(Yet another possible translation of Paul Verlaine’s « Vers Libres » by T. Wignesan, though I prefer in my translations not to derange the visual structure and syntactical and linear layout – with some exceptions - of the poem)
I admire the ambition Free Verse invokes
And me, what do I do at the moment
My attempts to derange the equilibrium evokes
The number of syllables only by two rhythms rent
It’s true I count myself among these syllable counters
And rimers, a sin for which I well know
How sorely it drags and how heavily it clutters
Yet something intrinsic to our French art’s glow.
Otherwise it remains submerged in poetry,
Since the language is oblivious to accent.
What can you do there? And wild fantasy
Here loses its rights: riming is of the moment.
That Free Verse’s ambition haunts
Youthful brains venturing to take risks!
Such passion for a dear illusion daunts
One cannot but smile at alienating mistakes.
Frisky foals which go gamboling over the green
Manifesting their sincere nature dear!
Insane they might be but at their age - supreme,
Truely fetching, Free Verse tempts us here!