Jonathan ROBIN

Rookie - 175 Points (22 September / London)

My Familiar Dream - Translations Paul Verlaine – Mon Rêve Familier - Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

I often have some strange and striking dreams
about an unknown girl, of love we share,
each time the same, each time a different air
about her swirls, who understands it seems.

She loves and understands me, from her beams
a crystal pure dismissing strife and care.
She, only, eases heart-ache and despair,
soothing pain with tears’ refreshing streams.

She’s blond, brunette, reflecting russet gleams?
I know not, nor her name and voice though fair
and sounding-soft if feels, far off I swear,
like loved ones Life has banished from its schemes.

A statue’s sightless stare, the look she gave.
Voice, - still echo of friends in the grave.

(c) Jonathan Robin 18 April 1998 Translation Paul VERLAINE – Mon Rêve Familier

Mon Rêve Familier

Sometimes I’ve had this strange and striking dream
About an unknown girl, of love we’d share,
Now ‘twas the same, and then a different air
Dervish swirled about her smile. it seems,
Real love she felt, while understanding’s beams
Immersed my soul dispersing strife and care.
None other could ease heart-ache and despair,
Ending pain with tears’ refreshing streams.
Veiled in blond, brunette, or russet gleams? -
Appearance know not, though name shows. Voice fair
It sounded, soft though too far off I swear,
Like loved ones Life needs to complete its schemes.
Life love profound finds, groundless prove mind’s fears,
Allowing ‘Nous’ To echo through the years.

(c) Jonathan Robin 4 November 1992 Acrostic Translation Paul VERLAINE – Mon Rêve Familier

Mon Rêve Familier

Je fais souvent ce rêve étrange et pénétrant
D’une femme inconnue, et que j’aime, et qui m’aime,
Et qui n’est, chaque fois, ni tout à fait la même
Ni tout à fait une autre, et m’aime et me comprend.

Car elle me comprend, et mon coeur, transparent
Pour elle seule, hélas! cesse d’être un problème
Pour elle seule, et les moiteurs de mon front blême,
Elle seule les sait rafraîchir, en pleurant.

Est-elle brune, blonde ou rousse? - Je l’ignore.
Son nom? je me souviens qu’il est doux et sonore
Comme ceux des aimés que la Vie exila.

Son regard est pareil au regard des statues,
Et, pour sa vois, lointaine, et calme, et grave elle a
L’inflexion des voix chères qui se sont tues.

Paul VERLAINE 1844_1896


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, October 29, 2006

Poem Edited: Saturday, October 30, 2010


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