When the low, heavy sky weighs like the giant lid
Of a great pot upon the spirit crushed by care,
And from the whole horizon encircling us is shed
A day blacker than night, and thicker with despair:
When Earth becomes a dungeon, where the timid bat
Called Confidence, against the damp and slippery walls
Goes beating his blind wings, goes feebly bumping at
The rotted, mouldy ceiling, and the plaster falls;
When, dark and dropping straight, the long lines of the rain
Like prison-bars outside the window cage us in;
And silently, about the caught and helpless brain,
We feel the spider walk, and test the web, and spin;
Then all the bells at once ring out in furious clang,
Bombarding heaven with howling, horrible to hear,
Like lost and wandering souls, that whine in shrill harangue
Their obstinate complaints to an uniistening ear.
— And a long line of hearses, with neither dirge nor drums.
Begins to cross my soul. Weeping, with steps that lag,
Hope walks in chains; and Anguish, after long wars, becomes
Tyrant at last, and plants on me his inky flag.
Fransızca Aslı: Spleen IV / Charles Baudelaire
Spleen IV, William Aggeler – Şiir, Çeviri
Kaynak: The Flowers of Evil, William Aggeler, Academy Library Guild
Gönderen: Samet Altun, (14.08.22, 01.10)