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On the great walls of ancient cloisters were nailed
Murals displaying Truth the saint,
Whose effect, reheating the pious entrails
Brought to an austere chill a warming paint.
In the times when Christ was seeded around,
More than one illustrious monk, today unknown
Took for a studio the funeral grounds
And glorified Death as the one way shown.
—My soul is a tomb, an empty confine
Since eternity I scour and I reside;
Nothing hangs on the walls of this hideous sty.
O lazy monk! When will I see
The living spectacle of my misery,
The work of my hands and the love of my eyes?
Translated by William A. Sigler
Submitted by Ryan McGuire
Charles Baudelaire
Read poems about / on: funeral, today, work, truth, death
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Click here to write your comments about this poem (The Bad Monk by Charles Baudelaire)
Sarah Katooki (7/2/2007 9:16:00 AM)
My soul is a tomb, an empty confine
Since eternity I scour and I reside;
Nothing hangs on the walls of this hideous sty.
french version:
– Mon âme est un tombeau que, mauvais cénobite,
Depuis l'éternité je parcours et j'habite;
Rien n'embellit les murs de ce cloître odieux.
why Singler translated 'mauvais cenobite' into 'an empty confine'. It means 'shameful monk' or 'bad monk'. an empty confine is totally wrong! I mean, mauvais cenobite is referred to the person in the poem (the author) not to the tomb! how did he got his degree? |
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