I
Any solitude
without a swan or quai
mirrors its disuse
in the gaze I abdicate
Far from that pride’s excess
too high to enfold
in which many a sky paints itself
with the twilight’s gold
But languorously flows beside
like white linen laid aside
such fleeting birds as dive
exultantly at my side
Into the wave made you
your exultation nude.
II
Unconquerably there must
as my hope hurls itself free
burst on high and be lost
in silence and in fury
A voice alien to the wood
or followed by no echo,
the bird one never could
hear again in this life below.
The wild musician,
the one that in doubt expires
as to whether from his breast or mine
has spurted the sob more dire
Torn apart may it complete
find rest on some path beneath!
Stephane Mallarmé (1842-1898), Poésies, Brussels, Deman.
Cover: Prada Foundation, detail (Haunted House), ph. D. Marrone