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Tristan Corbière
Épitaphe
Mêlange adultère de tout:
De la fortune et pas le sou,
De l’énergie et pas de force,
La Liberté, mais une entorse.
Du coeur, du coeur! de l’âme, non--
Des amis, pas un compagnon,
De l’idée et pas une idée,
De l’amour et pas une aimée,
La paresse et pas le repos.
Vertus chez lui furent défaut,
Ame blasée inassouvie.
Mort, mais pas guéri de la vie,
Gâcheur de vie hors de propos,
Le corps à sec et la tête ivre,
Espérant, niant l’avenir,
Il mourut en s’attendant vivre
Et vécut s’attendant mourir.
Translation by Walter McElroy
EPITAPH
Mongrel bred of every strain:
Born to wealth, not a cent to his name,
Energy enough but strength lacking,
Free to move, but with a foot dragging.
A heart, what a heart! but spirit, none--
Plenty of friends, not one companion,
Full of ideals but of ideas, empty,
Of love but unloved by anybody,
Idleness always and neveer rest.
Virtues in him became defects;
Sated, still he was unsatisfied.
Not yet cured of life when he died,
Wasting his life to no good end,
Body dried out and head aswim,
Hoping, but every hope denied,
He died in readiness to live
And lived in readiness to die.
