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On the beach at night

Part of a poem by Walt Whitman, excerpt from Leaves of Grass. This collection resulted in Laforgue have a lasting impact on the latest Belgian Symbolist, verse owes much Claudel and lyricism of Saint-John Perse he is not abroad .


On the beach, at night, Stands
a Child With Her father,
Watching the east, The Autumn sky

Up Through the darkness,
While Ravening clouds, The burial clouds, in black masses Spreading,
Lower, sullen and fast, Athwart and down the sky,
Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the East,
Ascends, large and calm, the lord-star Jupiter, And nigh
at hand, only has very little Above,
Swim The Delicate Brothers, The Pleiades.

Leaves of Grass , 1855, when first published.

night on the beach,
Keeps a child who, with his father
Look, the east, the autumn sky.

Up through the darkness,
While the clouds, voracious diggers in the profusion of their mass black
piling up fast and sullen in the hollow of a low sky,
the heart of a band ether remained clear to the east, Monte
, calm and stately, Jupiter, the noble planet
And nearby, barely above the paddle
delicate sisters the Pleiades.


approximate translation, S. Labbe, we must admit that the good Walt is not always as clear as his celestial ether.

Photo: Jupiter

Goldwellelumen Gebruiksaanwijzing

Vain prayer to the elements of Rene Daumal

As in Baudelaire, images of fog, smoke, dust contains, among Daumal the dissolution of the ego. Permanent State of unrealized human, man remained in draft form, the "black poet". The rock is therefore an illusion; y "insinuate" freedom, purpose. And find its freedom, is precisely beware of illusions, reject the trappings of lyrical exaltation of misleading that provides the spectacle of nature. Do not see the ocean in a "puddle" is to preserve the illusion that fosters a culture that can lead man to flourish, Venus has "bad teeth".

Dust, dust, ocean, first handkerchief over the wave, call for free cloud ...
The cloud drops suddenly, it's a block of stone.
dust, rock dust in this rock I insinuated my freedom in this rock-strewn wind. The burning sand
bites fronts simoom flames.
Smoke, smoke from fires torsos, full of smoke mirages, finally, I generate my caprice in you.
The smoke returned to the ocean, puddle of dirty water where a hunchback Venus mocks the hope of his decayed teeth.

Rene Daumal, Rear-Heaven Poetry / Gallimard, 1990.