The Ulyssean Adult

Since Shade Relents

L'AMOUR PAR TERRE

The wind the other night blew down the Love

That in the dimmest corner of the park

So subtly used to smile, bending his arc,

And sight of whom did us so deeply move

One day! The other night's wind blew him down!

The marble dust whirls in the morning breeze.

Oh, sad to view, o'erblotted by the trees,

There on the base, the name of great renown!

Oh, sad to view the empty pedestal!

And melancholy fancies come and go

Across my dream, whereon a day of woe

Foreshadowed is--I know what will befall!

Oh, sad!--And you are saddened also, Sweet,

Are not you, by this scene? although your eye

Pursues the gold and purple butterfly

That flutters o'er the wreck strewn at our feet.

P. Verlaine

COLLOQUE SENTIMENTAL

In the deserted park, silent and vast,

Erewhile two shadowy glimmering figures passed.

Their lips were colorless, and dead their eyes;

Their words were scarce more audible than sighs.

In the deserted park, silent and vast,

Two spectres conjured up the buried past.

"Our ancient ecstasy, do you recall?"

"Why, pray, should I remember it at all?"

"Does still your heart at mention of me glow?

Do still you see my soul in slumber?" "No!"

"Ah, blessed, blissful days when our lips met!

You loved me so!" "Quite likely,--I forget."

"How sweet was hope, the sky how blue and fair!"

"The sky grew black, the hope became despair."

Thus walked they 'mid the frozen weeds, these dead,

And Night alone o'erheard the things they said.

P. Verlaine

SINCE SHADE RELENTS

Since shade relents, since 'tis indeed the day,

Since hope I long had deemed forever flown,

Wings back to me that call on her and pray,

Since so much joy consents to be my own,--

The dark designs all I relinquish here,

And all the evil dreams. Ah, done am I

Above all with the narrowed lips, the sneer,

The heartless wit that laughed where one should sigh.

Away, clenched fist and bosom's angry swell,

That knave and fool at every turn abound.

Away, hard unforgivingness! Farewell,

Oblivion in a hated brewage found!

For I mean, now a Being of the Morn

Has shed across my night excelling rays

Of love at once immortal and newborn,--

By favor of her smile, her glance, her grace,

I mean by you upheld, O gentle hand,

Wherein mine trembles,--led, sweet eyes, by you,

To walk straight, lie the path o'er mossy land

Or barren waste that rocks and pebbles strew.

Yes, calm I mean to walk through life, and straight,

Patient of all, unanxious of the goal,

Void of all envy, violence, or hate

It shall be duty done with cheerful soul.

And as I may, to lighten the long way,

Go singing airs ingenuous and brave,

She'll listen to me graciously, I say,--

And, verily, no other heaven I crave.

P. Verlaine

Los heraldos negros

Black Messengers

There are in life such hard blows . . . I don't know! Blows seemingly from God's wrath; as if before them the undertow of all our sufferings is embedded in our souls . . . I don't know! There are few; but are . . . opening dark furrows in the fiercest of faces and the strongest of loins, They are perhaps the colts of barbaric Attilas or the dark heralds Death sends us. They are the deep falls of the Christ of the soul, of some adorable one that Destiny Blasphemes. Those bloody blows are the crepitation of some bread getting burned on us by the oven's door And the man . . . poor . . . poor! He turns his eyes around, like when patting calls us upon our shoulder; he turns his crazed maddened eyes, and all of life's experiences become stagnant, like a puddle of guilt, in a daze. There are such hard blows in life. I don't know C. Vallejo

Black Stone on Top of a White Stone I shall die in Paris, in a rainstorm, On a day I already remember. I shall die in Paris-- it does not bother me-- Doubtless on a Thursday, like today, in autumn. It shall be a Thursday, because today, Thursday As I put down these lines, I have set my shoulders To the evil. Never like today have I turned, And headed my whole journey to the ways where I am alone. César Vallejo is dead. They struck him, All of them, though he did nothing to them, They hit him hard with a stick and hard also With the end of a rope. Witnesses are: the Thursdays, The shoulder bones, the loneliness, the rain, and the roads... C. Vallejo

Beware of Darkness

In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice

"All, all is theft, all is unceasing and rigorous competition in nature; the desire to make off with the substance of others is the foremost - the most legitimate - passion nature has bred into us and, without doubt, the most agreeable one."

"How delightful are the pleasures of the imagination! In those delectable moments, the whole world is ours; not a single creature resists us, we devastate the world, we repopulate it with new objects which, in turn, we immolate. The means to every crime is ours, and we employ them all, we multiply the horror a hundredfold."

"Beauty belongs to the sphere of the simple, the ordinary, whilst ugliness is something extraordinary, and there is no question but that every ardent imagination prefers in lubricity, the extraordinary to the commonplace"

"Either kill me or take me as I am, because I'll be damned if I ever change."

death comes ripping

The Punishment of Lust & Luxury

Adrian Ghenie