Aragon: I arrive where I'm a stranger

Nothing is as unsteady as living
nothing is as fleeting as being
It's a bit like frost melting
and being light on the wind
I arrive where I am a stranger

One day you cross the border
Where are you coming from but then where are you going
What does tomorrow matter and what yesterday
The heart changes like a thistle
Nothing rhymes or forgives

Pass your finger over your temple
touch childhood with your eyes
It would be better to keep the lamps low
A longer night is better for us
It's broad daylight that turns things old

the trees are lovely in the fall
but what has happened to the child
I look at myself and I am stunned
by this unknown traveler
by his face and his bare feet

Bit by bit you grow silent
but not quickly enough though
not to feel your difference
and to let the dust of time fall
on your self of the olden days

Growing old takes a long time really
the sand runs through our fingers
It's like cold waters rising
It's like a growing shame
A leather that squeaks as you polish it

Being a man a thing is long
It takes a long time to give up everything
and do you feel these great changes
that take place inside of us
slowly bending our knees

O bitter sea O deep sea
when is the time of your tides
how many second-years will it take
for a man to recant his manhood
why why make these faces

Nothing is as unsteady as living
nothing is as fleeting as being
it's a bit like frost melting 
and being light on the wind
I arrive where I am a stranger

   --Louis Aragon (1897-1982), pseudonym of Louis Andrieu

Rien n’est précaire comme vivre
Rien comme être n’est passager
C’est un peu fondre comme le givre
Et pour le vent être léger
J’arrive où je suis étranger

Un jour tu passes la frontière
D’où viens-tu mais où vas-tu donc
Demain qu’importe et qu’importe hier
Le coeur change avec le chardon
Tout est sans rime ni pardon

Passe ton doigt là sur ta tempe
Touche l’enfance de tes yeux
Mieux vaut laisser basses les lampes
La nuit plus longtemps nous va mieux
C’est le grand jour qui se fait vieux

Les arbres sont beaux en automne
Mais l’enfant qu’est-il devenu
Je me regarde et je m’étonne
De ce voyageur inconnu
De son visage et ses pieds nus

Peu a peu tu te fais silence
Mais pas assez vite pourtant
Pour ne sentir ta dissemblance
Et sur le toi-même d’antan
Tomber la poussière du temps

C’est long vieillir au bout du compte
Le sable en fuit entre nos doigts
C’est comme une eau froide qui monte
C’est comme une honte qui croît
Un cuir à crier qu’on corroie

C’est long d’être un homme une chose
C’est long de renoncer à tout
Et sens-tu les métamorphoses
Qui se font au-dedans de nous
Lentement plier nos genoux

O mer amère ô mer profonde
Quelle est l’heure de tes marées
Combien faut-il d’années-secondes
A l’homme pour l’homme abjurer
Pourquoi pourquoi ces simagrées

Rien n’est précaire comme vivre
Rien comme être n’est passager
C’est un peu fondre comme le givre
Et pour le vent être léger
J’arrive où je suis étranger

Comments

[Wendy Giardina]

Dear Sedulia, I appreciate your sharing your translation. I heard a bit more rawness and pain in the poem in French, and so had a few changes. If you care to respond, I would be interested in your thoughts. Wendy

Where I arrive I am a stranger
Nothing as precarious as living
nothing as fleeting as being
A little like melting frost
And lightness for the wind
Where I arrive I am a stranger
One day you cross the border
Where are you coming from but then where are you going
What does tomorrow matter and what yesterday
The heart changes like a thistle
Nothing rhymes or forgives
Pass your finger over your temple
touch the childhood of your eyes
Better to keep the lamps low
The longer night suits us better
It's broad daylight that turns things old
The trees are beautiful in the fall
but what happened to the child
I look at myself and I am stunned
by this unknown traveler
by his face and his bare feet
Bit by bit you silence yourself
but still not quickly enough
For your dissimilarity not to be felt
And the dust of time
to fall on your self of olden days
Growing old takes a long time really
the sand runs through our fingers
It's like cold waters rising
It's like a growing shame
Leather screaming out as it is tanned
A long time to go from man to thing
A long time to give up everything
and do you feel these great changes
that take place inside of us
slowly bending our knees
O bitter sea O deep sea
when is the hour of your tides
how many second-years will it take
for man to recant man
why why this posturing?
Nothing as precarious as living
nothing as fleeting as being
A little like melting frost
And lightness for the wind
Where I arrive I am a stranger

[Sedulia]

Interesting! Thank you Wendy. "Leather screaming out as it is tanned" doesn't seem like quite the right translation for "un cuir à crier qu'on courroie", but maybe mine isn't either. One of the things I love about translation is that no two translators will choose the same words.