#lbgt - Hello Poetry

These are English translations of poems written in French by Renee Vivien. Song by Renée Vivien loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch When the moon weeps, illuminating flowers on the graves of the faithful, my memories creep back to you, wrapped in flightless wings. It's getting late; soon we will sleep (your eyes already half closed) steeped in the shimmering air. O, the agony of burning roses: your forehead discloses a heavy despondency, though your hair floats lightly ... In the night sky the stars burn whitely as the Goddess nightly resurrects flowers that fear the sun and die before dawn ... Undine by Renée Vivien loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Your laughter startles, your caresses rake. Your cold kisses love the evil they do. Your eyes―blue lotuses drifting on a lake. Lilies are less pallid than your face. You move like water parting. Your hair falls in rootlike tangles. Your words like treacherous rapids rise. Your arms, flexible as reeds, strangle, Choking me like tubular river reeds. I shiver in their enlacing embrace. Drowning without an illuminating moon, I vanish without a trace, lost in a nightly swoon. Amazone by Renée Vivien loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch the Amazon smiles above the ruins while the sun, wearied by its struggles, droops to sleep. murder’s aroma swells Her nostrils; She exults in blood, death’s inscrutable lover. She loves lovers who intoxicate Her with their wild agonies and proud demises. She despises the cloying honey of feminine caresses; cups empty of horror fail to satisfy Her. Her desire, falling cruelly on some wan mouth from which she rips out the unrequited kiss, awaits ardently lust’s supreme spasm, more beautiful and more terrible than the spasm of love. NOTE: The French poem has “coups” and I considered various words – “cuts,” “coups,” “coups counted,” etc. – but I thought because of “intoxicate” and “honey” that “cups” worked best in English. “Nous nous sommes assises” (“We Sat Down”) by Renée Vivien loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Darling, we were like two exiles bearing our desolate souls within us. Dawn broke more revolting than any illness... Neither of us knew the native language As we wandered the streets like strangers. The morning’s stench, so oppressive! Yet you shone like the sunrise of hope... *** As night fell, we sat down, Your drab dress grey as any evening, To feel the friendly freshness of kisses. No longer alone in the universe, We exchanged lovely verses with languor. Darling, we dallied, without quite daring to believe, And I told you: “The evening is far more beautiful than the dawn.” You nudged me with your forehead, then gave me your hands, And I no longer feared uncertain tomorrows. The sunset sashayed off with its splendid insolence, But no voice dared disturb our silence... I forgot the houses and their inhospitality... The sunset dyed my mourning attire purple. Then I told you, kissing your half-closed eyelids: “Violets are more beautiful than roses.” Darkness overwhelmed the horizon... Harmonious sobs surrounded us... A strange languor subdued the strident city. Thus we savored the enigmatic hour. Slowly death erased all light and noise, Then I knew the august face of the night. You let the last veils slip to your naked feet... Then your body appeared even nobler to me, dimly lit by the stars. Finally came the appeasement of rest, of returning to ourselves... And I told you: “Here is the height of love…” We who had come carrying our desolate souls within us, like two exiles, like complete strangers. Words to My Love by Renée Vivien loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is Vivien’s “coming out” poem, although the term wasn’t coined until many years after Vivien’s death. Please understand me: an unusual creature, not so very good, or bad; perhaps a bit sly. I hate overheavy perfumes, abrupt outcries. I prefer grey to crimson, scarlet and ochre. I love the dusk, when day winds slowly down, an intimate fire ablaze in the bed-chamber as the lamps glow wanly, golden-amber, reddening bronze and blueing the mantle-stone. My eyes take in the carpet, smooth as sand, imagining Sappho’s shores of golden peas, where beyond the bright sun sets on Aegean seas... And yet, within, I still bear the sinner’s brand. For I am at that age when virgins yield in their weakness to the men they want, and dread, and yet have no companion, here nor ahead, because you beckoned from a forbidden field. The hyacinth bled—blood-red—upon the glen while you imagined Love: pure, innocent, freed. But women have no right to such Love! ... We’ve been banished to the brutish rule of men. And yet I had the impudence, to yearn for forbidden Love’s immaculate white light, the gentle voice communing with the night, the delicate step that doesn’t scar the fern. They have forbidden me your delicate lips, because your hair is long and fragrant-odoured, because your eyes convey the wildest raptures, as depthless seas toss about small, unmoored ships. They have wagged their fingers, in their pious manner, because my gaze entreated your dear gaze... No one has tried to understand our ways, or why I was bewitched by your strange glamour. What of this dreadful law that I transgress? Nay, judge my love! Pure, unbesmirched by evil, and honest, though perhaps as lethal, still, as any man’s desire for his mistress. They did not understand my heart’s desire, as I walked the path my destiny transpired; they asked, “Who is that woman doomed to fire— the flames of Hell?” Yet I love as required. Let us leave men to their strange “moralities” to seek new dawns like honey, golden-bright, far sunnier days, and ah!, more loving nights! Our minds will rest at ease, in amities. Immaculate, the bright stars shine, above... What do they care how men judge, from afar? And what have we to fear, because we are pure in our lives, our thoughts, and in our love. Renée Vivien (1877-1909) was a British poet who wrote primarily in French. She was one of the last major poets of Symbolism. Her work included sonnets, hendecasyllabic verse and prose poetry. Born Pauline Mary Tarn in London to a British father and American mother, she grew up in Paris and London. Upon inheriting her father's fortune at age 21, she emigrated permanently to France. In Paris, her dress and lifestyle were as notorious as her verse. She lived lavishly as an open lesbian, sometimes dressing in men's clothes, while harboring a lifelong obsession for her closest childhood friend, Violet Shillito (a relationship that apparently remained unconsummated). Her obsession with violets led to Vivien being called the "Muse of the Violets." But in 1900 Vivien abandoned this chaste love to engage in a public affair with the American writer and heiress Natalie Clifford Barney. The following year Shillito died of typhoid fever, a tragedy from which Vivien never fully recovered. Vivien later had a relationship with a baroness to whom she considered herself to be married, even though the baroness had a husband and children. During her adventurous life, Vivien indulged in alcohol, drugs, fetishes and sadomasochism. But she grew increasingly frail and by the time of her death she weighed only 70 pounds, quite possibly dying from the cumulative effects of anorexia, alcoholism and drug abuse. Keywords/Tags: Renee Vivien, lesbian, gay, LBGT, love, love and art, French, translation, translations, France, cross-dresser, symbolic, symbolist, symbolism, image, images, imagery, metaphor, metamorphose, metaphysical

0

Oct 29, 2020

Oct 29, 2020 at 6:43 AM UTC

michael-r-burch

Renee Vivien English Translations

These are English translations of poems written in French by Renee Vivien. Song by Renée Vivien loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch When the moon weeps, illuminating flowers on the graves of the faithful, my memories creep back to you, wrapped in flightless wings. It's getting late; soon we will sleep (your eyes already half closed) steeped in the shimmering air. O, the agony of burning roses: your forehead discloses a heavy despondency, though your hair floats lightly ... In the night sky the stars burn whitely as the Goddess nightly resurrects flowers that fear the sun and die before dawn ... Undine by Renée Vivien loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Your laughter startles, your caresses rake. Your cold kisses love the evil they do. Your eyes―blue lotuses drifting on a lake. Lilies are less pallid than your face. You move like water parting. Your hair falls in rootlike tangles. Your words like treacherous rapids rise. Your arms, flexible as reeds, strangle, Choking me like tubular river reeds. I shiver in their enlacing embrace. Drowning without an illuminating moon, I vanish without a trace, lost in a nightly swoon. Amazone by Renée Vivien loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch the Amazon smiles above the ruins while the sun, wearied by its struggles, droops to sleep. murder’s aroma swells Her nostrils; She exults in blood, death’s inscrutable lover. She loves lovers who intoxicate Her with their wild agonies and proud demises. She despises the cloying honey of feminine caresses; cups empty of horror fail to satisfy Her. Her desire, falling cruelly on some wan mouth from which she rips out the unrequited kiss, awaits ardently lust’s supreme spasm, more beautiful and more terrible than the spasm of love. NOTE: The French poem has “coups” and I considered various words – “cuts,” “coups,” “coups counted,” etc. – but I thought because of “intoxicate” and “honey” that “cups” worked best in English. “Nous nous sommes assises” (“We Sat Down”) by Renée Vivien loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Darling, we were like two exiles bearing our desolate souls within us. Dawn broke more revolting than any illness... Neither of us knew the native language As we wandered the streets like strangers. The morning’s stench, so oppressive! Yet you shone like the sunrise of hope... *** As night fell, we sat down, Your drab dress grey as any evening, To feel the friendly freshness of kisses. No longer alone in the universe, We exchanged lovely verses with languor. Darling, we dallied, without quite daring to believe, And I told you: “The evening is far more beautiful than the dawn.” You nudged me with your forehead, then gave me your hands, And I no longer feared uncertain tomorrows. The sunset sashayed off with its splendid insolence, But no voice dared disturb our silence... I forgot the houses and their inhospitality... The sunset dyed my mourning attire purple. Then I told you, kissing your half-closed eyelids: “Violets are more beautiful than roses.” Darkness overwhelmed the horizon... Harmonious sobs surrounded us... A strange languor subdued the strident city. Thus we savored the enigmatic hour. Slowly death erased all light and noise, Then I knew the august face of the night. You let the last veils slip to your naked feet... Then your body appeared even nobler to me, dimly lit by the stars. Finally came the appeasement of rest, of returning to ourselves... And I told you: “Here is the height of love…” We who had come carrying our desolate souls within us, like two exiles, like complete strangers. Words to My Love by Renée Vivien loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is Vivien’s “coming out” poem, although the term wasn’t coined until many years after Vivien’s death. Please understand me: an unusual creature, not so very good, or bad; perhaps a bit sly. I hate overheavy perfumes, abrupt outcries. I prefer grey to crimson, scarlet and ochre. I love the dusk, when day winds slowly down, an intimate fire ablaze in the bed-chamber as the lamps glow wanly, golden-amber, reddening bronze and blueing the mantle-stone. My eyes take in the carpet, smooth as sand, imagining Sappho’s shores of golden peas, where beyond the bright sun sets on Aegean seas... And yet, within, I still bear the sinner’s brand. For I am at that age when virgins yield in their weakness to the men they want, and dread, and yet have no companion, here nor ahead, because you beckoned from a forbidden field. The hyacinth bled—blood-red—upon the glen while you imagined Love: pure, innocent, freed. But women have no right to such Love! ... We’ve been banished to the brutish rule of men. And yet I had the impudence, to yearn for forbidden Love’s immaculate white light, the gentle voice communing with the night, the delicate step that doesn’t scar the fern. They have forbidden me your delicate lips, because your hair is long and fragrant-odoured, because your eyes convey the wildest raptures, as depthless seas toss about small, unmoored ships. They have wagged their fingers, in their pious manner, because my gaze entreated your dear gaze... No one has tried to understand our ways, or why I was bewitched by your strange glamour. What of this dreadful law that I transgress? Nay, judge my love! Pure, unbesmirched by evil, and honest, though perhaps as lethal, still, as any man’s desire for his mistress. They did not understand my heart’s desire, as I walked the path my destiny transpired; they asked, “Who is that woman doomed to fire— the flames of Hell?” Yet I love as required. Let us leave men to their strange “moralities” to seek new dawns like honey, golden-bright, far sunnier days, and ah!, more loving nights! Our minds will rest at ease, in amities. Immaculate, the bright stars shine, above... What do they care how men judge, from afar? And what have we to fear, because we are pure in our lives, our thoughts, and in our love. Renée Vivien (1877-1909) was a British poet who wrote primarily in French. She was one of the last major poets of Symbolism. Her work included sonnets, hendecasyllabic verse and prose poetry. Born Pauline Mary Tarn in London to a British father and American mother, she grew up in Paris and London. Upon inheriting her father's fortune at age 21, she emigrated permanently to France. In Paris, her dress and lifestyle were as notorious as her verse. She lived lavishly as an open lesbian, sometimes dressing in men's clothes, while harboring a lifelong obsession for her closest childhood friend, Violet Shillito (a relationship that apparently remained unconsummated). Her obsession with violets led to Vivien being called the "Muse of the Violets." But in 1900 Vivien abandoned this chaste love to engage in a public affair with the American writer and heiress Natalie Clifford Barney. The following year Shillito died of typhoid fever, a tragedy from which Vivien never fully recovered. Vivien later had a relationship with a baroness to whom she considered herself to be married, even though the baroness had a husband and children. During her adventurous life, Vivien indulged in alcohol, drugs, fetishes and sadomasochism. But she grew increasingly frail and by the time of her death she weighed only 70 pounds, quite possibly dying from the cumulative effects of anorexia, alcoholism and drug abuse. Keywords/Tags: Renee Vivien, lesbian, gay, LBGT, love, love and art, French, translation, translations, France, cross-dresser, symbolic, symbolist, symbolism, image, images, imagery, metaphor, metamorphose, metaphysical

144

Why can’t we just be like everybody else? Life isn’t fair. Why balloons? Everybody is born with a balloon. Some red Some blue Some green Some popped. But we have none. We are the unlucky ones Without balloons. Why can’t we just take unwanted ballons? That would be stealing. Make our own? Not the same. But we deserve it, Don’t we? Life is unfair Life is unfair Life is unfair Life isn’t fair. None of it is fair. All I want is a balloon.

0

Dec 23, 2018

Dec 23, 2018 at 5:56 PM UTC

nazu

Balloons

Why can’t we just be like everybody else? Life isn’t fair. Why balloons? Everybody is born with a balloon. Some red Some blue Some green Some popped. But we have none. We are the unlucky ones Without balloons. Why can’t we just take unwanted ballons? That would be stealing. Make our own? Not the same. But we deserve it, Don’t we? Life is unfair Life is unfair Life is unfair Life isn’t fair. None of it is fair. All I want is a balloon.

24

I wish we could exist, just you and I, curled together in a sound-proof bubble. Nothing but breathing your air and kissing your lips and touching your silk-soft skin. I wish we could float, unseen and untouched though this world full of judgement and hate. You are my peace, my smile, you are the moment I close my eyes and my mind stills and empties. The moment when nothing else matters, but the feel and the smell and the taste of you. I wish we could be, just be.

0

Nov 24, 2018

Nov 24, 2018 at 1:42 PM UTC

ManiacoRisa

Solace

I wish we could exist, just you and I, curled together in a sound-proof bubble. Nothing but breathing your air and kissing your lips and touching your silk-soft skin. I wish we could float, unseen and untouched though this world full of judgement and hate. You are my peace, my smile, you are the moment I close my eyes and my mind stills and empties. The moment when nothing else matters, but the feel and the smell and the taste of you. I wish we could be, just be.

29

The idea of my human worthlessness is dragging me down. I think about it for the best part of an hour, only managing to read three pages of my book in that time, I'm sorry. I'm just simply being swallowed up by the lack of water surrounding me. I'm sick of the endless stream of chatter that isn't coming out of my ******* mouth. I'm sick of the looks no one is giving me because they don't actually see me. They see a figure, hunched over, reading a book. The book has no words.

0

Dec 15, 2017

Dec 15, 2017 at 6:27 PM UTC

zerothealien

The day of Judgement

The idea of my human worthlessness is dragging me down. I think about it for the best part of an hour, only managing to read three pages of my book in that time, I'm sorry. I'm just simply being swallowed up by the lack of water surrounding me. I'm sick of the endless stream of chatter that isn't coming out of my ******* mouth. I'm sick of the looks no one is giving me because they don't actually see me. They see a figure, hunched over, reading a book. The book has no words.

11

I swear to you, the unstable heads of the masses are lacking hearts, and in their places, the empty, sickening hole, the spongey, earthy remains of what used to be, lie hollowed out carcasses of the devil, next to their sycophants and empty graves.

0

Nov 30, 2017

Nov 30, 2017 at 6:57 PM UTC

zerothealien

Lacking of the hearts

I swear to you, the unstable heads of the masses are lacking hearts, and in their places, the empty, sickening hole, the spongey, earthy remains of what used to be, lie hollowed out carcasses of the devil, next to their sycophants and empty graves.

7

I get Maam-ed in blue jeans and sir-ed in a dress, so I usually go with my Utilikilt and let them guess. I despise the social construct that puts me in this position, and I will fight it until I win or I cannot take the derision. I could fill multiple volumes with more detail if you want them, but unless you ask I won't just vaunt them.

0

Aug 22, 2015

Aug 22, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC

bridgid-p-newman-henson

On the Subject of My Dubious Gender

I get Maam-ed in blue jeans and sir-ed in a dress, so I usually go with my Utilikilt and let them guess. I despise the social construct that puts me in this position, and I will fight it until I win or I cannot take the derision. I could fill multiple volumes with more detail if you want them, but unless you ask I won't just vaunt them.

6

Crawl in next to me so I can feel you on my heart The sweetest purr as I make your body arc She smells as ripe as a flower in bloom We will do anything you can imagine in this room I'll love you slow and then fast you know Your body's ebb and flow is quite a show Take my hand, place it in between The warmth is crazy, here, now you see I love your lips and how they set me alight Everything you do to me is oh-so-right Hold my ******* and eyes in your gaze And I'll blush at yours for it's you I crave Everything feminine and soft is true Everything a woman could feel I feel For a woman like you

0

Jun 18, 2015

Jun 18, 2015 at 3:17 AM UTC

lachrymose-and-lies

A Woman Like You

Crawl in next to me so I can feel you on my heart The sweetest purr as I make your body arc She smells as ripe as a flower in bloom We will do anything you can imagine in this room I'll love you slow and then fast you know Your body's ebb and flow is quite a show Take my hand, place it in between The warmth is crazy, here, now you see I love your lips and how they set me alight Everything you do to me is oh-so-right Hold my ******* and eyes in your gaze And I'll blush at yours for it's you I crave Everything feminine and soft is true Everything a woman could feel I feel For a woman like you

15

Bitter shouting remedies Wailing in the streets Beggars wanting more than just The crumbs off royal seats Fancy ******* lunatics Brainwashing people like twits So ******* what If I'm female And want to ***** her ****

0

May 14, 2015

May 14, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC

lachrymose-and-lies

Those Who Govern Refuse To Change

Bitter shouting remedies Wailing in the streets Beggars wanting more than just The crumbs off royal seats Fancy ******* lunatics Brainwashing people like twits So ******* what If I'm female And want to ***** her ****

9

He is good. He suprises me with how good he really is. He makes me, well, happy. Can you believe it? Sometimes I can't. He loves me. This panamourous, gender fluid, mermaid. pagan, creature that I am. I didn't really think that was possible. Not because I am not deserving of love. Just that I am different. He loves my different. He is in love with my different.

0

Apr 11, 2015

Apr 11, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC

erali-pisce

Guess Who

He is good. He suprises me with how good he really is. He makes me, well, happy. Can you believe it? Sometimes I can't. He loves me. This panamourous, gender fluid, mermaid. pagan, creature that I am. I didn't really think that was possible. Not because I am not deserving of love. Just that I am different. He loves my different. He is in love with my different.

20

For years of feeling trapped. For years in hiding. For years of making everyone else happy. I quit. I'm breaking open. I'm busting my shell to pieces. I'm tearing the walls down for good. For me. I cut my hair. I dressed how I wanted. I am who I am. For me. But I'm still trapped. But I'm still in hiding. But I'm still not me. I'm lost. With these breast. With this voice. With this body. I'm not me. My *** won't define me. My looks won't save me. My voice will hurt me. I need to change. I'm forgetting society's idea of "normal." I'm not a 'princess,' I'm a 'prince.' I'm going to be happy. Trans. No more pain. No more hiding. No more being scared.

0

Jan 25, 2015

Jan 25, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC

adriean-new

I Am Who I Am

For years of feeling trapped. For years in hiding. For years of making everyone else happy. I quit. I'm breaking open. I'm busting my shell to pieces. I'm tearing the walls down for good. For me. I cut my hair. I dressed how I wanted. I am who I am. For me. But I'm still trapped. But I'm still in hiding. But I'm still not me. I'm lost. With these breast. With this voice. With this body. I'm not me. My *** won't define me. My looks won't save me. My voice will hurt me. I need to change. I'm forgetting society's idea of "normal." I'm not a 'princess,' I'm a 'prince.' I'm going to be happy. Trans. No more pain. No more hiding. No more being scared.

31

I think I'm going crazy I saw you today and everything was different I saw a spark on you Only for a second But it was there You looked at me and smiled I could see the sun in your eyes **** I'm staring again... I just want to see that spark again I wonder what its like to feel your warmth up close

0

Nov 6, 2014

Nov 6, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC

nostalgiaistrash

But it was there

I think I'm going crazy I saw you today and everything was different I saw a spark on you Only for a second But it was there You looked at me and smiled I could see the sun in your eyes **** I'm staring again... I just want to see that spark again I wonder what its like to feel your warmth up close

10

your sarcasm sings to something in me that I didn't know was there. small and tightly packed in the middle of my chest it pulses with light and longing when you speak. because you say it with a smile I know how to respond which only makes it better when my words come out sassy and clear saying what the honesty in me demands but delivered as a joke. your eyes let me know it isn't taken as one. good. you flirt with the enthusiasm of a child but the will and words of your 23 year old self. at first I hesitated unsure how to respond to your loud efforts when I wasn't sure if you were messing with the new girl or just wanted to see me react. but you've caught a spark of the fire I put out over a year ago coaxing it back when I'd forgotten how nice the warmth could be. but now I want that flame and it will hold because there's a matching burn in your skin when we touch and it's not enough. you laugh when you notice our mirroring and wonder why whereas I smile because while I've noticed and know what it means I can't control myself enough to stop it happening. and while the song on the radio says I'm gonna love you like a black widow baby I just want to love you all the time in all the best ways because while black widows may **** after *** I want you to feel so alive there's not enough oxygen in the world for your body so you breathe harder. Reality returns when you tell me now nice I look and I'm torn between preening and returning the compliment so you know of course I find you attractive because your eyes are the brightest blue and your curves look so soft I wish I could put my hands just above your hips but I settle for gliding my hand down your arm and smile as you seem to enjoy it. We stand very close together so much that anyone not interested would have taken a step back but neither of us do. And if we were a boy and a girl someone would have broken up the party by now and told us to get back to work but these silly pedestrians won't see what's right in front of their faces if they refuse to look.

0

Aug 23, 2014

Aug 23, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC

katrina-wendt

Alight With You

your sarcasm sings to something in me that I didn't know was there. small and tightly packed in the middle of my chest it pulses with light and longing when you speak. because you say it with a smile I know how to respond which only makes it better when my words come out sassy and clear saying what the honesty in me demands but delivered as a joke. your eyes let me know it isn't taken as one. good. you flirt with the enthusiasm of a child but the will and words of your 23 year old self. at first I hesitated unsure how to respond to your loud efforts when I wasn't sure if you were messing with the new girl or just wanted to see me react. but you've caught a spark of the fire I put out over a year ago coaxing it back when I'd forgotten how nice the warmth could be. but now I want that flame and it will hold because there's a matching burn in your skin when we touch and it's not enough. you laugh when you notice our mirroring and wonder why whereas I smile because while I've noticed and know what it means I can't control myself enough to stop it happening. and while the song on the radio says I'm gonna love you like a black widow baby I just want to love you all the time in all the best ways because while black widows may **** after *** I want you to feel so alive there's not enough oxygen in the world for your body so you breathe harder. Reality returns when you tell me now nice I look and I'm torn between preening and returning the compliment so you know of course I find you attractive because your eyes are the brightest blue and your curves look so soft I wish I could put my hands just above your hips but I settle for gliding my hand down your arm and smile as you seem to enjoy it. We stand very close together so much that anyone not interested would have taken a step back but neither of us do. And if we were a boy and a girl someone would have broken up the party by now and told us to get back to work but these silly pedestrians won't see what's right in front of their faces if they refuse to look.

20

Violets rage with indigo pulses beneath the shadows of your parents' porch; Spitting purple, but soaking the rainbow from whatever light granted by the sun.

0

Jun 6, 2014

Jun 6, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC

jw-harvey

Violets rage

Violets rage with indigo pulses beneath the shadows of your parents' porch; Spitting purple, but soaking the rainbow from whatever light granted by the sun.

8