For Helen, ornamental saps conspired in the virgin shadows, and impassive brightnesses in the astral silence. The summer heat was bestowed to mute birds, and the requisite indolence to a priceless funeral barque sailing across bays of dead loves and sunken perfumes.
– After the moment of the women woodcutters’ song accompanied by the rumbling of the torrent amid the ruined woods, of the tinkling of cattle bells echoed by the valleys, and of the screams from the steppes. –
For Helen’s childhood, the thickets and shadows shook, – and the breasts of the poor, and the fairy tales of the sky.
And her eyes and her dance, superior even to the glinting of precious stones, to the cold influences, to the pleasure of the unique setting and hour.
Note : These translations of Les Illuminations by Robert Yates will eventually be appearing in book form. Mr. Yates will be reading some of his translations and talking about Rimbaud at the Poetry Cafe, 22 Betterton Street, Covent Garden, on April 25th (see Events and Meetings on the website www.poetryintranslation.org . S.H.
