Translation of ‘La Function du Poet’ by Victor Hugo

The Function of the Poet

Tanslation by David Bellemare Gosselin

God summons him in times gone awry
When each can’t will, but serves his duty.
For pity to him who to all his brothers
Declares his future in the desert wanders.
Pity to him who wears his sandals
And treads the scorching desert as scandals
Like fiery rains torment each denizen.
Shame upon him whose thoughts disfigured,
Vainly, with dance and praise delivered,
In the city’s comfort, becomes its citizen.

The poet in such days gone awry
From far brings the tidings of better days.
One whose specter is bright and starry
His feet on earth, his eyes on the distant haze.
It is he who clears a conscious way
In every time, the prophet of his day,
As he bears the torch light in his hands,
Be there insult, doubt or sheer dismay,
Like the whispering of a gentle lay
He’ll fly and reach our souls in far off lands.

He see’s the people languid vegetate!
His dreams are always full of Love,
The dark shadows who consecrate
The present and future with that above.
And yet they mock him ceaseless,
Their souls in silent resignation press
In frivolous and contemptuous streams,
Then time and time again
They’ll mock and scorn his holy fen
With deafening laughter and sightless dreams.

Oh people! Listen to the poet,
Listen to the sacred dreamer,
For the night without him is dimly lit
His thoughts alone make each star shimmer.
Futurity and its bright rays pierce the shadows
He alone in each dark specter hallows
That which in the yet ripened bud lies.
With grace of Venus, his palm like Jupiter’s,
Creation softly through him whispers
Like winds through trees and clear blue waves.

It’s he who despite the thorns
The envy and the cold derision
Marches through the ruins
And picks up our tradition.
And from our rich traditions’ fruit
Is all that which in the world takes root,
All that which is by the stars blessed.
All ideas, human or divine
Which draw their roots from long past time
Will by the future’s leafs be dressed.

Shimmering, his blinding rays flutter
Onto eternal verity’s bright fields;
He lights up each soul with resplendent color
With marvelous light his torch he wields.
He lights up the city and the desert
The darkened vales or garden lilies
The winding planes and dizzying heights.
The starry mantle becomes unveiled
For poesie is the bright star availed
By both king or shepherd, tis’ Heaven’s light.