Evening Prayer – Arthur Rimbaud

July 10, 2008

Je vis assis, tel qu’un ange aux mains d’un barbier,
Empoignant une chope à fortes cannelures,
L’hypogastre et le col cambrés, une Gambier
Aux dents, sous l’air gonflé d’impalpables voilures.

Tels que les excréments chauds d’un vieux colombier,
Mille rêves en moi font de douces brûlures :
Puis par instants mon coeur triste est comme un aubier
Qu’ensanglante l’or jeune et sombre des coulures.

Puis, quand j’ai ravalé mes rêves avec soin,
Je me détourne, ayant bu trente ou quarante chopes,
Et me recueille pour lâcher l’âcre besoin :

Doux comme le Seigneur du cèdre et des hysopes,
Je pisse vers les cieux bruns très haut et très loin,
Avec l’assentiment des grands héliotropes.


I spend my life
seated in bars
like an angel in the hands
of a barber, clinging
to a beer mug. My belly
hangs over and my neck is bent,
a cheap pipe, between my teeth,
fills the air with fleeting sails
of smoke-cloud.

The thousand dreams still within me
sweetly scald my supple skin.
They are like hot piles of bird crap
left on the bottom of some old pigeon coop.

But, sometimes my sad heart
is like a piece of soft wood
that’s been cut off but still bleeds
gold where the branch was torn
and is still fruitful.

And after I’ve carefully drunk
down my dreams, after about thirty or forty
drinks, I get up to take a long piss,
an offering to the god
of hyssop and cedar.

I piss into the dark sky
a great golden stream
very high and very far
that blesses all the plants
that turn towards the sun.

Translated by ME.



  1. That’s what I’m talking about Pauly! Tough guy poetry…

  2. you translated that you crazy guy? i think im gonna bless the plants right now…

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