Stéphane Mallarmé Poems
The flesh is sad, Alas! and I have read all the books.
Let’s go! Far off. Let’s go! I sense
that the birds, intoxicated, fly
deep into unknown spume and sky!
Nothing – not even old gardens mirrored by eyes –
can restrain this heart that drenches itself in the sea,
O nights, or the abandoned light of my lamp,
on the void of paper, that whiteness defends,
no, not even the young woman feeding her child.
I will go! Steamer, straining at your ropes
lift your anchor towards an exotic rawness!
A Boredom, made desolate by cruel hope
still believes in the last ...
Possessed by a demon a negress
Wants to taste a girl-child saddened by new fruits
Unlawful ones too under the ragged dress,
This glutton’s ready to try a trick or two:
To her belly she mates two fortunate tits
And, so high no hand will know how to seize her,
Thrusts the dark shock of her booted legs
Just like a tongue unskilled in pleasure.