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Arthur Rimbaud – from Rimbaud Complete [translated by Wyatt Mason]

There; the little dead girl, behind the rosebushes – The dead young mother comes down the steps.  The cousin’s carriage creaks on the sand – The little brother – (off in India) in a field of carnations at sunset – Old men buried upright in a rampart of wall flowers.

A swarm of golden leaves surrounds the general’s house.  We’re in the south.  You follow the red road to reach the empty inn.  The chateau is for sale; its shutters have fallen off – The priest must have fled with the key to the church – All around the park, groundskeepers’ cabins stand empty … the fences are so high you only see the tips of trees rustling above them.  But there’s nothing inside to see.

Meadows reach across to roosterless villages and blacksmithless towns.  Floodgates are wide open.  O the calvaries and windmills in the wilderness, the islands and millstones.

Magic flowers buzzed.  Hillsides cradled him.  Beasts of fabulous elegance made rounds.  Clouds gathered on a rising sea, filled by an eternity of hot tears.