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Sunday, May 3, 2009

REVERIE by Claude Farhi

J'ai reve d'un palais lointain entoure de murs epais, ou la lumiere du soir, refleterait longtemps le chaud soleil d'or.
Ou les nombreuses chambres d'amour, remplies de coussins multicolores, delasseraient les amants fatigues, assoupis sur de la soie orange.
Ou les grands chien gris, aux tetes dogmatiques seraient couches de travers, les yeux mi-clos.
Ou les vents chauds venants du desert, rechaufferaient les corps denudes des dormeurs, prince et reines de sabbat.
Ou l'eau cristalline des fontaines, coulant en petites cascades, ricocherait sur les mosaiques bleuatres et troublerait les instants de torpeur.
Ou les nuits divines, peuplees d'etoiles filantes sur un ciel bleu marine, paillete d'or et d'argent, montreraient les planetes de Venus et de Jupiter.
Ou les musiques de l'Orient, berceraient nos oreilles en charmants sons de flutes et violons.
Ou Mozart L'Egyptien, envouterait nos esprits, par ses muses melomanes.
Vogage au bout du monde, ou les vaisseaux imposants ecarteraient l'eau des mers, afin d'y trouver le pays d'Aladin.
Rien qu'un univers de torpeur, de felicite et de volupte.

I dreamt of a faraway palace, circled by thick walls, where the evening light would endure, reflecting the hot golden sun.
Where numerous boudoirs filled with multicolored cushions, refresh spent lovers, drowsing on the orange silk.
Where large grey dogs with dogmatic heads would lie crosswise with half-closed eyes.
Where the warm winds from the desert would warm the bare bodies of the sleepers; Princes and Queens of repose.
Where the crystal water, running from the fountains in small waterfalls, would ricochet off the bluish mosaics and disturb torpid moments.
Where divine nights peopled by shooting stars in a navy blue sky, sequined with gold and silver, would display the planets Venus and Jupiter.
Where the music of The Orient would cradle our ears in charming sounds of flute and of violin.
Where Mozart, the Egyptian, would bewitch our senses by his music-loving muses.
Journey to the end of the earth, where imposing vessels divide the waters of the oceans, to finally find Aladin's land.
Nothing more than a Universe of torpor; of bliss and of sensual delight.


  1. More beautiful in the French, although I could only read portions without a struggle to comprehend. But the flow of words is so much more "liquid" and sensual.

    The translation is fabulous, however. Times like this, I wish I had mastered another language instead of being a "dabbler."

    Thanks for the beauty.

  2. It took me three weeks to translate, trying to respect the spirit rather than the literal. The poet sent me a thank you letter, a gift poem and a request to translate 150 additional works. I would love to, but I have to earn a living. Maybe in my next incarnation. My husband's paintings illustrate a book of his. Only this one is translated. (I don't write French, by the way. I learn by ear, not academia). I am embarrassed by my written French.

  3. This is piece for dreaming in a dream house... although I'm concerned about your "murdered husband" comment... how many times did you say you'd been married ??? LOL I'm sure you'll have plenty of "rehab" ideas for the latest dream house, and we can invite Amy Winehouse to do the music for the housewarming party...

    Your poem here is lovely and your French is fine...

  4. Oh that's just lovely. I shall get Lydia to read it out loud tonight, she is an avid fan of poetry and loves to read out loud,thanks for sharing!!

  5. Owen, He's still alive, for now, although peeved at all the time I spent on "strangers" this week, and who the heck would want to marry more than once?

  6. A delight for every sense... the poem is hypnotic and beautiful and I made the mistake of reading it whilst I am weary... I need to go and lie down now..

  7. Thank you, E.R., a lovely translation of a very evocative poem, I know they say, "poetry is what is lost in translation" and mostly it is true. I love poetry and wish I could introduce monoglot friends to poems that fill my heart and soul and almost move me to tears. But they look at me in bewilderment and I quickly shut up, before they kill the poetry stone-dead.

  8. ER this was stunning and sensual, just beautiful. Somehow allusive and reminiscent all at filled me up. I love when a poem has that affect on my senses.

    filled with multicolored cushions, refresh spent lovers, drowsing on the orange silk. That image has been imprinted in my psyche.

    I think we all could use more torpor in our fast paced lives...
    It is a gift and you dear ER are truly gifted. Thank you for the lovely traslation.
    Kind Regards, lf~
    p.s. to think I may never have known this poem, is now an unbearable thought. Thank you again for such a beautiful gift. and Friko I know that feeling all too well. A few of Owen's poems have had the same affect on me.

  9. Lily, I immersed myself in the spirit of this poem to get the right translations. I love the word, "Torpor". I can see this place in my mind's-eye