LE CLOWN	THE CLOWN
Paul Verlaine	trans. James Kirkup
À Laurent Tailhade Bobèche, adieu! bonsoir, Paillasse! arrière, Gille! Place, bouffons vieillis, au parfait plaisantin, Place! très grave, très discret et très hautain, Voici venir le maître à tous, le clown agile Plus souple qu'Arlequin et plus brave qu'Achille, C'est bien lui, dans sa blanche armure de satin; Vides et clairs ainsi que des miroirs sans tain, Ses yeux ne vivent pas dans son masque d'argile. Ils luisent bleus parmi le fard et les onguents, Cependant que la tête et le buste, élégants, Se balancent sur l'arc paradoxal des jambes. Puis il sourit. Autour le peuple bête et laid, La canaille puante et sainte des Iambes Acclame l'histrion sinistre qui la hait.	for Laurent Tailhade Out of the way, Grock! Start packing, Punchinello! Get lost, Marx Brothers! You old buffoons, make way now for the perfect fool, most grave, most courteous, most proud! Here comes the lord of them all, that agile clown who’s more supple than Harlequin and braver than Achilles! He’s really here, armoured in snow-white satin, blank and brilliant as a spotless silvered mirror - his eyes hardly seem to be alive in the mask of clay that is his face - they gleam bright blue among all the paint and the powder, with his elegant figure’s head and shoulders poised on the paradoxical arcade of his legs ... Then, he smiles! People all round, stupid, ugly, the stinking hoi-polloi with their holier-than-thou iambics acclaiming him now - sinister historian whose hatred damns them to hell!

Trans. copyright © James Kirkup 2003

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