This volume of COLLECTED POEMS by Stephane Mallarme
and translated with commentary by Henry Weinfield
is a joy and a treasure. For it contains Mallarme
poems from various of his collections: First Poems,
Satirical Parnassus, The Contemporary Parnassus,
Other Poems, Album Leaves, Street Songs, Several
Sonnets, Homages and Tombs, Other Poems and
Sonnets, Poems in Prose, and A Throw of the Dice.
The best appreciation of Mallarme is cited by
Henry Weinfield in his "Introduction" to this
volume. The comments were by Paul Valery (and
were about Mallarme): "This poet was the least
-primitive- of all poets, yet it came about that
by bringing words together in an unfamiliar, strangely
melodious, and as it were stupefying chant -- by the
musical splendor of his verse as well as by its
amazing richness -- he restored the most powerful
impression to be derived from primitive poetry: that
of the -magical formula-. An exquisite analysis of
his art must have led him toward a doctrine, and
something like a synthesis, of incantation."
This volume contains the texts of the poems in
French on the right-hand side of each page -- and
the translation in English on the left-hand side.
Mallarme is an extremely interesting poet, artist,
and human thinker/creator, for he has a spiritual
crisis in which he came away perceiving: "Yes, I
-know-, we are merely empty forms of matter, but
we are indeed sublime in having invented God and
our soul. So sublime, my friend, that I want to
gaze upon matter, fully conscious that it exists,
and yet launching itself madly into Dream, despite
its knowledge that Dream has no existence, extolling
the Soul and all the divine impresssion of that kind
which have collected within us from the beginning of
time and proclaiming, in the face of the Void, which
is truth, these glorious lies." Yet, even this, is
not precisely what Mallarme finally winds up doing...
for his is a "quest for Beauty and for a transcendent
Ideal and the tragic vision on which that quest is
based."
And all of this is enveloped in the most beautiful
sounds and images...charming and mystifying...for he
is also hermetic in his approach, "Everything that is
sacred and that wishes to remain so, must envelop
itself in mystery."
Here is a portion from "The Afternoon of a Faun" in
English -- then in French:
"...through the motionless and weary swoon/ Of
stifling heat that suffocates the morning,/ Save
from my flute, no waters murmuring/ In harmony flow
out into the groves;" -- "par l'immodible et lasse
pamoison/ Suffoquant de chaleurs le matin frais sil
lutte/ Ne murmure point d'eau que ne verse ma flute/
Au bosquet arrose d'accords;".
"...the ancient technique of verse -- for which I
retain a religious veneration and to which I atribute
the empire of passion and of dreams..."
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