It Rains in My Heart

It rains in my heart
as on town and on mart,
pours down longings that start
to reign in my heart!

Oh soft ringing of rain
poured on earth, eave and pane, -
for poor heart feeling pain, -
oh the ringing of rain!

It rains without reason
in hurt heart fears have lease on.
What? - no season for treason?
Do I grieve without reason?

What most hurts me, I wait
‘Why’ not knowing, sad fate,
without love, without hate, ...
On my heart lies deadweight!

poem by Paul Verlaine, translated by Jonathan Robin
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Streets

Let's dance the jig!

Above all else I loved her eyes,
More clear than stars of cloudless skies,
And arch and mischievous and wise.

Let's dance the jig!

So skilfully would she proceed
To make a lover's bare heart bleed,
That it was beautiful indeed!

Let's dance the jig!

But keenlier have I relished
The kisses of her mouth so red
Since to my heart she has been dead.

Let's dance the jig!

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Verlaine
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Greenly

I bring, with true heart bursting just for you,
Sweet friend these branches, flowers, fruit and leaves,
And hope when white hand humble gift receives,
Beauty’s eyes will bless, not break in two.

Entering, my forehead drenched with dew
Left by dawn winds, I’d learn that love relieves.
Let my fatigue, which at thy feet here grieves,
Enchanted dream these worries two’ll eschew.

May my head on your youthful breast renew
Emotions that each kiss forever leaves,
Yet may it calm find ‘spite the storm that heaves
Now deep within, - to sleep, at rest with you

poem by Paul Verlaine, translated by Jonathan Robin
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A Poor Young Shepherd

Of a kiss I’m afraid
as of bees in the skies,
I suffer, I wake,
and no rest may find, take: -
of a kiss I’m afraid!

Yet I love Kate, my maid,
and her beautiful eyes,
with her delicate air
white and slender, so fair:
how I love Kate, my maid!

‘Tis St. Valentine’s Day -
I dare not, though I try
my promise to make: -
what a dreadful mistake
is St. Valentine’s Day.

She is sworn, the vow’s made, -
what a joy Life supplies!

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Verlaine, translated by Jonathan Robin
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My Familiar Dream

I often have some strange and striking dreams
about an unknown girl, of love we share,
each time the same, each time a different air
about her swirls, who understands it seems.

She loves and understands me, from her beams
a crystal pure dismissing strife and care.
She, only, eases heart-ache and despair,
soothing pain with tears’ refreshing streams.

She’s blond, brunette, reflecting russet gleams?
I know not, nor her name and voice though fair
and sounding-soft if feels, far off I swear,
like loved ones Life has banished from its schemes.

A statue’s sightless stare, the look she gave.
Voice, - still echo of friends in the grave.

poem by Paul Verlaine, translated by Jonathan Robin
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Free Verse

I admire all the aims of Free Verse,
‘tis explicit in all that I do
in shaping the stress to converse
with a rhyme-scheme restricted to two.

That I stay with this number is true, -
a linguistic abuse, maybe worse,
how it weighs and encumbers the view! -
but French art needs its aid, though perverse.

Else the Muse would be dumb to a curse,
for to accent, the lingo’s deaf too, -
though what can one do? All’s averse
to fantasy rhyme calls on cue!

May Free Verse’s aims bring joy unto
the young sparks who chance meanings coerce -
whose mental gymnastics’ fun value
is the fire to inspire hopes they’d nurse.

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Verlaine, translated by Jonathan Robin
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