel et muet ainsi que la matière.

Je trône dans l'azur comme un sphinx incompris;
J'unis un coeur de neige à la blancheur des cygnes;
Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes,
Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.

Les poètes, devant mes grandes attitudes,
Que j'ai l'air d'emprunter aux plus fiers monuments,
Consumeront leurs jours en d'austères études;

Car j'ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants,
De purs miroirs qui font toutes choses plus belles:
Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartés éternelles!

— Charles Baudelaire

Beauty

I am fair, O mortals! like a dream carved in stone,
And my breast where each one in turn has bruised himself
Is made to inspire in the poet a love
As eternal and silent as matter.

On a throne in the sky, a mysterious sphinx,
I join a heart of snow to the whiteness of swans;
I hate movement for it displaces lines,
And never do I weep and never do I laugh.

Poets, before my grandiose poses,
Which I seem to assume from the proudest statues,
Will consume their lives in austere study;

For I have, to enchant those submissive lovers,
Pure mirrors that make all things more beautiful:
My eyes, my large, wide eyes of eternal brightness!

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

Beauty

I'm fair, O mortals, as a dream of stone;
My breasts whereon, in turn, your wrecks you shatter,
Were made to wake in poets' hearts alone
A love as indestructible as matter.

A sky-throned sphinx, unknown yet, I combine
The cygnet's whiteness with a heart of snow.
I loathe all movement that displaces line,
And neither tears nor laughter do I know.

Poets before my postures, which I seem
To learn from masterpieces, love to dream
And there in austere thought consume their days.

I have, these docile lovers to subject,
Mirrors that glorify all they reflect —
These eyes, great eyes, eternal in their blaze!

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

La Beauté

fair as a dream in stone I loom afar
— mortals! — with dazzling breast where, bruised in turn
all poets fall in silence, doomed to burn
with love eternal as the atoms are.

white as a swan I throne with heart of snow
in azure space, a sphynx that none divine,
no hateful motion mars my lovely line,
nor tears nor laughter shall I ever know.

and poets, lured by this magnificence
— this grandeur proud as Parian monuments —
toil all their days like martyrs in a spell;

lovers bewitched are they, for I possess
pure mirrors harbouring worlds of loveliness:
my wide, wide eyes where fires eternal dwell!

— Lewis Piaget Shanks, Flowers of Evil (New York: Ives Washburn, 1931)

source -> http://fleursdumal.org/

lyric, the beauty

La Beauté

par Charles Baudelaire

Je suis belle, ô mortels! comme un rêve de pierre,

Et mon sein, où chacun s’est meurtri tour à tour,

Est fait pour inspirer au poète un amour

Eternel et muet ainsi que la matière.

Je trône dans l’azur comme un sphinx incompris;

J’unis un coeur de neige à la blancheur des cygnes;

Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes,

Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.

Les poètes, devant mes grandes attitudes,

Que j’ai l’air d’emprunter aux plus fiers monuments,

Consumeront leurs jours en d’austères études;

Car j’ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants,

De purs miroirs qui font toutes choses plus belles:

Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartés éternelles!

The beauty

I am beautiful, oh mortals!

Like a dream made of stone(eternal, not change),

and my heart, where each got hurt at each turn,

is to inspire the poet a love as eternal and as silent as the matter.

I sit enthroned in the sky as a misunderstood Sphinx;

I join a heart made of snow to the whiteness of the swans;

I hate the movement which moves the lines,

and never do I cry, never do I laugh.

The poets, facing my great airs,

that I seem to borrow from the most proud monuments,

will burn their days with hard studies;

Because I have, to fascinate these docile lovers(the poets),

the pure mirrors which make everything more beautiful:

My eyes, my grand eyes eternal clarity!

texte & photo

The lawn in front of Sorin's house.

The House stands in the background, on a broad terrace.

The lake, brightly reflecting the rays of the sun, lies to the left.

There are flowerbeds here and there.

It is noon ; the day is hot.

Arkadina, Dorn, and Masha are sitting on a bench on the lawn,

in the shade of an old linden.

An open book is lying on Dorn's knees.

ACT two/The seagull by Anton Chekov

typography poster

tabouret

workshop

terasse-structure

le cirque de Calder

Paul auster

senario