Bohémiens en voyage/L'Homme et La Mer

It's kind of an uphill battle at this point, though I am very much trying to push it out of my mind. I faced my demons and went to his house the other night, albeit not for him. He was there, of course. With her. And with the other her. I'm kind of the last in line at this point. But who cares? I do. But I can't. It's not right, it's not fair. For him or for me. So I have been brooding and eating cause it's almost Shark Week. Not drinking though. Smoking too much. It's been the rainiest summer in Naptown for as long as I have been here. Love sings, but not to me.

Traveling Bohemians
The prophetic tribe with the burning pupils
Yesterday taking to the road, carrying their young
On their backs, or delivering to their fiery appetites
The never ceasing treasure of hanging breasts.

The men go on foot beneath their glistening weapons
Along the wagons where those of theirs are huddled,
Walking along the sky with eyes weighed down
By doleful regret for absent illusions.

From the bottom of his sandy reduction, the cricket,
Watches them pass, redoubling his music;
Cybele, who loves them, increasing her greenness,

Makes the rock flow and the desert blossom
Before these voyagers, for whom is open
The familiar empire of the future's uncertainty.

Bohémiens en voyage
La tribu prophétique aux prunelles ardentes
Hier s'est mise en route, emportant ses petits
Sur son dos, ou livrant à leurs fiers appétits
Le trésor toujours prêt des mamelles pendantes.

Les hommes vont à pied sous leurs armes luisantes
Le long des chariots où les leurs sont blottis,
Promenant sur le ciel des yeux appesantis
Par le morne regret des chimères absentes.

Du fond de son réduit sablonneux, le grillon,
Les regardant passer, redouble sa chanson;
Cybèle, qui les aime, augmente ses verdures,

Fait couler le rocher et fleurir le désert
Devant ces voyageurs, pour lesquels est ouvert
L'empire familier des ténèbres futures.

The Man and the Sea
Free man, always will you cherish the sea!
The sea is your mirror; you contemplate your soul
In the infinite unwinding of its billows,
And your spirit is no abyss less bitter.

You please to plunge yourself into the bosom of your image;
You embrace it with the eyes and the arms, and your heart
Is sometimes distracted from the proper hearsay
To the noise to that indomitable and savage complaint.

You are both all dark and discreet:
Man, none have sounded in the depths of your abyss;
Oh sea, none know your intimate riches,
You are so jealous in guarding your secrets!

And yet there are countless ages
Where you have fought each other without pity or remorse,
So much do you love the carnage and the death,
Oh eternal wrestlers, oh remorseless brothers!

L'Homme et la mer
Homme libre, toujours tu chériras la mer!
La mer est ton miroir; tu contemples ton âme
Dans le déroulement infini de sa lame,
Et ton esprit n'est pas un gouffre moins amer.

Tu te plais à plonger au sein de ton image;
Tu l'embrasses des yeux et des bras, et ton coeur
Se distrait quelquefois de sa propre rumeur
Au bruit de cette plainte indomptable et sauvage.

Vous êtes tous les deux ténébreux et discrets:
Homme, nul n'a sondé le fond de tes abîmes;
Ô mer, nul ne connaît tes richesses intimes,
Tant vous êtes jaloux de garder vos secrets!

Et cependant voilà des siècles innombrables
Que vous vous combattez sans pitié ni remords,
Tellement vous aimez le carnage et la mort,
Ô lutteurs éternels, ô frères implacables!