"View of Lake Geneva" by Johannes Bartholomäus DuntzeA Translation of ‘The Lake’ by Alphonse de Lamartine The Society January 28, 2019 Beauty, Culture, Poetry, Translation 11 Comments Translation by Michael Coy The Lake Thus, ever driven onward to new shores, borne constantly away, Can we never, in the Ocean of the Ages, drop anchor for a day? Oh, this beautiful lake! The year has hardly flown, yet here am I, beside these so-beloved waves of hers. Here, but alone. Waves! You crashed against these rocks for her, white-blazing, beat your heads against the wind, but also caressed her lovely feet. One night—do you remember?—we lay here and felt the rhythmic swish of oarsmen, slicing through your pelt. That night was so enchanted, I swear to you I heard accents never known on earth, as she let fall these words: “Oh, Time, stop your flight! Hours, don’t run away! Allow us to savor this delight, the best of life’s brief day! So many unhappy ones implore you. Run, run for them. Take, too, the cares which eat them up. But leave us, please, in pacem. It’s fruitless to complain, but these moments aren’t enough: I beg shy Night to linger, but look – bold Dawn scares her off. So let us love, then. Let us love! Time cannot be caged. Make haste: we’ll strut our tiny hour, and then must quit the stage.” Jealous Time! Why do you rob with such frank eagernessour days of joy, but dawdle when you see us in distress? Why is it that we live and love, but leave no trace? Why give us these raptures, which you then efface? Eternity. Nothingness. The Past. Such somber chasms! Where do you hide our human fire, our passion-prompted spasms? Lake! Tall rocks! Oh, deep and secret woods! Nos amis! Won’t you keep of us at least some memory? We live on in your calm, Sweet Lake, your storms, your laughing shores, your gloomy pine trees, craggy rocks, through which the water roars. It’s in the summer wind we’ll live, which ruffles as it kisses, and in the single thoughtful star, which reflects and reminisces. The rose which droops, the oak in ivy gloved, the fragrance of the forest. These will tell the world, “They loved!” Le Lacby Alphonse de Lamartine (1790 – 1869)Ainsi, toujours poussés vers denouveaux rivages,Dans la nuit éternelle emportés sans retour,Ne pourrons-nous jamais sur l’océan des âgesJeter l’ancre un seul jour ?Ô lac ! l’année à peine a fini sa carrière,Et près des flots chéris qu’elle devait revoir,Regarde ! je viens seul m’asseoir sur cette pierreOù tu la vis s’asseoir !Tu mugissais ainsi sous ces roches profondes,Ainsi tu te brisais sur leurs flancs déchirés,Ainsi le vent jetait l’écume de tes ondesSur ses pieds adorés.Un soir, t’en souvient-il ? nous voguions en silence ;On n’entendait au loin, sur l’onde et sous les cieux,Que le bruit des rameurs qui frappaient en cadenceTes flots harmonieux.Tout à coup des accents inconnus à la terreDu rivage charmé frappèrent les échos ;Le flot fut attentif, et la voix qui m’est chèreLaissa tomber ces mots :” Ô temps ! suspends ton vol, et vous, heures propices !Suspendez votre cours :Laissez-nous savourer les rapides délicesDes plus beaux de nos jours !” Assez de malheureux ici-bas vous implorent,Coulez, coulez pour eux ;Prenez avec leurs jours les soins qui les dévorent ;Oubliez les heureux.” Mais je demande en vain quelques moments encore,Le temps m’échappe et fuit ;Je dis à cette nuit : Sois plus lente ; et l’auroreVa dissiper la nuit.” Aimons donc, aimons donc ! de l’heure fugitive,Hâtons-nous, jouissons !L’homme n’a point de port, le temps n’a point de rive ;Il coule, et nous passons ! “Temps jaloux, se peut-il que ces moments d’ivresse,Où l’amour à longs flots nous verse le bonheur, S’envolent loin de nous de la même vitesseQue les jours de malheur ?Eh quoi ! n’en pourrons-nous fixer au moins la trace ?Quoi ! passés pour jamais ! quoi ! tout entiers perdus !Ce temps qui les donna, ce temps qui les efface,Ne nous les rendra plus !Éternité, néant, passé, sombresabîmes,Que faites-vous des jours que vous engloutissez ?Parlez : nous rendrez-vous ces extases sublimesQue vous nous ravissez ?Ô lac ! rochers muets ! grottes ! forêt obscure !Vous, que le temps épargne ou qu’il peut rajeunir,Gardez de cette nuit, gardez, belle nature,Au moins le souvenir !Qu’il soit dans ton repos, qu’il soit dans tes orages,Beau lac, et dans l’aspect de tes riants coteaux,Et dans ces noirs sapins, et dans ces rocs sauvagesQui pendent sur tes eaux.Qu’il soit dans le zéphyr qui frémit et qui passe,Dans les bruits de tes bords par tes bords répétés,Dans l’astre au front d’argent qui blanchit ta surfaceDe ses molles clartés.Que le vent qui gémit, le roseau qui soupire,Que les parfums légers de ton air embaumé,Que tout ce qu’on entend, l’on voit ou l’on respire,Tout dise: Ils ont aimé ! Barrister, teacher and journalist, Michael Coy is an Irish poet who has settled permanently in the south of Spain. He readily admits to a serious rhyme-and-rhythm habit. Winner of various poetry prizes in Britain and Ireland, Michael has been published fairly regularly in the British poetry journal,”Orbis”. NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who harasses or disrespects you. Simply send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comment or comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 11 Responses Carole Mertz January 28, 2019 Bravo! The passion of de Lamartine is there and how well you’ve wielded the rhyming, Mr. Coy! Reply Michael Coy November 3, 2019 Hi, Carole! I feel enormously flattered. Thank you! Michael Reply Allegra January 28, 2019 What a beautiful poem of love…great to have the translation. Reply Michael Coy November 3, 2019 Hello, Allegra! Yes, the poem has long been a favorite of mine. I hope I did it justice. Thank you for your kind comments! Michael Reply Ed Spaeth May 21, 2020 Thank you for your translation. Soon after my wife died my daughter and I cruised down the Rhone River. At Macon, once the home of Lamartine, this poem is etched in the stones along the quai. It was my first exposure to the beauty of his words and it was what I so needed at the time. Your translation brings the essence to life. David Watt January 28, 2019 Although my French is minimal, I believe that your translation retains the essence of beauty and passion present in the original. Thank you for this enjoyable piece. Reply Michael Coy November 3, 2019 Hello, David! I think that you have “nailed” the whole essence of translation. It’s about trying to preserve the original beauty, while saying something worthwhile in the second language. I want to thank you for your magnanimous remarks! Michael Reply C.B. Anderson January 29, 2019 Though I am nowise qualified to judge the faithfulness of the translation, I was glued to the fluidity of your lines to the very end, which was unusual for me, since I tend to be impatient with high sentiment. I think what made it for me was that the idea and mood were were carried forward with every stroke of your pen, and with utter clarity. The wistful poignancy presented here was unlike anything I am used to. Reply Michael Coy November 3, 2019 Hi, C.B.! What a magnificent comment! I’m delighted. “High” emotion is certainly not our preferred style these days. It’s an enormous thrill for me to learn that you felt I’d captured the mood adequately, and that you enjoyed reading it. Thank you very much! Michael Reply Bruce Wren January 30, 2019 A noble and quite successful translation of this beautiful poem, which I remember having studied way back in my college days. Not an easy task, but you have captured much of de Lamartine’s nostalgia and music. I especially enjoyed your lines 1-6, 11-12, 25-32. I would recommend to change lines 7-8, as “slicing through your pelt” doesn’t sound well to me, and doesn’t follow the French. Also, the Latin “in pacem” doesn’t sound appropriate. Still, it is easy to critique and say, and difficult to construct and do, so take that as you will. Beautiful effort, and thanks for posting. Reply Michael Coy November 3, 2019 Hi, Bruce! Solid, worthwhile criticisms, which I will take to heart. Thank you! Michael Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.