Rien De Pire, Il N'y En A Rien.(Translation) . Poem by Michael Walker
Rien De Pire, Il N'y En A Rien.(Translation) .
Il n'y a rien de pire, il n'y a rien. Jete au-dela de la douleur,
Plus d'angoisses, enseignees par des angoisses d'avant, arrachent plus furieux.
Consolateur, ou, ou est votre consolation?
Marie, la mere de chacun de nous, ou est votre soulagement?
Mes cris se soulevent, longs comme des troupes; se blottissent dans un malheur
Principale, une douleur du monde; sur une enclume vieille comme des ages grimacent et chantent-
Puis s'apaisent, puis finissent. Le fureur avait hurle 'Pas d'attard!
Permettez-moi d'etre cruel: forcement il faut que je sois bref.
O l'esprit, l'esprit a des montagnes; des falaises a tomber
Affreuses, abruptes, que personne n'a sondees. Qu'il les estime
Faciles, celui qui n'y fut jamais suspendu. Ni notre duree courte
Ne resout longtemps cet abrupt ou cette profondeur. Ici! rampez
Miserable, sous une consolation qui sert dans une tornade: toute
La vie est terminee par la mort et chaque jour meurt dans le sommeil.
- 'No Worst. There is None'.Gerard Manley Hopkins.
(1844-1889) .
Hopkins converted toCatholicism and became a Jesuit priest, working in parishes in England, then at trinity College, Dublin, Ireland. Hopkins died aged just 46, without having published any of his poems. His friend, Robert Bridges, arranged for publication of Hopkins' poetry later on. These details are relevant to this sonnet. The sonnet is written by a priest, but its tone is full of doubts even about religion. He is feeling grief-stricken and depressed, and asks God and Mary where their consolation is. This is, I think, a fair enough question. The poets' cries fill the air.
He expresses the mighty power of the mind, 'O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall/ Frightful...'. This line is the one to remember. With depression, the mind can change your personality and emotions. It is like being two different people, as I have read about, and experienced. He concludes that all human life ends with death 'and each day dies with sleep'.
He is right: sleep is a completely different world to being awake and conscious, so it does resemble death.
I marvel at this poem, always have.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 6:14:27 AM # 1.0.0.1119
