curated by Adam Fitzgerald

Saturday, April 7, 2007

Little Ditty

Some kind of solitude
with no swan and no pier
reflects its desuetude
in my gaze withdrawn here

from the vain pomp too high
for anyone to hold
mottling many a sky
with sunset's varied gold

but languorously skirt
like cast-off drapery
of white some fleeting bird
if nearby joyously

your naked bliss should plumb
the wave that you become.

by Stéphane Mallarmé
translated by E.H. & A.M. Blackmore