Monday, May 19, 2008

Mallarmé for Babies

Yesterday, while in my basement study, my son (he's one) pulled from the shelf and brought over to me, with an eager look in his eye, a collection of poems by Mallarmé. I opened it and read to him,


To bring myself into your tale
is as a hero much afraid
if he has touched with naked heel
any grass-plot of that glade

Ravisher of glaciers I
know no artless sin that after
hindering you'll not deny
its very loud victorious laughter

And am I not joyous, say,
thunder and rubies to the naves
to see in the air pierced by fire

among realms scattered and afar
as in a crimson death the wheel
of my chariots' only vesperal.

No comments:

Post a Comment