Sunday, January 25, 2015

Contrerime XXXIV

Who was Faustine?
It remains an enigma. Although Marie Vergon, the woman who was to marry Toulet, is sometimes identified with that name, according to Jacques Dyssord  Faustine is called Rose P., and is said to have worked at the Auberge Lesquerré at Jurançon.
 Dyssord leaves this description:
 "Elle était brune, bien en chair et un sang généreux empourprait ses lèvres sensuelles dont in léger duvet ombragait la supérieure."
Apparently she married a wealthy hotelier and after a somewhat unsettled life she died in 1914, at the Saint-Luc Asylum, at Pau. Toulet saw her there in 1909, not far from the Dominican convent where he went to school. She spotted him from her open window, despite the dusk of an autumn evening:
"De sa fenêtre ouverte, elle m'a reconnut malgré le crépuscule, et, quelque souvenir frivole lui montant à la tête, elle laissa soudain s'égrener jusqu'à moi la perle mélodieuse de son roucoulement."
Clearly Rose P. existed. But there were other candidates for Faustine, including the aforementioned Marie Vergon, a certain Marie-Louise B, and other, unidentified. Faustine may very well be a conflation.

Lesquerré
He kept an inn in the Béarn, and was perhaps the husband of Faustina. According to Dyssord, "the kitchen of gleaming copper pots, the spit like a Toledo blade turning under the broad mantle of the high chimney, before a fire of great oak logs, would not have failed to attract, had he been lost in this vicinity, the good Father Jerome Coignard, a character of Anatole France his novel La Rotisserie de la Reine Pédauque."

Contrerime XXXIV

Ce fut par un soir de l'automne
     A sa dernière fleur
Que l'on nous prit pour Mgr
     L'Evêque de Bayonne,

Sur la route de Jurançon.
     J'étais en poste, avecque
Faustine, et l'émoi d'être évêque
     Lui sécha sa chanson.

Cependant cloches, patenôtres,
     Volaient autour de nous.
Tout un peuple était à genoux :
     Nous mêlions les nôtres,

Ô Vénus, et ton char doré,
     Glissant parmi la nue,
Nous annonçait la bienvenue
     Chez Monsieur Lesquerré.


Translation

One evening with autumn 
     On its very last flower 
We were taken for Monseigneur 
     The Bishop of Bayonne,  

On the road to Jurançon.
     I was in the mail coach
With Faustine, when her promotion
     Stifled her song.

Meanwhile bells, pater nosters, 
     Were flying around. 
A parish kneeling on the ground: 
     Add two imposters.

Ô Venus, with your gilded ferry, 
     Slipping deftly ahead,
It was you who warmed the bed
     At M. Lesquerré’s

.   

Contrerime XXXV

I have been remiss - no posts to this blog for more than a year. And now I am skipping ten poems to go to XXXV. I will go back, but this one is the most recent to have been translated and versified. So here it is.

Contrerime XXXV
Un Jurançon 93
     Aux couleurs du maïs,
Et ma mie, et l'air du pays :
     Que mon coeur était aise.

Ah, les vignes de Jurançon,
     Se sont-elles fanées,
Comme ont fait mes belles années,
     Et mon bel échanson ?


Dessous les tonnelles fleuries
     Ne reviendrez-vous point
A l'heure où Pau blanchit au loin
     Par-delà les prairies ?


Translation
The Jurançon 93 
     The colour of corn, 
And my girl, and the country morn -
     How my heart was free!   

Is the Jurançon atrophied
     Perished with drought, 
Just like my gilded youth,
     And my fair Ganymede?   

‘neath the flowering shadows
      Will you not come again
At the hour when Pau grows faint
     Far beyond the meadows?

A note on the wine
The vine is cultivated in Jurançon and in the nearby hills, on extremely steep slopes at the foot of the Pyrenees. The quantity of wine produced is limited. It is white, a golden colour, sweet with a hint of Madeira. According to legend, the grandfather of Henry IV rubbed the lips of his grand-son with a clove of garlic and had him swallow a few drops of Jurançon a few moments after birth. When the baby did not protest too much, he exclaimed: "You will be a true Béarnais! "

Saturday, April 6, 2013

Contrerime XXV


This poem has a play on words in the last two lines that depend on the fact that French adverbs, like French adjectives, may possess a masculine and feminine form. Since this situation does not exist in English, the translator must work around it and express the sense in as near a manner as possible. What lends piquancy to Toulet's "feminisation" of Enfin to Enfine, is that there is no feminine version of enfin. So I required that there would be a sense of women's vulnerability being equal to men's; plus a little dark humour to go with the helplessness of the opium addict - a state with which Toulet was unfortunately all too familiar. I have also deliberately used the words "smack" and "crack" for their value as puns in the context of the poem. To "crack" is to joke, for my non-English readers; there is also the added association of "cracked ribs" together with the reference to the story of Eve's creation in Genesis .

Contrerime XXV
O poète, à quoi bon chercher
des mots pour son délire ?
Il n' y a qu' au bois de ta lyre
que tu l' as su toucher.

Plus haut que toi, dans sa morphine,
chante un noir séraphin.
Ma nourrice disait qu' Enfin
est le mari d' Enfine.

Translation

O poet, in her drug-induced gyre
Mere words cannot leech her.
You have only been able reach her
with a smack of your lyre.

Tougher than you, in her opiate crib
hums a dark demon.
My nurse liked to crack that woman
is but man’s spare rib.

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Contrerime XXIII


Carthame chatoyant, cinabre,
   Colcothar, orpiment,
Vous dont j'ai goûté l' ornement
   Sur la rive cantabre ;

Orpiment, dont l' éclat soyeux
   Le soleil lui reflète ;
Colcothar, tendre violette
   Éclose  dans ses yeux ;

Fleur de cinabre, étroite et rare,
   Secret d' un beau jardin ;
Carthame et toi, rose soudain,
   Dont sa pudeur se pare...

Not a great poem; Toulet is playing with alchemy, with sonority, with perhaps some Rosicrucian imagery.
This is a little of what Daniel Aranjo has to say on the matter (and he has a lot to say - cf. the second volume of his work on Toulet, pp. 94-98, 154, 162-165 and 186 ff).
"Il ne faut donc pas avoir assez basse opinion, ni de Toulet, ni même de soi, pour croire que ces mots ont été employés par le Maître comme on les aurait soi-même employés à sa place : au hasard seulement ; et uniquement pour le hasard des sonorités."
Now read Jorge Jimeno on the same matter: "Este poema no se ha visto privado de interpretaciones alquímicas, aunque me parece improbable que Toulet, un paisajista consumado, se dejase llevar pos los galimatías de la alquímica, y sí por la sonoridad, belleza y resonancia de los vocablos elegidos."


Here's the Translation.

Shimmering saffron, cinnabar,
Colcothar, orpiment,
I savoured your ornament
On the Biscay shore;

Orpiment, whose silky shine
Has the sun reflect;
Colcothar, soft violet
Budding in her eyes;

Tight, rare cinnabar flower
Secret of a garden close,
Saffron and you, suddenly a rose
Whose modesty becomes her...

Notes:  Carthame: Dyers’ Carthame, or bastard saffron.
Colcothar (rouge d’Angleterre): a finely powdered form of ferric oxide produced by heating ferric sulphate, used as a pigment and as jewellers’ rouge; also called crocus.
Cinnabar is a red sulfide of mercury.
Orpiment is a yellow or orange pigment, a natural sulfur of arsenic, that presents itself in gold or orange flakes, used in painting and pharmacy.
La rive cantabre could be either Biscay or Cantabria  - le golfe de Gascogne est parfois appelé golfe cantabrique.

Fleur de cinabre, étroite et rare : façàn galante de désigner le sexe feminin.

Aranjo: "La rose était celle de la pudeur féminine : la sensualité, ce perpétuel mystère pour Toulet ; est divinisée et fournit ici … le terme de la quête et de l’alchimie poétiques"
Federico Garcia Lorca has a similar rendering in his poem Preciosa y el aire -

Niña, deja que levante
tu vestido para verte.
Abre en mi dedos antiguos
la rosa azul de tu vientre.






Contrerime VIII


This one was missing from the sequence as I was never happy with the translation. I'm still not entirely satisfied, but I am posting it nevertheless.
There is a poem by Louis MacNeice called Sunday Morning that contains the lines: 
Down the road someone is practising scales/The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tail...


Dans le silencieux automne
   D' un jour mol et soyeux,
Je t' écoute en fermant les yeux,
   Voisine monotone.

Ces gammes de tes doigts hardis,
   C' était déjà des gammes
Quand n' étaient pas encor des dames
   Mes cousines, jadis ;

Et qu' aux toits noirs de la Rafette,
   Où grince un fer changeant,
Les abeilles d' or et d' argent
   Mettaient l' aurore en fête.

Translation

In the silent autumn
Of a soft and silky day,
Eyes closed, I hear you play
A monotonous run.

You rehearse with quick fingers
The scales that my cousins
Would perform by the dozen -
The memory lingers.

On the black roofs of La Rafette
where the weathervane squeals
the gold and silver bees
put the dawn en fête


Saturday, February 23, 2013

Contrerime XXII

XXII

Boulogne, où nous nous querellâmes
   Aux pleurs d' un soir trop chaud
Dans la boue ; et toi, le pied haut,
    Foulant aussi nos âmes.


La nuit fut ; ni, rentrés chez moi,
   Tes fureurs plus de mise.
Ah ! De te voir nue en chemise,
   Quel devint mon émoi !

On était seuls (du moins j' espère) ;
   Mais tu parlais tout bas.
Ainsi l' amour naît des combats :
   Le dieu Mars est son père.


Variant
Tu foulais à ton talon haut,
Et la boue, et nos âmes.


Published in La Grande Revue under the title “La Guerre et la Paix”

Translation

Do you remember how we had a quarrel
in the rain one hot muddy night
in Boulogne, and you in your high
heels trampled our souls as well?

The night was over; not that, at my place
was your temper erased.
You were practically in your pelt -
how do you think I felt?

We were (or so one hopes) alone;
though you spoke in an undertone.
Thus love gives birth to wars:
its father Mars.


Commentaire - merci à Catherine Saunier
Poème sur la dispute amoureuse et la réconciliation dans l'intimité d'une chambre.
L'auteur évoque le force de la femme amoureuse, qui s'emporte, se met en colère, est capable de mettre un homme "K.O.", puis qui par sa seule nudité et ses charmes parvient en un instant à l'amadouer à nouveau, à le mettre à ses pieds. On peut voir là aussi une description de la passion amoureuse, destructrice, des sentiments violents, qui oscille (passe) de la guerre/haine à la paix/amour.


Friday, December 21, 2012

Toulet in Algiers, Part 3

In the latter years of the 19th century the theatre was already the path to fame and fortune for those who wanted to live by the pen. Toulet already smitten by the “divine odeur des coulisses” since his days pursuing actresses in Mauritius, and he relished the idea of a dramatic career. When he suggested a verse play for Molière’s birthday to the the Fautrier regulars the idea was enthusiastically adopted by Louis Martin and Antoine Cotoni. (This collaboration foreshadowed another, longer-lasting partnership with Maurice Sailland in Paris 15 years later.) In order to have it ready in time they agree to share the work. They knocked off the Servante de Molière in 11 days. This hastily constructed piece inevitably suffered from its haste, and from the unequal talents of its three collaborators. Martin admits that only Toulet’s lines displayed anything of real talent; “ours” (he and Cotoni) he says “were but poor glass beads compared with Toulet’s pure crystal.” In fact, it is to Martin’s memory that we owe what few lines exist of the piece (26 in all), the manuscript being long lost. The Vigie Algérienne announced it for the 16th of the month, along with Molière’s Le malade imaginaire.
It was played on Wednesday January 16th 1889, directed by Gaston Coste,  with enough acclaim to have it re-staged on Friday 18th and Sunday 27th January. The piece was well received and the three authors had to take a curtain call at the end of the evening. This did not stop Toulet noting in his Journal that his scene was poorly articulated, like verse in a foreign language. “That offended me. I criticised the piece in the Moniteur, “(he took a whole column to do it) “and I praised it apart from my scene, the which I took a gleeful pleasure of savaging and rubbishing.” The theatre critic of the Vigie wrote, on January 21st, that the three authors deserved equal credit for braving the boards for the first time with the Servante de Molière. Only Cotoni and Martin were accredited on the publicity, allegedly because the youthful authors did not want it trumpeted that it took three people to compose so minor a piece.
Martin recalled that although the original manuscript disappeared, Cotoni took a copy with him when he departed for Lyon to continue his medical studies, where apparently he managed to stage it again in the théâtre des Célestins, with an actor named Duquesne playing the part of Molière. This manuscript disappeared on Cotoni’s unexpected death in 1890, a death that considerably upset Toulet. When he heard of it he wrote to Martin from Caresse (in 1891): « …Mais enfin, t’expliques-tu qu’une quantité  considérable de vieillards imbéciles continuent à vivre, et que celui-là, jeune et brillant, s’en soit allé ? C’est la qui donne une haute idée de la Providence ! Pauvre Coto ! »
Their initial success encouraged the budding playwrights to try again and in mid-March Toulet and Cotoni presented Martin with a new one-act piece called Madame Joseph Prudhomme. (This time Toulet and Cotoni shared the credits). It did not match the standard of the first, and was in prose. It was published in the Revue Algérienne on April 1st, and dedicated by the authors to Louis Martin, who incidentally thought it a meagre piece. The théâtre des Nouveautés put it on on Friday April 5th, 1889, after l’Oeil  crevé, an operetta by Hervé, in a benefit for an Algerian actor called M. Hyacinthe. On this occasion, the plaudits were reserved for the actors. It was repeated on April 6th, then disappeared forever from the programme. This time the Vigie critic was silent on the piece. Soon after Toulet was no longer welcome in the Nouveautés . His ill temper was already closing doors to him. On April 16th he had quarrelled with one Alfred Coste, the brother of the Gaston Coste, the director. Toulet went as far as to strike him, hoping thereby to provoke a duel. But, as he related, “Cet ignoble capon ne veut rien savoir de duel”.
These two short works were to be Toulet’s only dramatic ventures until Le Souper Interrompu, published posthumously by Le Divan in 1922.
We know little of Antoine Cotoni, although Toulet dedicated a sonnet on the subject of Don Juan to him. (Vers inédits: J’ai vu Don Juan vieillard, mais touours amoureux...).
Joseph Casanova too was studying law in Algiers. However, literature attracted him more and he settled in Paris around 1890, where he remained till his death on 26th August 1947.  He contributed to many journals and if I give special mention to the Chroniquer de Paris, that appeared weekly for a dozen years before the Great War, it is not so much to point up the abundance of his production as to note that it was he who brought Toulet on board.
With time and age, a different aesthetic gradually separated Toulet and Casanova. Their Algerian intimacy, maintained by their correspondence, was easily re-established in Paris. But the exigencies of existence, not to mention the clash of personalities, gradually eroded this relationship – Toulet was quick to take offense, to Casanova’s surprised resignation. The latter never ceased to speak of Toulet with other than admiration and respect. Toulet, on the other hand, was able to write to his friend thus to Casanova (8th December 1910) : “ Mon pauvre Casanova, je n’ai pas à disputer de votre mégalomanie, mais à vous rappeler seulement que, parmi d’autres choses que vous m’avez empruntées, sinon rendues, il y a une nouvelle qui devait, m’aviez-vous dit (mais il n’en fut rien) passer sous votre signature  au « Paris-Journal » et vous rapporter quelque argent. Vous aviez ajouté que vous ne vous sentiez pas capable d’en faire une, ce que j’avais aisément cru.  Je le voudrais encore quand vous m’affirmez, en votre français, qu’elle est à ma disposition.  Il ne vous reste, dans ce cas, qu’à me le faire tenir, et cesser de m’écrire.”
Casanova was responsible for the A.B.C. du soldat français, described by Martineau as a “vibrant manuel d’édification patriotique,” and for La Tournée du Grand-Duc, (1920), that echoes the title of La Tournée du Petit-Duc, a light frothy libertinous novel that Toulet wrote in collaboration with Willy (only Willy’s name appeared as author.) Casanova’s work adopted a far more moralistic tone. A decade after Toulet’s death Casanova, in L’Etrange Confidence (1929),  put some of Toulet’s verse into the mouth of one of his characters.