pfrimhon

HONTE	SHAME
Arthur Rimbaud	prose trans. Oliver Bernard
Tant que la lame n'aura Pas coupé cette cervelle, Ce paquet blanc, vert et gras, À vapeur jamais nouvelle, (Ah! Lui, devrait couper son Nez, sa lèvre, ses oreilles, Son ventre! et faire abandon De ses jambes! ô merveille!) Mais, non; vrai, je crois que tant Que pour sa tête la lame, Que les cailloux pour son flanc, Que pour ses boyaux la flamme, N'auront pas agi, l'enfant Gêneur, la si sotte bête, Ne doit cesser un instant De ruser et d'être traītre, Comme un chat des Monts-Rocheux, D'empuantir toutes sphères! Qu'à sa mort pourtant, ô mon Dieu! S'élève quelque prière!	So long as the blade has not cut off that brain, that white, green, fatty parcel, whose steam is never fresh, (Ah! he should cut off his nose, his lips, his ears, his belly! and abandon his legs! Oh what a marvel!) But no; truly, I believe that so long as the blade to his head, and the stones to his side, and the flame to his guts, have not done execution, the tiresome child, the so stupid animal, must never for an instant cease to cheat and betray, and like a Rocky Mountain cat to make all places stink! But still, when he dies, O my God! may there rise up some prayer!

Click here 2 for another translation of this poem.