Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Translation Trashbin - 14. Il Pleure dans Mon Coeur
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Three Translations of:
Il Pleure dans Mon Coeur[1]
By Paul Verlaine
Il Pleure dans Mon Coeur
Il pleut doucement sur la ville.
Arthur Rimbaud
Il pleure dans mon cœur
Comme il pleut sur la ville;
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénètre mon cœur?
O bruit doux de la pluie,
Par terre et sur les toits!
Pour un cœur qui s'ennuie,
O le chant de la pluie!
Il pleure sans raison
Dans ce cœur qui s'écœure.
Quoi! nulle trahison?...
Ce deuil est sans raison.
C'est bien la pire peine,
De ne savoir pourquoi
Sans amour et sans haine
Mon cœur a tant de peine!
Variation One:
He Rains in My Heart[2]
He rains sweetly over the town.
Arthur Rimbaud
He rains in my heart
how it rains on the town;
what is this languor
that penetrates my heart?
Oh, soft sound of the rain
for earth and on the roofs;
for a heart’s that pained –
Oh, the song of the rain.
He rains without reason
in this heart that’s heartbroken.
What! None betrayed?
This sorrow’s without reason.
His beauty is the physical pain
which to realize is why,
without love or without hate,
my heart is all but pain.
Variation Two:
He Squalls in My Heart
He softly pours all over the town.
Arthur Rimbaud
He squalls in my heart
Like it pours on the town;
How does this languor start
Which penetrates my heart?
O clatter of the rain
On parched ground and roof tiles!
For a listless heart in wane,
O this chanting of the rain!
He storms for no reason
In this heart that is scorning.
What! No treason?
This mourning's without reason.
That thought is the most painful,
not to even have a 'why',
Not for love, not for the hateful,
Does my heart feel so painful.
Variation Three:
These Two are Alike
He rains softly all around the city.
Arthur Rimbaud
These two are alike – in my heart he cries –
like rain washing the city amongst sighs;
yet they both instill the purely listless
in a heart against itself prone to lies.
Oh, soft sound of the rain most aimless,
your fall on the ground and roof drums pointless
to the heartbeats born seemingly in treason
when songs of tearful rain seem meaningless.
In me, cacophony has no season,
no raison d’être for my heart’s lesion,
and the what and wherefores at straws might clutch
before I understand my own reason.
It’s that thought which lays the most damning touch,
For with him, I never have cause as such,
As his love and hate like rain never dies,
Beating through my ears that my heart hurts so much.
- 7
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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