Aurora by Paul Valéry, Translated by Rachel Hadas
PN Review 74, July - August 1990
Aurora
Confusion and gloom,
My versions of repose,
Dissipate as the room
Is touched with dawn's first rose.
Endowed with new control,
I straighten up my soul
And I begin to pray.
Barely emerged from depths
Of sleep, courageous steps
Move toward the light of day.
Hail! I salute you, twin
Similitudes, who each -
Smiling, asleep, akin -
Shine out from common speech
And who contain all these
Sounds like a hive of bees
While tremblingly I hold
Onto the lowest end
And cautiously ascend
A ladder of pure gold.
How dawn's illumination
Awakens drowsy groups,
Enlivening with motion
What slumbered as mere shapes!
Some scintillate, some yawn.
Vague fingers stray along
A comb, mother of pearl,
Barely emerged from dreams,
Whose lazy mistress seems
To link it with this world.
Soulful ideas at play,
I've caught you at it now!
What did you do till day
To fend off your ennui?
They answer: "We're forever
Benign. Our presence never
Has betrayed your house.
Not leaving you alone,
We secret spiders spin
Webs in your dwelling place.
Are you not drunk with joy
To see what we have wrought?
Silk suns unnumbered we
Have woven on your thought.
See how we stretch the weft
Over your gloomy cleft,
And with such simple strands
Catch innocent creation
In our reticulation
Of gently trembling bonds."
Their cobwebs' subtle clinging
I break, and go to find
Oracles for my singing
In the forest of my mind.
The universe decrees
That every soul should seize
The height of its desire,
Heeding the faintest sigh;
Lips parted, even I
Sense shudderings in the air.
My shady vineyards here,
Cradles of every chance -
How many forms appear
Before my dreamy glance!
Each green leaf's offering
Is a refreshing spring.
I drink the soft sound in;
For so much juicy flesh
I have no other wish
Than time to taste again.
I have no fear of thorns!
Waking is hard but good.
These mental whips and scorns
Decree a cautious mood.
No charm can cast its spell
Unless it wounds as well
The charmer who in pain
Acknowledges what scars him.
His blood drawn reassures him
The suffering's his own.
By limpid light caressed,
The pool I now draw near.
Borne up along its breast,
My Hope is bathing there,
Haloed above the mass
Of water, clear as glass.
Its power lets her know
What mystic depths achieve
Union within the wave.
She shudders head to toe.
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This poem by Paul Valéry, translated by Rachel Hadas, is taken from PN Review 74, July - August 1990. More poetry, features, reviews and reports from across the back catalogue are accessible to paying subscribers.