Verlaine's NRF editor describes the posthumous volume in which this poem was published, Invectives, as "assez regrettable".


I make these verses as one walks straight ahead
—Not dawdling, not strolling, not distracted by things
On the road, shadows or suns, roses or stings—
Toward a precise goal, knowing why at best!

I adore, too, something vague, not to the soul,
Bone Deus! but in words, and said as much—
And I am not opposed to a little touch
Of flowerets round a style or a girl.

Nevertheless—as now—I have my practical
Moments, serious if you like, when ire fiercest,
Righteous really, really unrighteous at worst,
Springs from me for a banquet full of gusto.

Such a banquet, I'd cover a thousand miles
At the prospect and eat with my fingers even,
Gluttonous and filthy, not tasting or distinguishing.
I inaugurate today that ribbon of tails,

With the idea of treating myself to churl and doctor,
Ass or ne'er-do-well, whore or homebody, eats;
Intoxicating blood, really appetizing meats...
—Above all don't excuse the faults of the author!



tr. C.M.

[This message has been edited by Christopher Mulrooney (edited February 12, 2001).]