Post by Amanda on Aug 10, 2004 15:54:52 GMT -5
Here it is the official translation of La Beatrice straight out of the BOOK, Les Fleurs du Mal.
Eveb She Who Was Called Beatrice BY Many Who Knew Not Wherefore.
Wandering a wasteland at high noon where only ashes echoed my lament to leafless nature, whetting as I went the dagger of my mind against my heart, I saw a dismal stormcloud bearing down upon my head,bristling with vicious imps as cruel as they were inquisitive. Coldly they began to stare, the way people with nothing better to do will mock and marvel at a madman, these would laufg, nudging eachother and exchanging winks, and whisper (loud enough for me to hear):
'Take a good look at rhis caricature of Hamlet or-with his dishevelled hair, his indecisive gaze- of Hamlet's ghost! Who could keep from laufging at this sight - this shabby aesthete, this artistic sham, this ham, this clamorus comedian who knowing his abracadabra iinside out attempts to interest eageles (crickets too) even flowers and fountains in his ranted woes reciting his routin eat the top of his lungs to us as well, who hatched the whole damned thing'
I might (my pride is mountainous-a match for clouds and crowds of demons and their jeers) have simply turned away and wandered, had I not seen among that nasty crew- nor was the sun unsettled by this crime- the queen of my heart (I recognized those eyes) laughing at my pain with alll the rest and giving them now and then a filthy kis.
Eveb She Who Was Called Beatrice BY Many Who Knew Not Wherefore.
Wandering a wasteland at high noon where only ashes echoed my lament to leafless nature, whetting as I went the dagger of my mind against my heart, I saw a dismal stormcloud bearing down upon my head,bristling with vicious imps as cruel as they were inquisitive. Coldly they began to stare, the way people with nothing better to do will mock and marvel at a madman, these would laufg, nudging eachother and exchanging winks, and whisper (loud enough for me to hear):
'Take a good look at rhis caricature of Hamlet or-with his dishevelled hair, his indecisive gaze- of Hamlet's ghost! Who could keep from laufging at this sight - this shabby aesthete, this artistic sham, this ham, this clamorus comedian who knowing his abracadabra iinside out attempts to interest eageles (crickets too) even flowers and fountains in his ranted woes reciting his routin eat the top of his lungs to us as well, who hatched the whole damned thing'
I might (my pride is mountainous-a match for clouds and crowds of demons and their jeers) have simply turned away and wandered, had I not seen among that nasty crew- nor was the sun unsettled by this crime- the queen of my heart (I recognized those eyes) laughing at my pain with alll the rest and giving them now and then a filthy kis.
