Académique Documents
Professionnel Documents
Culture Documents
Max Waller was the founder of La Jeune Belgique. His original program
was Art for Art, a severance from the social preoccupations and political
ideology which characterized Belgian literary reviews of the period.
Between 1881 and 1886, La Jeune Belgique was decidedly non-conformist in tone,
welcoming a variety of styles. It was during these years that Rodenbach and Ve-
rhaeren were major contributors. After 1887, the journal became biased toward a
parnassian clarity of style, causing many writers to give their allegiance to La Wal-
lonie, more accepting of symbolist innovations.
Max Waller was a rallying gure, convinced of the need for a strong Belgian
presence in the literary innovations of the time. His charisma as an editor has
eclipsed his considerable promise as a poet. Its Raining and Love-Hotel are
tender, sensual, and gently ironic examples of carpe diem. Perhaps the brevity of
Wallers life lends in retrospect a poignant quality to these knowing pleas for amor-
ous freedom. Max Wallers poems appeared in the 1887 Parnasse de la Jeune Bel-
gique, an anthology which introduced Maeterlinck and Lerberghe.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 112
112 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
Its Raining
from Parnasse de la Jeune Belgique (1887)
Its raining, hurry over, my love,
And well chat away by the reside;
The grey sky will seem blue
In your eyes full of light.
Well toss out words at random,
Like a wind of starlight,
And then the sky will turn bright
Upon your hair, curled with gold.
Well again kiss,
Like the other evening.
My passion will be so feverish
That the sky will seem to shine.
And in this night of infamy,
Where evil thunders outside,
Well just nestle in a corner,
Very close to each other, my love.
Well tell the sky that its lying,
Well forget how much its raining,
Lost in sweet dreams, which cradle us,
Gently exalting us.
Come, my sweet, come, now is the time,
When the respectable are working hard,
For our sins will be pardoned,
And well laugh, since the sky is crying.
Love-Hotel
from Parnasse de la Jeune Belgique (1887)
My heart is like a grand hotel,
Where my darlings come to stay a while,
And pasted on their suitcases, closed tight,
A ight of little Cupids, in pastel.
Max Waller 113
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 113
Il Pleut
from Parnasse de la Jeune Belgique (1887)
Il pleut, accourez ma mignonne,
Nous jacasserons prs du feu,
Et le ciel gris paratra bleu
Dans votre regard qui rayonne!
Nous nous dirons des mots en lair,
Des mots vifs comme des fuses,
Et le ciel noir paratra clair
Dans vos chres boucles frises!
Nous nous embrasserons encor
Comme lautre soir, sur les lvres,
Et si folles seront nos vres
Que laffreux ciel paratra dor!
Et dans cette nuit dinfamie
O des crimes hurlent au loin,
Nous nous blottirons dans un coin,
Tout prs lun de lautre, mamie.
Nous dirons ce ciel quil ment
Nous oublierons quil pleut verse,
Plongs dans un rve qui berce
Et qui grise adorablement.
Viens, ma douce, viens, dis, cest lheure
O les gens graves font des nez . . .
Nos pchs seront pardonns:
Nous rirons, puisque le ciel pleure.
Amour-Htel
from Parnasse de la Jeune Belgique (1887)
Mon coeur est comme un Grand-Htel
O descendent les bien-aimes,
Et sur leurs valises fermes
Volent des Amours au pastel.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 114
114 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
I receive them with all due respect,
Kindly carry their trunks, with no idle chatter,
Then they follow the alluring lure of my magnet,
My loving magnet: a knowing smile.
I whisper to them in a low voice: You will have
A very long stay, in this suitable room,
And one ne day, well walk in the Bois de la Cambre,
Some day, when we nd the time, but no time soon.
Your eyes will belong to me, your lip
Will belong to me, and your hands
Will wander every pathway
Of my body, inamed with fever.
We will exhaust all the treats
Of new kisses and sweet caresses,
And we will sip the guilty
Frenzy of those twin-sister lips.
We wont turn low the nightlight,
In order to shed light on our crime,
And the boudoir will turn golden,
With mysterious glimmers.
In the morning, very late, the waiter
Will appear with a tray of rose-colored
Liqueurs and preserves of roses
And pralines aoat in milk.
We wont be visiting museums
Or public galleries or
The churches, but we will see, at our leisure,
The innity of unappeased pleasure.
And when we have been all the rounds,
And tried out all the dishes at table,
If nothing unexpected arises,
Well pack up and say goodbye forever.
Max Waller 115
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 115
Je les recois sans leur rien dire,
Porte leurs malles doucement,
Puis elles suivent mon aimant,
Mon aimant aimant: le sourire!
Je leur murmure: Trs longtemps
Vous habiterez cette chambre,
Nous irons au bois de la Cambre
Le jour o nous aurons le temps.
Vos yeux seront miens, votre lvre
Sera mienne, et vos longues mains
Parcourront les moindres chemins
De mon corps perdu de vre.
Nous puiserons les douceurs
Des frais baisers et des caresses,
Et savourerons les ivresses
Coupables de deux lvres soeurs.
Nous nteindrons pas la veilleuse
Pour voir notre crime clair,
Et le boudoir sera dor
Dune lueur mystrieuse.
Le matin, trs tard, le valet
Nous servira des liqueurs roses,
De la conture de roses,
Et des pralines dans du lait.
Nous ne verrons pas les muses
Ni les monuments publics, ni
Les glisesmais linni
Des volupts inapaises:
Et quand nous aurons tout bien vu,
puis la table servie,
Sil narrive rien dimprvu,
Nous nous quitterons pour la vie!
This page intentionally left blank
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 117
Albert Giraud (18601929)
Albert Giraud is best known for his debut collection of poetry, the 1884
Pierrot lunaire (Paris: Lemerre), which in German translation, inspired
Schnbergs musical setting of 1912. The world of Girauds commedia
dellarte character, cruel and ironic, is closer in mood to Laforgue than to the suave
Bergamasque of Verlaines poetry. As an artist gure, Girauds Pierrot is an acrobat
who bounds from being into states of absence, mental alienation, and hallucina-
tion. Decapitations, suicidal hanging, and self-mutilation are recurrent themes in
Girauds Pierrot lunaire, a guignol in which a mocking and jaunty refrain accentu-
ates the bizarre subject matter.
In its brevity and in the tension between the jocose and shocking, the verse of
Pierrot lunaire is Girauds most successful. In the later collection, Hors du sicle
(1888), decadent themes are given a dense and traditional prosody. After the death
of Max Waller, Giraud assumed prominence at La Jeune Belgique and used his po-
sition to rail against the stylistic innovations of Verhaeren, whose work he mis-
understood and considered barbarous stammering. Girauds own verse in Hors du
sicle is Baudelairean, as are the themes. Initiation, with its emphasis on corrup-
tion and tormented self-awareness, echoes Baudelaires Femmes Damnes and
LHautontimoroumenos. Imagery of sacrilege, perversity, and damnation is
recurrent in the collection.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 118
118 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
Red Mass
from Pierrot Lunaire
For the cruel Eucharist,
Midst a ash of blinding gold
And candles with troubling ame,
Pierrot steps forth from the sacristy.
His hand ordained with Grace
Rends his white adornments,
For the cruel Eucharist,
Midst a ash of blinding gold.
And with a sweeping gesture of pardon,
He shows the quirvering believers
His heart betwixt his bloody ngers,
Like a hideous, red host,
For the cruel Eucharist.
Waltz of Chopin
from Pierrot Lunaire
Like a bloodstained kiss
From tubercular lips,
This music lets sink
Its pained and morbid charm.
The white themes cruel lilt,
Suddenly crimsons the drapes,
Like a bloodstained kiss,
From tubercular lips.
The gentle and violent ux,
Of the melancholy waltz,
Leaves me with a real savor,
A stale, thick aftertaste
Like a bloodstained kiss.
Albert Giraud 119
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 119
Messe Rouge
from Pierrot Lunaire (1884)
Pour la cruelle Eucharistie,
Sous lclair des ors aveuglants
Et les cierges aux feux troublants,
Pierrot sort de la sacristie.
Sa main de la Grce investie,
Dchire ses ornements blancs,
Pour la cruelle Eucharistie,
Sous lclair des ors aveuglants.
Et dun grand geste damnistie
Il montre aux dles tremblants
Son coeur entre ses doigts sanglants,
Comme une horrible et rouge hostie
Pour la cruelle Eucharistie.
Valse de Chopin
from Pierrot Lunaire (1884)
Comme un baiser sanguinolent
De la bouche dune phtisique,
Il tombe de cette musique
Un charme morbide et dolent.
Un son cruel du thme blanc
Empourpre soudain la tunique
Comme un baiser sanguinolent
De la bouche dune phtisique.
Le rythme doux et violent
De la valse mlancolique
Me laisse une saveur physique,
Un fade arrire-got troublant,
Comme un baiser sanguinolent.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 120
120 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
Initiation
from Hors du sicle
Come, my child: over there, guarded by an angel,
Treasurer of the secrets of forbidden Knowledge,
There bleeds, for corrupted hearts, a strange vine,
Twined with the hissing snake of Paradise Lost.
The angel sleeps when I wish. Come,
My beautiful child, eat with wanton teeth
The clusters where my mouth has bitten:
Tomorrow you will know the cost of the wine
And the power of the vintage your elder has sold you.
You will watch yourself act and think and live,
You will be at once the reader and the book,
The obscure writer of that hideous book.
And you will die very old, cultivating your pain,
For having abdicated the scepter of your ignorance,
Which raised you to the height of heroes and the gods.
The Missal
from Hors du sicle
You, my sister, are a profaned missal,
A Byzantine missal wreathed with obscene owers,
Illustrated long ago during midnight toil unclean,
In the depths of a Greek cloister by a condemned monk.
O suave missal of sin, dear to my heart!
Save for my desire alone, your feline caress,
Your feline caress, guileful and ne,
And the satin kiss of your parchment of esh.
Save for me the fervor of your pious text,
Where ery roses, bleeding and cruel,
Greedily mingle their sensual lips
And the breath of their most noiseless secrets;
Albert Giraud 121
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 121
Initiation
from Hors du Sicle (1888)
Viens, mon enfant: l-bas, sous la garde dun ange,
Trsorier des secrets du Savoir dfendu,
Pour les coeurs dvoys saigne une vigne trange
O sife le serpent du Paradis perdu.
Lange dort quand je veux. Va, mon bel enfant, mange
A folles dents la grappe o ma bouche a mordu:
Demain tu connatras le prix de la vendange
Et la vertu du vin que lan ta vendu.
Tu te regarderas agir, penser et vivre;
Tu seras la fois le lecteur et le livre
Et lobscur crivain de ce livre odieux;
Et tu mourras trs vieux, cultivant ta souffrance,
Pour avoir abdiqu le sceptre dignorance
Qui te sacrait lgal des hros et des dieux.
Le Missel
from Hors du Sicle (1888)
Vous tes, ma soeur, un missel profan,
Un missel byzantin euri de eurs obscnes,
Histori nagure en des veilles malsaines,
Au fond dun couvent grec, par un moine damn.
O missel du pch suave qui mest cher!
Garde mon seul dsir ta caresse fline,
Ta fline caresse, astucieuse et ne,
Et le soyeux baiser de ton vlin de chair.
Garde-moi la ferveur de ton texte pieux
O des roses de feu, saignantes et cruelles,
Mlent avidement leurs lvres sensuelles
Et lhaleine de leurs secrets silencieux;
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 122
122 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
And your henchmen wrapped in gold brocade
Intoxicated to watch beneath their arrows ight,
Martyred breasts ripening like peaches,
Under giant crucixes of ebony and sun.
Your angels with their ambiguous grace, kneeling
For erotic communion, so frail
That they let fall the veil of their wings
Over the shame of a spasm, invisible and most sweet.
And your virgins walking toward pale cradles,
Raising toward the naive sky their weak eyes,
Not knowing that they hold on a leash,
Instead of their lambs, equivocal swine.
Albert Giraud 123
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 123
Tes bourreaux lams dor de la nuque lorteil
Qui senivrent de voir, sous le vol de leurs ches,
Les seins martyriss mrir comme des pches
Sur de grands crucix dbne et de soleil;
Tes anges, et leur grce ambigu, genoux
Pour la communion rotique, si frles
Quils laissent retomber le luxe de leurs ailes
Sur la honte dun spasme invisible et trs doux;
Et tes vierges marchant vers de ples berceaux,
Levant au ciel naf les yeux de leur faiblesse,
Sans mme se douter quelles tiennent en laisse,
Au lieu de leurs brebis, dquivoques pourceaux!
This page intentionally left blank
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 125
Valre Gille (18671950)
Both a painter and poet, Jean Delville was an animator of the cultural life
of Brussels at the turn of the century. During stays in Paris, Delville was
inuenced by the occultism of Villiers de lIsleAdam and especially
Josephin Pladan, founder of the Salon Rose-Croix for the exhibition of Idealist
art. Delville was also opposed to naturalist and realist painting, seeking instead to
present images culled from exterior reality but which refer to an ineffable experi-
ence of the mind. In 1892, Delville founded in Brussels the Salon Pour lArt, which
became an important exhibition space for artists creating under the aura of sym-
bolism. Among others, it welcomed Rodin, Gall, and Puvis de Chauvannes. In
1896, Delville opened the Salon de lArt Idaliste, which continued exhibitions of
art with evocative imagery. Jean Delville was a director of the Glasgow Academy
of Fine Arts and professor at the Brussels Academy until 1930.
Unlike the intimist, secretive work of Fernand Khnopff, Jean Delvilles paint-
ings have an imposing Wagnerian scope and grandeur, peopled by the persona of
myth and legend. Androgynous angels, freed from contingency, and clairvoyants,
surrounded by astral light, are also denizens of Delvilles painted universe.
Delvilles interest in the occult is revealed in the poems, The Sacred Book, and
Magica, a portrait of a clairvoyant, who transcends time and space and whose
word is allied to angels. Lunar Park suggests a Mallarmean landscape of evanes-
cence, where a dream of incense symphonies the lustral lake. The Horror of the
Rain, an evocation of a locus of dejection, a dismal city, long bereaved of sun,
reveals the stylistic and thematic inuence of Emile Verhaeren.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 146
146 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
Magica
from La Jeune Belgique 14 (1895)
Behold the hour for your clairvoyant eyes to shine,
Intent Pythoness, inert in the silent heart of evening!
Your spirit has departed, lost amid the soul of the world,
Seeking the treasure, as your desire weaves its magic.
The sacred ame, which reabsorbs your eshly being,
Will soon transform the chasms of life into blazing pyres,
As the powers summon you to most secret sabbaths,
Reality of the rmament or infernal nightmare!
The holy aromatic burns in bright vessels;
For you, the world is a pure enchantment,
Where you hover, dazzled, above the element,
And the angel, whom your word calls in the twilight,
Will come to reect in the depths of a black temple,
The brilliance of his golden brow, in a magic mirror.
Jean Delville 147
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 147
Magica
from La Jeune Belgique 14 (1895)
Voici lheure o luiront tes beaux yeux de voyante,
pythonisse au coeur mr prosterne en la nuit!
Parmi lme du monde est all ton esprit
pour chercher les trsors que ton dsir incante.
Le feu spirituel qui rsorbe ta chair
embrasera soudain les gouffres de la vie;
aux sabbats enchants le pouvoir te convie,
ralit du ciel ou rve de lenfer!
Laromate sacr dans les clairs rchauds brle.
Lunivers est pour toi le pur enchantement
o ton tre bloui plane sur llment.
Et lAnge que ton verbe voque au crpuscule
viendra rverbrer du fond du temple noir
lclat de son front dor au magique miroir!
This page intentionally left blank
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 149
Jean Delville. Expectation, 1903.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 150
150 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
The Holy Book
from La Jeune Belgique 14, 1895
Turning the golden pages with my fervent hands,
As if my pure ngers were handling light,
O immense and luminous book, your powerful prayer
Unfolds, in my night, the mystical treasure!
My spirit, in the night, opens its angels glances,
To plunge their luster into the recesses of your wisdom;
For those who read you, the secret will be known,
Of how divine love changes even degradation into radiance.
Eternal and veiling the horror of the world,
An ineffable mystery has joined mankind and verse,
The human ideal to the most divine ames,
And from the depth of the esh to the reaches of the azure,
You lift the veil, the enshrouder of souls,
To the sybilline breath of your enchanted word.
Lunar Park
from La Wallonie III (188990)
Becalmed the profane noise of the crowd.
Toward the risen Moon, the symbolic Bronzes
Curve, in the blue night, their antique nudity,
In the sphinx-like majesty of attitudes.
A dream of incense symphonies the lustral Lake,
Enchanted by the sidereal presence of Swans,
Elegiacally swooning their silver-pale lines,
Beneath the sacred music of astral innitude.
Drunken with silence, the aching lawns
Grow languid in the brightness of calm reveries;
Amid the somnolent shadows of the bowers
Hovers the conjugal slumber of weary birds;
And the mute asphalt of the abandoned pathways
No longer shudders beneath the lascivious step of idylls.
Jean Delville 151
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 151
Le Livre Sacr
from La Jeune Belgique 14 (1895)
De mes ferventes mains tournant tes pages dor,
comme si mes doigts purs palpaient de la lumire,
Livre immense et clair, ta puissante prire
rvle dans ma nuit le mystique trsor!
Mon esprit, dans le soir, ouvre ses regards dange
pour plonger leur clat au fond de ton savoir;
ceux qui te liront le Secret fera voir
comment lamour divin fait rayonner la fange.
ternel, et voilant leffroi de lunivers,
un mystre ineffable a ml lhomme aux vers
et lidal humain aux plus divines ammes.
Et, du fond de la chair lazur consult,
tu soulves le voile enveloppeur des mes
au soufe sibyllin de ton verbe enchant.
Parc Lunaire
from La Wallonie 3 (188990)
Saccalme la rumeur profane des multitudes.
Vers la Lune ascendue les Bronzes symboliques
Galbent dans la nuit bleue leurs nudits antiques
En la sphingesque majest des attitudes.
Un rve dencens symphonise le LAC lustral
Quincante la prsence sidrale des Cygnes,
Elgiaquement pmant leurs albes lignes
Sous les musiques sacres de linni astral.
Senivrant de silence les pelouses endolories
Salanguissent en la clart de calmes rveries;
Parmi lombrage somnolent des charmilles
Plane le conjugal sommeil des oiseaux lasss;
Et lasphalte muette des sentiers dlaisss
Ne frmit plus sous le pas lascif des idylles.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 152
152 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
The Horror of the Rain
from La Wallonie IV (189192)
Implacably, dismally, prophetically,
It is raining interminable tears of rain, it rains
death upon the dismal city, long bereaved of sun.
It rains annihilation, immensely, upon my sleep
and my tormented dreams and, in the night, it rains
implacably, dismally, prophetically . . .
Oh! the secret sorrow of the Night weeps
Upon the pale wakefulness of my pensive mind.
Upon the slab of my brow, with funereal sobs,
it is raining lividness and obscurity,
upon the pale wakefulness of my pensive mind,
oh! the secret sorrow of the Night weeps . . .
implacably, dismally, prophetically . . .
It is raining, it is raining lethargy upon my esh,
rigidly, like chimerical haircloths,
which come to mortify the lecherous obsessions,
it is raining upon my feverish body, scorched with gasps,
Rigidly, like chimerical haircloths,
it is raining lethargy, it is raining upon my esh . . .
implacably, dismally, prophetically . . .
The Marmorean Slumbers
from La Wallonie IV (189192)
Thus, the souls of dismal feudal lineage,
Perpetuating their pride in illustrious sepulchers,
Stretch out their long, marble sleep upon the agstones,
Weighted with dead centuries and funereal pasts,
The heraldic and grandiose white cadavers,
With righteous hands joined in ardent rigidity,
Pallid with faith, that rise from their bosoms,
With sacerdotal gestures of prayer in eternity.
Jean Delville 153
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 153
LHorreur de la Pluie
from La Wallonie 4 (189192)
Implacablement, mornement, fatidiquement
il pleut dinterminables pleurs de pluie, il pleut
de la mort sur la ville morne et morte de soleil.
Il pleut du nant, immensment, sur mon sommeil
et mes songes de spleen et dans la Nuit, il pleut
implacablement, mornement, fatidiquement . . .
Oh! la tnbreuse douleur de la Nuit pleure
Sur la veille ple de mon cerveau pensif.
Sur la dalle de mon front en sanglots funbres
il pleut des lividits et des tnbres,
sur la veille ple de mon cerveau pensif
oh! la tnbreuse douleur de la Nuit pleure . . .
implacablement, mornement, fatidiquement . . .
Il pleut, il pleut de la lthargie sur ma chair,
rigidement comme des cilices fantastiques
qui veulent macrer les hantises stuprales,
il pleut sur mon corps ardent brl de rles.
Rigidement comme des cilices fantastiques
il pleut de la lthargie, il pleut sur ma chair . . .
implacablement, mornement, fatidiquement . . .
Les Sommeils de Marbre
from La Wallonie 4 (189192)
Ainsi les Ames des mornes races fodales
perptuant lorgueil en spulcres clbres,
gisent leur long sommeil de marbre sur les dalles
lourdes de sicles morts et de passs funbres,
les hraldiques et grands cadavres blancs
aux droites mains jointes dardente rigidit
et qui, blmes de foi, srigent hors les ancs
hiratiquement pour des prires dternit.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 154
154 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
Beneath a heavy mourning of shadows in the tumulus crypts,
Within the illustrious vision of their solemn brows slumbers,
The barbarous splendor of age-old reigns.
And their bodies, where the original blood has congealed,
Sealed within the marbles, austerely patrician,
Are the petried Phantoms of ancient times.
Jean Delville 155
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 155
Sous le lourd deuil dombres des cryptes tumulaires
dort en le songe illustre de leur front solennel,
la barbare splendeur des rgnes sculaires.
Et leurs corps o sest glac le sang originel,
sont dans les marbresrigidement patriciens
les Fantmes ptris des temps anciens.
This page intentionally left blank
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 157
Georges Marlow (18721947)
Of British and Ligois descent, Georges Marlow was born and raised in
the Flemish city of Malines. He was a physician and a writer, elected to
both the directing committee of the College of Medicine and to the
Royal Academy of Letters. His principal literary activity was as a critic and cultural
ambassador, contributing a monthly Chroniques de la Belgique to the Mercure
de France between 191932 and 193640. He founded and edited Le Masque, one
of the last symbolist reviews, published 191114. He contributed poems in his own
name and as Paul Alriel, often in the same issue, to Le Reveil, the journal which
was the successor of La Wallonie.
In his 1895 collection, LAme en exil, Georges Marlow evokes Malines as a dead
city, an interiorized space of remembrance, using a gently musical, Verlainian style
to express the theme inaugurated by Rodenbach. As a city encompassed by the
soul, Marlows Malines is evoked in a series of diminutives. In At Evening I, it is
the little, desolate city, the slender city, where the bells are a bit melancholy
and all is dimmed. Marlows city seems remote and suggestive to the extent that it
is etherialized to the dimension of a delicate book illumination from the vanished
Flemish past.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 158
158 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
At Evening I
from Le Reveil 3 (1893)
Little city, and you the Bells,
My sisters, whose vague music,
A bit melancholy,
Snows its reproaches within my soul.
Little desolate city,
Who remembers all the dead voices,
All the withered voices,
That the autumn sweeps away with the owers,
Say, are you crying over my childhood,
Where all the gleams have dimmed,
Under the frail wing of silence,
Little city of dear plaints? . . .
The sweet Child never came at all
And will surely never come . . .
Gone, the lilies in the avenues
And no more roses along the roads!
All the owers have faded away,
With the sad melodies of the years,
And in this waiting, but so in vain,
My soul hovers, faintly,
Amid your sonorous turrets,
Slender city of a thousand bells,
Amid the parcels of dawn
That the sky hangs on your towers.
Georges Marlow 159
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 159
Du Soir
from Le Reveil 3 (1893)
Petite ville et vous les Cloches
Mes Soeurs, dont la vague musique
Un tantinet mlancolique
Neige en mon me ses reproches,
Petite ville dsole
Qui vous souvenez des voix mortes,
De toutes les voix en alles
Quavec les eurs lautomne emporte,
Dites, pleurez-vous mon enfance
O les lueurs se sont teintes
Sous laile frle du silence
Petite ville aux chres plaintes? . . .
La douce Enfant nest point venue
Et ne viendra jamais sans doute . . .
O plus de lys dans lavenue
Et plus de roses sur la route!
Toutes les eurs se sont fanes
En cette attente combien vaine
Aux chansons tristes des annes,
Et mon me plane incertaine,
Parmi vos tourelles sonores
Fluette ville aux mille cloches,
Parmi les parcelles daurore
Qu vos donjons le ciel accroche! . . .
This page intentionally left blank
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 161
ED: maintained Severin per email of January 17, 2003 2:06 PM
Fernand Severin (18671931)
Fernand Severin has tenuous ties with the literary revival in Belgium at
the turn of the century. During his student days in Brussels, Severin con-
tributed poems to La Jeune Belgique, published in 1888 as Le Lys, a series
having to do with unfullled waiting for an imagined beloved. Severin later repu-
diated the volume as juvenilia. During the twelve years he spent as a teacher at Vir-
ton in the Ardennes, Severin cultivated a classical style and direct discourse to ex-
press a romantic love of nature. The poetry published in the 1895 Un Chant dans
lombre, although dedicated to his friend, Charles Van Lerberghe, is distanced from
the symbolist creation of the author of La Chanson dEve.
Severins early poetry remains interesting, a juncture of Racine and Verlaine, as
his contemporary, Albert Arnay, commented in La Wallonie IV. In Severins 1886
She, Who Will Come, the poets desire for a private space of love leads to an im-
agined Liebestod in a shrine where the lovers sleep enlaced upon faded roses.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 162
162 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
She, Who Will Come
from La Jeune Belgique 5 (1886)
You, who will come from the distances of hope
In the gardens of lilies, where my lips await,
Say to me only words full of dream and evening,
To calm, within me, the re of ancient fevers.
May your love be for me the intended tomb,
Where we will sleep, enlaced, upon faded roses,
The lips of the beloved pressed to the brow of the chosen,
And may thus the ower of our years disappear.
Nothing will really live, but that which we conceal,
And to perpetuate this moment that we are,
May our precious bouquets die away while in bud
And hide their fragrance from the vain kisses of men.
The sorrow of lovers and the tedium of the married,
Those pitiful satiated, whose soul is in exile,
Will arrive at our threshold and will go away from us,
Without ever suspecting the peace they approached.
And we will watch them, bearing away their cross,
With eyes in tears, with our boundless pity,
And these, our amorous eyes, will sometimes understand
How to bring a smile to blighted, mournful gazes.
And none among these men of latter days
Will know that love offered this precious gift to them;
As soon as they return to their thirst, their hunger,
They will curse the day, fallen into death.
Fernand Severin 163
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 163
A Celle qui Viendra
from La Jeune Belgique 5 (1886)
O toi qui me viendras des lointains de lespoir
Dans les jardins de lys o tattendent mes lvres,
Ne me dis que des mots pleins de rve et de soir
Et qui calment en moi le feu des vieilles vres.
Que ton amour me soit un spulcre voulu
O lon dorme enlacs dans des roses fanes,
Les lvres de laime au front las de llu,
Et que scroule ainsi la eur de nos annes.
Rien ne vivra vraiment que ce que nous tairons,
Et pour terniser cet instant que nous sommes
Puissent nos chers bouquets se mourir en boutons
Et cler leur parfum au vain baiser des hommes.
La douleur des amants et lennui des poux,
Ces pauvres assouvis dont lme est exile,
Viendront notre seuil et sen iront de nous
Sans soupconner jamais la paix quils ont frle.
Aussi les verrons-nous sen aller sous leurs croix
Avec les yeux en pleurs, dune piti sans bornes,
Et ces yeux amoureux sentendront quelquefois
Pour donner un sourire aux yeux tris et mornes.
Et nul jamais parmi ces hommes de la n
Ne saura que lamour leur t ce don sublime,
Et sitt de retour, dans leur soif et leur faim,
Ils maudiront le jour tomb dans leur abme.
This page intentionally left blank
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 165
Gregoire Le Roy (18621941)
Andr Fontainas was born in Belgium, but spent most of his childhood
and youth in Paris. During law studies in Brussels, Fontainas was actively
involved in the Belgian literary renaissance and gured prominently in
the 1887 Parnasse de la Jeune Belgique. After his return to Paris, Fontainas contin-
ued to contribute to the Belgian literary journals, La Jeune Belgique, Le Reveil, and
La Wallonie.
The Franco-Belgian writer is the most hermetic and Mallarmean of the group.
The Virgins Look at Themselves in the Mirrors, from the 1894 Nuits
dEpiphanies, is a powerful and original avatar of the recurrent symbolist mirror
reverie. A group of imprisoned maidens is forced to witness the eeting of life as it
passes in shadows across their mirror. Already, this evening, strange visions /
Slide pallid through the thick panes of our wJindows / And are dying in the gold
of our mirrors. In the manner of the prisoners of the platonic cave, the maidens
perceive an intangible, phantom disembodiment, a dream of life, but not life itself.
They are condemned to being seers, absorbed in unreal visions. The mirror is also
a privileged symbol in Fontainas recondite sonnets from the 1895 Les Estuaires
dOmbre, stygian verse haunted by the lusterless waters of oblivion. The central
image of Sonnet VI is a blackened mirror of obsidian and Sonnet VII is domi-
nated by the mirror barren of dreams: Lakes, where will not emerge toward fa-
bled shores, / The grey and heavy plumage of the swans of December. The dark
explorations of the Estuaires dOmbre are succeeded in the later verse of the 1926
Lumires Sensibles by a light-ooded world of ecstatic scintillation. In Your Eyes,
the vision of love mirrors the joy of the beloved as she witnesses the luminous
laughter of the hour, the brightness of blue waves and its ight of birds. The
rich and varied poetry of Andr Fontainas has been collected in Choix de Pomes
(Paris: Mercure de France; 1950).
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 186
186 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
Jealousy
from La Jeune Belgique 4 (1885)
Seduction of eyes, charm of my youth,
You wish to vanish in the thick cloud
Of distant memories, which y away in peace,
Without hope of their former grace reviving.
Your rose and purple lip, arched with nesse,
Derided the anguish you used to shroud me,
While at your knees, I groveled, begging
The only divine power acknowledged by my heart!
And your cold laughter burst out and my body
Knew it was failing and my senses were dead
Under the weight of sorrow, weeping in my soul.
Nonetheless, xed upon your laced corset, my eyes
Avidly followed, seized by an infamous longing,
The ray of furtive sunlight that broke into desire.
The Virgins Look at Themselves in the Mirrors
from Nights of Epiphanies (1894)
At our windows, at our mirrors,
The sun is dying in last kisses of light,
And the wide orb is inaming the dark forest,
The glade, over there, toward the City and the Sea.
Already, this evening, strange visions
Slide pallid through the thick panes of our windows
And are dying in the gold of our mirrors.
Riders galloping on horse-back,
To what hour of fate? o Kings! and what hopes
Guide you through the nights to our dim mirrors,
Where the ashes of your helmets are dying?
The hour has come, alas,
In the nocturnal malice of the forests,
Of quivering anguish and hidden ambush.
In our windows, in our mirrors,
O proud riders! your specters have passed,
But toward the dark thickets, under ash trees, the beeches,
Andr Fontainas 187
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 187
Jalousie
from La Jeune Belgique 4 (1885)
O volupt des yeux, charme de ma jeunesse,
Tu veux te dissiper dans le nuage pais
Des souvenirs lointains qui senvolent en paix,
Sans que leur grce antique un seul instant renaisse!
Ta lvre pourpre-rose arque avec nesse
Me raillait des douleurs dont tu menveloppais,
Tandis qu tes genoux, suppliant, je rampais,
O seul pouvoir divin que mon coeur reconnaisse!
Et ton rire clatait froidement; et mon corps
Se sentait dfaillir et mes sens taient morts
Sous le poids du chagrin qui pleurait en mon me,
Et, cependant, mes yeux, xs sur ton corset,
Suivaient avidement, pris dune envie infme,
Le rayon de soleil furtif qui sy glissait.
Les Vierges se Mirent dans les Miroirs
from Nuits DEpiphanies (1894)
A nos fentres, nos miroirs
Le soleil agonise en baisers de lumire,
Et l-bas lorbe large embrase la clairire
De la fort obscure vers la Ville et vers la Mer.
Dj dtranges visions ce soir
Glissent ples aux vitraux lourds de nos fentres
Et se meurent en lor de nos miroirs.
Chevauches
Vers quelle destine? Rois! et quels espoirs
Vous guident par la nuit vers nos ternes miroirs
O les clairs de vos cimiers se meurent?
Hlas, cest lheure,
En la mchancet nocturne des forts,
De langoisse perdue et dembches caches.
Dans nos fentres, dans nos miroirs
O chevaucheurs hautains! vos spectres ont pass,
Mais vers les halliers noirs sous les frnes, les htres,
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 188
188 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
And the oaks of the taciturn forests of evening;
In vain, from our windows,
Toward you, whom we had dreamt the Kings of our hope,
We offered our hopeful gestures, only to the twilight;
Phantoms of our mirrors,
Phantoms, now, of the past,
Our eyes have sought you in the gold of our mirrors,
With the startled kisses of the restless light,
As far as the reected gleam of the glade,
In the gold of our mirrors or of ancient windows.
The Estuaries of Shadows VI
from Le Reveil 5 (1895)
Flowers, the hope of crosses, the gleam of red gold,
Their vows, ancient otilla in the breeze of sea-faring skies,
Kneel at the threshold, where ascend, Pilgrims,
With your voices, the bronze voices of the bell-towers.
The daily round of useless life,
Souls of love, and by which serene miracles,
Blossomed, in the sad eld watered by your grief,
Bright corollas, wreathing the peristyle.
The dark river of oblivion, where our cypress trees plunge,
Turns the thick gravel of Dream and the Regrets
Beneath the blackened mirror of its obsidian:
Forsake a vain dream and your senseless vows,
Exiled stranger, become a herdsman in Sogdiane,
Dreams are dangerous and to be alive is enough.
Andr Fontainas 189
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 189
Les chnes des forts taciturnes de soir,
En vain de nos fentres
Vers vous que nous rvions les Rois de notre espoir
Nous fmes au crpuscule un geste despoir.
O fantmes de nos miroirs
Fantmes dj du pass
Nos yeux vous ont guetts sous lor de nos miroirs
Aux baisers apeurs des mouvantes lumires
Jusquau rve ret de la clairire
Dans lor de nos miroirs ou dantiques fentres.
Les Estuaires de lOmbre VI
from Le Reveil 5 (1895)
Fleurs, tout lespoir des croix, et lor roux y rutile,
Leurs voeux, ottille ancienne au vent des cieux marins
Sagenouillent au seuil do montent, Plerins,
Avec vos voix les voix dairain dun campanile.
Lennui quotidien de la vie inutile,
Ames damour, et par quels miracles sereins,
Eclt, du triste champ quarrosaient vos chagrins,
Claires corolles en guirlande au pristyle.
Le euve doubli sombre o plongent nos cyprs
Roule lpais gravier du Rve et des Regrets
Sous le miroir noirci de son obsidiane:
Dlaisse un songe vain et tes voeux insenss,
Etranger quun exil t ptre en Sogdiane,
Le rve est malfaisant et vivre cest assez.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 190
190 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
The Estuaries of Shadows VIII
from Le Reveil 5 (1895)
I think of You. Sad shivers in the shadows. The amber
Shivers in the bare mirror of our cold dreams,
Lakes, where will not emerge toward fabled shores,
The grey and heavy plumage of the swans of December.
Secure the house of destiny, where the Other contorts
The evil sweetness of her ideal: those
Whom she will wordlessly strangle for the blue mirages,
Will never again be reborn on the cold walls of my chamber.
And You, for your heraldry was of ancient blue and gold,
Were they not yours, the ngers that scattered the treasure
Of their shining petals to the sea of lusterless water?
Night, which a lightning ashYou!burns with sudden
owers,
What rivers of green oblivion have silenced among their own,
Elated with perfumes, the voices of our hopes?
Your Eyes
from Palpable Light (1926)
This morning, you said: How beautiful is the sea!
Tender utter of birds, which hover over the water,
The luminous laughter of the hour sparkles
With the brightness of blue waves and its ight of birds.
A quivering wing in the immense sky
Climbs, lengthens, thrills. The waves
Swell, with universal splendor, all of
Space, enraptured beneath an unborn song.
I watch, in your eyes, the faithful ecstasy
Whereby is born, in your voice, the azure, the birds;
Your eyes repeat: The sea is lovely!
And I answer with a smile that reects in your eyes.
Andr Fontainas 191
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 191
Les Estuaires de lOmbre VIII
from Le Reveil 5 (1895)
Je songe Toi. Frissons tristes dans lombre, lambre
Frissonne au miroir nu de nos rves frileux,
Lacs do nmergeront vers les bords fabuleux
Les lourds plumages gris des cygnes de dcembre.
La maison du destin est sre o lAutre cambre
La mauvaise douceur de son idal: eux
Quelle trangla muets pour les mirages bleus
Ne pourront pas renatre aux murs froids de ma chambre.
Et Toi, car ton blason fut dazur vieux et dor,
Nes-tu de qui les doigts ont sem le trsor
De leurs ptales clairs la mer aux eaux mates?
Nuit quun claircest Toi!brle de brusques eurs,
Quels euves doubli vert ont t parmi les leurs
Les voix de nos espoirs enivrs daromates?
Tes Yeux
from Lumire Sensible (1926)
Tu disais ce matin: Que la mer est belle!
Tendre moi doiseaux qui planent sur les eaux,
Le rire lumineux de lheure tincelle
De lclat de lazur au vol des oiseaux.
Dans le ciel immense un frmissement daile
Monte, se prolonge, palpite. Les eaux
Emplissent dune spendeur universelle
Lespace pm sous quels chants inclos.
Jobserve dans tes yeux lextase dle
Qui fait natre ta voix lazur, les oiseaux;
Ils rpetent, tes yeux: Que la mer est belle
Et je rponds toujours: Que tes yeux sont beaux!
This page intentionally left blank
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 193
v Max Elskamp
Selections from:
Beneath the Tents of the Exodus
Sous les Tentes de lExode (1921)
The Song of the Rue Saint-Paul
La Chanson de la Rue Saint-Paul(1922)
Aegri Somnia (1924)
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 194
Max Elskamp (18621932)
Commentary
Like Georges Rodenbach, for whom Bruges was the space of poetry,
Max Elskamp is also a poet of place. His realm of the imagination, ren-
dered mythic and interiorized, was his birthplace, the port city of Ant-
werp. Elskamp spent his early years in the parish of St. Paul and most of his life
in his familys vast mansion on Leopold Street, surrounded by the collections of
orientalia and old navigational equipment which fueled his reverie. In his early
collections, Enluminures and La Louange de la Vie, both published in 1898, Els-
kamp evokes an Antwerp which is a series of villages, inhabited by simple folk.
The language used in these poems is naive and archaic in mood, suffused with
the rhythms of folksongs. The seemingly simple style was intended to convey
the spiritual candor of the populace, living in a harmonious and natural world,
rooted in the religious calendar. Ten years of silence followed these volumes,
during which Elskamp collected Flemish folklore and engaged in study of Bud-
dhism. Following a bitter period of exile in Holland during the First World
War, Elskamp underwent a remarkable resurgence of poetic creation. The years
19201924 mark the appearance of successive volumes of symbolist poetry, Sous
les tentes de lexode (1921), La Chanson de la Rue Saint-Paul (1922), Les Chansons
Dsabuses (1922), Les Dlectations Moroses (1923), Maya (1923), and Aegri Somnia
(1924). In these works, Elskamp, like the Verhaeren of the 1880s, has fashioned
a highly idiosyncratic French, rich in distorted syntax, ellipsis, neologisms, sup-
pression of articles, and succinct lines meant to convey moments of vision. The
purity of the legendary past gives way in the Chanson de la Rue Saint-Paul to the
teeming life of the present. The atmosphere of the port is the prevailing theme,
but the ubiquity of the harbour also leads the poet to evoke distant and exotic
realms in a series of dreamvoyages. Spaces of suspended time are found at both
axes of Elskamps imagination. The brothel in the seventh poem of the Rue
Saint-Paul is a place of waiting, dominated by a poster of the Brooklyn Bridge
stretched in suspension. The violet islands found at the edge of the world in
Aegri Somnia are places where so many pasts are worn away / In dark oblivion
of everlasting presents. Throughout Elskamps late period, scenes of Flemish
life alternate with evocations of beloved women, oriental fantasies, and poems
inspired by objects, porcelains and silks, which are pieces of music for the
eye. The last ten years of Elskamps life were spent in syphilitic madness and
paranoid rage.
Max Elskamp 195
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 195
The poetry of Max Elskamp:
Oeuvres Compltes (Paris: Seghers, 1967).
La Chanson de la Rue Saint-Paul, ed. Paul Gorceix. (Bruxelles: Labor, 1987).
Chansons et Enluminures. (Bruxelles: Jacques Antoine, 1980).
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 196
196 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
In Memoriam
from Beneath the Tents of the Exodus
In this land, in this land,
My God, where we have wasted away,
My God, where we have endured pain,
Torn even by the sky and the sea,
In this land, for us so drawn out,
With dejected waiting and with renunciation,
From day to day, for seasons,
And then for months and then for years;
In this land that received us
Fraught with bitterness and care,
Poisoned with loathing and with doubt,
Feet so bloodstained from the roadways,
Burdened with mourning, dressed in tears,
Eyes screwed tight, wounded by magic spell,
And a bitter mouth, deafened ears,
Bursting heart and a soul weighted down;
In this land, for us so slow
In its welcome, both with face and accent,
Mauve and grey as an autumn,
In a remote world, lost among men;
In this very foreign land,
Where we never learned to love,
Which by rule or mistrust,
Our hearts turned into deep silences,
In this land, for us so cold,
From the bread to the water that was ours,
And for eyes and for hearing,
Peevish and melancholy:
Max Elskamp 197
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 197
In Memoriam
from Sous les Tentes de lExode
En ce pays, en ce pays,
Mon Dieu, o nous avons langui,
Mon Dieu, o nous avons souffert
Mme du ciel et de la mer,
En ce pays qui nous fut long
Dattente morne et dabandon
Au jour le jour, dans des saisons,
Et puis des mois, et puis des ans;
En ce pays qui nous a pris
Pleins damertume et de soucis,
Aigris de haines et de doutes
Et pieds tout saignants de la route,
Chargs de deuil, vtus de larmes,
Yeux lovs comme sous un charme,
Et bouche amre, oreilles sourdes,
Gros le coeur et lme si lourde;
En ce pays qui nous fut lent
Daccueil, de visage et daccent,
Et mauve et gris comme une automne
Au monde loin parmi les hommes;
En ce pays trs tranger
O nous navons pas su aimer
Et qui, par rgle ou dance,
Si tt en nous sest fait silence;
En ce pays qui nous fut froid,
Du pain quon mange leau quon boit,
Et pour les yeux, et pour loue,
Morose et de mlancolie:
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 198
198 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
Wavering daylight, puritan sky,
Our eyes have often seen you,
And voices of the water, lost in the air,
You, our ears, so often heard!
In this land, too far into the ocean,
Where our hearts never opened,
Where hard, and secret, and closed,
We hated, more than loved,
In this land, breeding merchants,
Where we never had a chance,
In this land of preachers
To whom we hardly listened,
In this land, alas, where we were,
In this land where we lived,
Weary souls, undeceived,
Bearing our thoughts like a cross;
My God, such dark days of life,
My God, so much suffering withstood,
In this land, in this land,
Where we languished in this way,
Sharing, even unto our esh,
Our wounds and our misery,
It was the world that changed,
Paradise that we won:
We lived like brothers,
Throughout the months of that war.
Max Elskamp 199
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 199
Jour indcis, ciel protestant.
Nos yeux, laurez-vous vu souvent,
Et voix des eaux dans lair perdues,
Vous, nos oreilles, entendues!
En ce pays trop de la mer,
O nos coeurs ne se sont ouverts.
O durs, et secrets, et ferms,
Nous avons plus ha quaim,
En ce pays trop de marchands
O nous navons pas achet,
En ce pays de prdicants
Que nous avons mal couts,
En ce pays, las! o nous fmes,
En ce pays o nous vcmes,
Ames lasses, dsabuses,
Portant comme croix nos penses;
Mon Dieu des jours noirs de la vie,
Mon Dieu des souffrances subies,
En ce pays, en ce pays,
Ainsi o nous avons langui,
Les partageant jusqu la chair,
Nos blessures et nos misres,
Cest le monde qui a chang,
Le paradis quon a gagn:
On a vcu comme des frres
Pendant les mois de cette guerre.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 200
200 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
no. 7
Song of the Rue Saint-Paul
This street sets out
To nd the docks,
Holes, dens,
Where the sailors go.
Houses with curtains,
Lowered, but which move,
Filtering a closed day
Of scarlet light.
All those English girls
Preoccupied with downing drinks,
Readying themselves for love,
With silken tights,
Throughout the day, which weighs
Outside and so heavy,
Throughout the summer night,
Those who sell love.
And all the varieties of liquor
To choose, like the esh,
Danish aquavit,
Bitter Greek anis,
Irish Whiskey,
American rum,
Japanese sake,
Opium from India.
And mirrors reecting,
In yellow and black,
All the shining copper
Behind the counter.
Women and those who chat,
Bared shoulder,
Or who prefer to rest,
Forever lounging,
Rings on their hands,
Max Elskamp 201
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 201
no. 7
from La Chanson de la Rue Saint-Paul
Puis rue qui sen va
Chercher les bassins,
Bouges, galetas,
O vont les marins,
Maisons rideaux
Baisss mais qui bougent,
Filtrant un jour clos
De lumire rouge,
Cest lles anglaises
Occupes boire,
Vtant pour aimer
Des maillots de moire,
Dans le jour qui pse
Dehors et si lourd,
Dans le soir dt
Qui vendent lamour.
Mais liqueurs au choix
Lors comme la chair,
Aquavit danois,
Anis grec amer,
Whiskey irlandais,
Rhum amricain,
Sak japonais,
Opium indien,
Et glaces mirant
En jaune et en noir,
Les cuivres luisants
Au dos du comptoir,
Femmes et qui causent
Les paules nues,
Ou bien se reposent
En long tendues,
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 202
202 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
Dreaming of bad or worse,
Or nding all of their good
In at last going to sleep,
For time stretches out,
Told in slow hours,
Days spent here
In expectation.
Eyes, like theatrical lights,
Scan the walls,
And at the engravings
Stand still.
You see Vesuvius,
Overcome with re,
Like a vat full of
Hell and Flame.
And red and carmine,
Hanging further on,
The Brooklyn Bridge,
Suspended in the air.
Blue Night
from Aegri Somnia
The night is blue,
The beloved is blond,
There is God,
And then the world,
And the garden
Where you set out
To seek tomorrow,
Which will come.
Max Elskamp 203
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 203
Bagues leurs mains,
Rvant mal ou pire,
Ou trouvant leur bien
Enn dormir.
Lors temps qui sespace
Dit en heures lentes,
Et jour qui se passe
Ici dans lattente,
Yeux comme une rampe
Les suivant les murs,
Et sur des estampes
Qui sarrtent durs:
On voit le Vsuve
En feu qui se pme,
Ainsi quune cuve
Denfer et de ammes,
Et rouge et carmin
Plus loin appendu,
Le pont de Brooklyn
Dans lair suspendu.
Nuit Bleue
from Aegri Somnia
La nuit est bleue,
Lamie est blonde,
Il y a Dieu,
Et puis le monde,
Et le jardin
O lon sen va,
Trouver demain
Et qui viendra.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 204
204 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
There is the heart
You carry within,
Believing without delusion
All suffering to be dead.
The moon is round,
Arcturus gleams,
And the beloved is blond
She smiles,
You have no idea
At what, at whom,
But with joined hands,
Just as in prayer.
And eyes climbing
High, toward the heavens,
Seek, you would say,
Like wings.
Silence in her,
Silence in yourself,
And then faith,
Which turns to gall,
Newborn doubts
Of love, which binds
Forever
And for life,
And then there is, within the soul
That you carry within,
Something like a woman
Whom you know to be dead.
Max Elskamp 205
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 205
Il y a coeur
En soi quon porte,
Croyant sans leurre,
La douleur morte;
La lune est ronde,
Arturus luit,
Et lamie blonde
Elle, sourit,
On ne sait point
A quoi, qui,
Mais jointes mains
Ainsi quon prie,
Et yeux monts
Haut vers le ciel,
Cherche, on dirait,
Comme des ailes.
Silence en elle,
Silence en soi,
Et alors foi
Qui se fait el,
Doute qui nat,
Amour qui lie
Dternit
Et pour la vie,
Cest lors dans lme
En soi quon porte,
Comme une femme
Quon saurait morte.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 206
206 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
Silks
from Aegri Somnia
A peacock in a Persian garden,
A peacock fans its tail and women laugh
To see it, like a white sun,
Change the grass to shining brightness,
Some, seated on a bench,
In their veils the color of rain,
And others, their hair in the wind,
In dresses that tell of saffron.
A stream is there, where the water
Seems, you would say, to turn to roses,
A bridge crosses, drolly,
Lolling on spindly pilings,
And the sky laughs like a faun,
Who knows at what or at whom,
With great yellow sunspots,
Like peelings from a fruit.
Then further, on a terrace,
The green lords taking tea
From the back, prole, and full-face,
All drinking with dignity,
Meanwhile, with y-swats,
Because of the month and the season,
Servants expedite the dubious spiders,
Come to rest on the bowls.
But the suavity of silks,
Which marry with the caressing ngers,
Just like a body, and sent from
The radiant workshops of Isphahan,
Max Elskamp 207
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 207
Soieries
from Aegri Somnia
Un paon dans un jardin persan,
Un paon roue, et des femmes rient,
De le voir, comme un soleil blanc,
Dans lherbe faire clart luie,
Les unes sises sur un banc
En leurs voiles couleur de pluie,
Et les autres, cheveux au vent,
En robes disant le safran.
Une rivire est l dont leau
Semble, on dirait, ainsi que rose,
Un pont la traverse, falot,
Sur des pilotis, qui repose,
Et le ciel rit ainsi quun faune
On ne sait pas de quoi, de qui,
Avec de grandes taches jaunes
Comme des pelures de fruit.
Or plus loin, sur une terrasse,
Des Seigneurs verts prennent le th
De dos, de prol ou de face,
Et boivent avec gravit,
Tandis quavec des chasse-mouches,
A cause du mois de lanne,
Des servants tuent araignes louches,
Venues sur les bols se poser.
Mais douceur alors des soieries
Qupousent les doigts les touchant,
Ainsi quune chair, et sorties
Des clairs ateliers dIspahan,
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 208
208 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
These are pieces of music for the eyes,
And also velvet for the ngers,
And Persia recounted beneath the skies
By a peacock as white as faith.
The Islands
from Aegri Somnia
Violet islands dream,
Over there, at the edge of the blue world,
Where the leaning schooners set forth
White sails beneath the skies,
Toward the lost ports, conrmed
In perfumes of swooning esh,
In coral beneath the light
And distant greens of the palm groves.
Huts, raising their roofs of straw
Beneath the golden rain of the sun,
Sea-cucumber, copra, nacre, tortoiseshell,
Goods of trade and vermilion,
Are sold and bought at evening
After the burning hours,
In the presence of the sea, as it goes down
Like blood along the shores,
Their breeze also passes sometimes,
Fanning the lethargy of the sky,
It is in glory of weary brightness
That the daylight is fading, resplendent.
Then night, creating mute life,
Over there, even near the breakers,
Moon that climbs, full, clean,
Max Elskamp 209
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 209
Ce sont musiques pour les yeux,
Et velours aussi pour les doigts,
Et Perse dite sous les cieux,
Par un paon blanc comme la foi.
Les Iles
from Aegri Somnia
Des les rvent violettes
L-bas, au bout du monde bleu.
O sen vont penches les golettes
A voiles blanches sous les cieux,
Vers les ports perdus qui savrent
Dans des senteurs de chair pme,
En les coraux sous la lumire
Et vertes loin, des palmeraies.
Cases montant leurs toits de paille
Sous la pluie dore du soleil,
Tripang, copra, nacres, caille,
Choses de trac et vermeilles
Que lon achte et que lon vend
De soir, aprs les heures chaudes,
Devant la mer et qui descend
Comme du sang le long des ctes,
Et brise alors parfois qui passe
ventant le ciel endormi,
Cest en gloire de clarts lasses
Le jour qui se meurt resplendi.
Mais nuit lors, qui fait vie muette,
L-bas, mme autour des brisants,
Lune qui monte pleine et nette
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 210
210 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
In the air, sweet-smelling with perfumes.
Passing hour, so far from the world,
Since time doesnt matter any longer,
And so many pasts are worn away
In dark oblivion of everlasting presents.
Those are the violet islands,
Over there, at the edge of the summer seas,
Those are the violet islands,
Dreaming of eternal days.
Salome
from Aegri Somnia
It is in the evenings,
Sometimes harsh,
When, in theaters,
You kill time,
And you lean
To see them better
Pink or white,
Blond or dark,
In the light,
And their aromas
Of owers of esh
Those who dance
To the music,
Quick or slow,
With rhythmic step,
And smiling,
Mimes, dancers,
And ballerinas,
Sweet, mocking,
Or sometimes feline.
Max Elskamp 211
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 211
Dans lair de parfums odorant,
Heure au monde si loin qui passe
Que plus il nimporte du temps,
Et que cest passs qui seffacent
En loubli mme du prsent;
Ce sont des les violettes,
L-bas, au bout des mers dt,
Ce sont des les violettes
Qui rvent l dternit.
Salome
from Aegri Somnia
Cest dans les soirs
Parfois martres,
O, au thtre
On va sasseoir,
Et quon se penche
Pour mieux les voir
Roses ou blanches,
Blondes ou noires,
Dans la lumire
Et leurs fragrances
De eurs de chair
Celles qui dansent,
Sur des musiques
Vites ou lentes,
A pas rythmiques,
Et souriantes,
Mimes, danseuses,
Et ballerines,
Douces, railleuses,
Ou bien flines.
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 212
212 an anthology of belgian symbolist poets
When during the ballet,
Whether long, whether short,
Gracious, vivacious,
And sometimes heavy,
Sudden things
And those conjured
From distant times,
Without question,
It is over there, distant,
In Galilee,
In the serene air
When evening has fallen,
A palace of gold
In the sunset,
Where horns sound,
Where songs climb,
And then lances,
Soldiers and guards,
Banquet and dance,
Where watches,
Darkly, Antiphas,
With downcast eyes.
But dancing there,
Salome,
Lips offered,
Arms uplifted,
The breasts nude
And shadowed with gold,
While upon
A silver dish,
Following the white
Wall of the fortress,
A soldier approaches,
With rigid ngers,
Bearing in his hands
The head, once John.
Max Elskamp 213
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 213
Mais lors ballet
Ou long, ou court,
Gracieux, gai,
Et parfois lourd,
Choses soudain
Et qui svoquent
De temps lointains
Sans quivoques,
Cest l-bas loin
En Galile,
En lair serein
Au soir tomb.
Un palais dor
Dans le couchant,
O sonnent cors,
O montent chants,
Et puis des lances,
Soldats et gardes,
Banquet et danse
Et que regarde
Sombre, Antipas
Les yeux baisss.
Mais dansant l
Cest Salom
Lvres tendues,
Les bras dresss,
Et les seins nus
Et dor ombrs,
Tandis que sur
Un plat dargent,
Le long du mur
Blanc du redan,
Un soldat vient
Et les doigts raides,
Portant aux mains,
De Jean, la tte.
This page intentionally left blank
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 215
vi Charles Van Lerberghe
Selections from:
The Song of Eve
La Chanson dEve
1904
Donald Flanell Friedman: Belgian Symbolism, an Anthology page 216
Charles Van Lerberghe (18611907)
Commentary