The Albatross
Charles Baudelaire has been one of my favourite poets since my teenage years. He was sometimes called “Le Poète Maudit”, The Damned Poet. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and spent a life of idleness, indulging in some literary activities, writing poetry, essays and criticism. He led a dissolute life, indulging in opium and alcohol, and sexual orgies. But he was devoted to his Haitian lover Jeanne Duval, with whom he stayed, on and off for twenty
years. She inspired many of his poems. Since she is much prettier than the poète maudit, I have chosen to include Manet’s portrait of Jeanne here.
A few years ago, a good friend, Barry E, who was an unrecognised poet died young, and in his honour I translated Baudelaire’s poem L’Albatros.
L’Albatros
Souvent pour s’amuser les hommes d’equipage
Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers
Qui suivent, indolents compagnons de voyage,
Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.
A peine les ont-ils deposes sur les planches
Que ces rois de l’azur, maladroits et honteux,
Laissent piteusement leurs grandes ailes blanches
Comme des avirons trainer a cote d’eux.
Ce voyageur aile, comme il est gauche et veule!
Lui, naguère si beau, qu’il est comique et laid!
L’un agace son bec avec un brule-guêle,
L’autre mime, en boitant, l’infirme qui volait!
Le poète est semblable au prince des nuees
Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l’archer;
Exile sur le sol au milieu des huées,
Ses ailes de geant l’empêchent de marcher.
***
I append a translation in English I made in Barry’s memory.
The Albatross
Often for fun the crew would trap and tease
Those big majestic birds of the seas
Which follow, lethargic companions
The ship gliding along the bitter watery canyons.
Hardly has one been forced to land on the poop
Than this king of the skies, now a clumsy and shameful boob
Lets down its great white wings piteously
And watches them drift along langourously.
This winged voyager, how gauche, how pitiful
Once so regal, now comical, even distasteful.
Someone prods its beak with a hot poker
Another limps away mimicking the frustrated flyer.
The poet is like this prince of the skies
Which brave tempests and the archer defies
Grounded on earth amid jeers and jests
His giant’s wings get him in a mess.
