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Michael R Burch Jan 2022
This is my modern English translation of Paul Valéry's poem “Le cimetière marin” (“The graveyard by the sea”). Valéry was buried in the seaside cemetery evoked in his best-known poem. From the vantage of the cemetery, the tombs seemed to “support” a sea-ceiling dotted with white sails. Valéry begins and ends his poem with this image ...

Excerpts from “Le cimetière marin” (“The graveyard by the sea”)
from Charmes ou poèmes (1922)
by Paul Valéry
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Do not, O my soul, aspire to immortal life, but exhaust what is possible.
—Pindar, Pythian Ode 3

1.
This tranquil ceiling, where white doves are sailing,
stands propped between tall pines and foundational tombs,
as the noonday sun composes, with its flames,
sea-waves forever forming and reforming ...
O, what a boon, when some lapsed thought expires,
to reflect on the placid face of Eternity!

5.
As a pear dissolves in the act of being eaten,
transformed, through sudden absence, to delight
relinquishing its shape within our mouths,
even so, I breathe in vapors I’ll become,
as the sea rejoices and its shores enlarge,
fed by lost souls devoured; more are rumored.

6.
Beautiful sky, my true-blue sky, ’tis I
who alters! Pride and indolence possessed me,
yet, somehow, I possessed real potency ...
But now I yield to your ephemeral vapors
as my shadow steals through stations of the dead;
its delicate silhouette crook-*******, “Forward!”

8.
... My soul still awaits reports of its nothingness ...

9.
... What corpse compels me forward, to no end?
What empty skull commends these strange bone-heaps?
A star broods over everything I lost ...

10.
... Here where so much antique marble
shudders over so many shadows,
the faithful sea slumbers ...

11.
... Watchful dog ...
Keep far from these peaceful tombs
the prudent doves, all impossible dreams,
the angels’ curious eyes ...

12.
... The brittle insect scratches out existence ...
... Life is enlarged by its lust for absence ...
... The bitterness of death is sweet and the mind clarified.

13.
... The dead do well here, secured here in this earth ...
... I am what mutates secretly in you ...

14.
I alone can express your apprehensions!
My penitence, my doubts, my limitations,
are fatal flaws in your exquisite diamond ...
But here in their marble-encumbered infinite night
a formless people sleeping at the roots of trees
have slowly adopted your cause ...

15.
... Where, now, are the kindly words of the loving dead? ...
... Now grubs consume, where tears were once composed ...

16.
... Everything dies, returns to earth, gets recycled ...

17.
And what of you, great Soul, do you still dream
there’s something truer than these deceitful colors:
each flash of golden surf on eyes of flesh?
Will you still sing, when you’re as light as air?
Everything perishes and has no presence!
I am not immune; Divine Impatience dies!

18.
Emaciate consolation, Immortality,
grotesquely clothed in your black and gold habit,
transfiguring death into some Madonna’s breast,
your pious ruse and cultivated lie:
who does not know and who does not reject
your empty skull and pandemonic laughter?

24.
The wind is rising! ... We must yet strive to live!
The immense sky opens and closes my book!
Waves surge through shell-shocked rocks, reeking spray!
O, fly, fly away, my sun-bedazzled pages!
Break, breakers! Break joyfully as you threaten to shatter
this tranquil ceiling where white doves are sailing!

*

“Le vent se lève! . . . il faut tenter de vivre!
L'air immense ouvre et referme mon livre,
La vague en poudre ose jaillir des rocs!
Envolez-vous, pages tout éblouies!
Rompez, vagues! Rompez d'eaux réjouies
Ce toit tranquille où picoraient des focs!”



PAUL VALERY TRANSLATION: “SECRET ODE”

“Secret Ode” is a poem by the French poet Paul Valéry about collapsing after a vigorous dance, watching the sun set, and seeing the immensity of the night sky as the stars begin to appear.

Ode secrète (“Secret Ode”)
by Paul Valéry
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The fall so exquisite, the ending so soft,
the struggle’s abandonment so delightful:
depositing the glistening body
on a bed of moss, after the dance!

Who has ever seen such a glow
illuminate a triumph
as these sun-brightened beads
crowning a sweat-drenched forehead!

Here, touched by the dusk's last light,
this body that achieved so much
by dancing and outdoing Hercules
now mimics the drooping rose-clumps!

Sleep then, our all-conquering hero,
come so soon to this tragic end,
for now the many-headed Hydra
reveals its Infiniteness …

Behold what Bull, what Bear, what Hound,
what Visions of limitless Conquests
beyond the boundaries of Time
the soul imposes on formless Space!

This is the supreme end, this glittering Light
beyond the control of mere monsters and gods,
as it gloriously reveals
the matchless immensity of the heavens!

This is Paul Valery’s bio from the Academy of American Poets:

Paul Valéry
(1871–1945)

Poet, essayist, and thinker Paul Ambroise Valéry was born in the Mediterranean town of Séte, France, on October 30, 1871. He attended the lycée at Montpellier and studied law at the University of Montpellier. Valéry left school early to move to Paris and pursue a life as a poet. In Paris, he was a regular member of Stéphane Mallarmé's Tuesday evening salons. It was at this time that he began to publish poems in avant-garde journals.

In 1892, while visiting relatives in Genoa, Valéry underwent a stark personal transformation. During a violent thunderstorm, he determined that he must free himself "at no matter what cost, from those falsehoods: literature and sentiment." He devoted the next twenty years to studying mathematics, philosophy, and language. From 1892 until 1912, he wrote no poetry. He did begin, however, to keep his ideas and notes in a series of journals, which were published in twenty-nine volumes in 1945. He also wrote essays and the book "La Soirée avec M. *****" ("The Evening with Monsieur *****," 1896).

Valéry supported himself during this period first with a job in the War Department, and then as a secretary at the Havas newspaper agency. This job required him to work only a few hours per day, and he spent the rest of his time pursuing his own ideas. He married Jeannie Gobillard in 1900, and they had one son and one daughter. In 1912 Andre Gide persuaded Valéry to collect and revise his earlier poems. In 1917 Valéry published "La Jeune Parque" ("The Young Fate"), a dramatic monologue of over five-hundred lines, and in 1920 he published "Album de vers anciens," 1890-1920 ("Album of Old Verses"). His second collection of poetry, "Charmes" ("Charms") appeared in 1922. Despite tremendous critical and popular acclaim, Valéry again put aside writing poetry. In 1925 he was elected to the Académe Francaise. He spent the remaining twenty years of his life on frequent lecture tours in and out of France, and he wrote numerous essays on poetry, painting, and dance. Paul Valéry died in Paris in July of 1945 and was given a state funeral.
Along with Paul Verlaine and Stéphane Mallarmé, Valéry is considered one the most important Symbolist writers. His highly self-conscious and philosophical style can also been seen to influence later English-language writers such T. S. Eliot and John Ashbery . His work as a critic and theorist of language was important to many of the structuralist critics of the 1960s and 1970s.

#VALERY #MRB-VALERY #MRBVALERY

Keywords/Tags: Paul Valery, French poem, English translation, sea, seaside, cemetery, grave, graves, graveyard, death, sail, sails, doves, ceiling, soul, souls, dance, sun, sunset, dusk, night, stars, infinity
be blunter not, be no folly still:
this is our heartland's voice.

we are not this land's tenant,
nor are we the shadows that inhabit
  light — this is out highest meed,
we go on with nobler steads.

  languorous scraps of warfare
  and a ****** of metal heed the
  clarion call of our oneness yet when
   it rains all shall rend in rust
    as how our nation
    furiously drowns yet emerges
     victorious past the renegade of hours!

  in it and from it
shall rise the true meaning
    of our blood.
our large voices mellow down
   in our guts outdoing our smallness - there is a river of
   phantasmagoria yet its
   rustle is same in its breadth in
     our deep land. o, yelp never a lie!
  
consider truthfully brutal
   affording solace:
  it is our form reshaping our body.
  it is our wills carving our flesh.
  it is the dreams that are ensanguined
     in us that forge the arms of
      our fatherland: language!
I am one,
In a trillion,
Significant enough,
With standoffish movement of air,
Of any velocity.
I will furnish you with an upchucking sensation,
In your solar plexus,
And move your heavy head,
Round and round,
Round and round.
Outdoing the darkness,
Above and beneath,
I will emerge cold-eyed;
I will emerge cold-eyed,
And hit the strong,
And bold,
And black boulders.
And sprinkle moisture droplets on your pale face.
I am one,
In a trillion,
Vying with my facsimiles,
And similar ones,
For reaching the untraced,
Unknown,
And unfrequented coves,
With puissance,
And robbing the possessions,
I will recede.
I will recede,
And submerse everything with me,
And what awaits me,
On my way.
Come,
And dunk yourselves,
Thinking I will wash all your transgresses,
Come,
You puny creatures,
I will,
But wash only your grimy,
And filthy bodies.
Advance farther,
And you will be another meal,
To me.
I am one,
In a trillion,
Significant enough,
Roaring monotonously.
I am a wave,
In a humongous ocean,
Busier than a bee,
Rising and falling,
Forever,
Growing old,
And working harder,
Than ever.
Surrationality Jan 2014
Book holds for Reader
The secret to divinity,
Between ink and fiber
Lies the universe.
Sustaining itself by
Luring others inside,
Book fools Reader
That escape is within
Then entraps them in the
Fantasy that life could be
Like Reader's favorite Book.

But Book lies to Reader.

Great literature is proof
Against God.
For God created World,
Author and Ink and Paper-
Reader and Book.
But Reader wants to escape World
    (created by God)
And travel into Book
    (created by Author)

His creation has outdone Him
And has been outdoing him
For centuries.
Oh shout, never whisper your thoughts
only loud voices get their point across.
Practice all that you believe and preach
or all your worth will be ****** as blood to a leech.
Believe that you are, not just one of many,
but one of few outdoing others plenty.
Reach out to those who have less than you,
one good deed can pull many smiles through.
Stay true to yourself, and realize that one simple dream
can evolve into something greater than the world has ever seen.
aurora kastanias Oct 2017
The singular marble of energy, infinitely dense,
Elected to expand towards inexistent directions,
Creating space to unfold volatile carpets of navy
Blue time, on which to develop endless potential.

Light ignites for particles to amalgamate reflections,
Evolving energy into matter, for atoms to compose
Spinning molecules assembled, filled with purpose
Pulled by force, of gravity building fusing stars.

Refractory minerals travel unnoticed and afar,
Leaving home to shower dust on spheres aligned
Orbiting a sun, where ingredients perfectly meld
Hosting falling comets and chondrites, water in disguise.

Suddenly life.

As the marble now exceeds measurement possibilities,
Perpetrating its expansion, outdoing light speed limits,
It decides to visit itself and its creations through the eyes
Of a species with a mind. Consciousness rise.

From a remote planet lost in its meanders,
Inhabitants of Earth slowly challenge their perceptions,
Reflecting shadows of primitive light to comprehend
Their role in the marble game encompassing all.

Suddenly the Universe.
On the Universe and space
Victor Tripp Oct 2015
Determine within yourself, to smile more, worry less
Let love and peace guide you away from the path of bigotry
That will slay the soul and mind, look to the lush green cornfields
Standing as silent guards in America, the blooming summer apples
The the rapid streams, with minnows swimming in clear creeks
Junebugs buzzing in sundown , butterflies floating in soft winds
Fireflies glowing as tiny  neon signs, outliving, outdoing, stonings
Beatings to the body , spirit, of being called "shine'' , '' ******'' , '' darky''
Which of themselves, are never unforgettable, ever hoping that a stain
will be left on white souls, so that one might be able to smile in autumn
Charles Sturies Jan 2018
I like my silliness sometimes

and my utter seriousness
with tongue in cheek sometimes
just to add a little - like I say
my father called it - sense of humor.

An emphasis on how *******
should be prevented in civilizations
if at all possible - once again.

I'm trying to be funny -
cause we don't want a
decline and fall of the
American Empire
but the police - man's other
best friend besides a dog -
will prevent that
which brings me to this - what
my sister dear calls
perverts or this ****** harrassment business
is being made too big of a deal out of
not that it's a doable offense but
some of us don't like a crime wave
of old men after all.
-Charles Sturies
Antony Glaser Jun 2016
By the border
they drink cactus  wine
breathless
outdoing   each other cussing their own Mothers
they tell poignant  stories  for a few guineas
on their first and only  loves
before they became tramps of sorts
profusely  coughing  up
nobody wants them mow
Katherine Jul 2015
The eyes are the ******* of the soul

You play your cards right

Let the eyes tell the lies

People will believe anything that they see

The upside to being depressed

Is you become professional to outdoing the best

A smile here and raise of the eyebrow there proves everything

Especially that "I love you" is true

It's the truth if the matter, that the best is yet to come and I hope you're there to see it and I won't have to tell lies.
Companionship: the good feeling that comes from being with someone else
AuEcologica Dec 2018
Shelter me from a playground of indecisions
Bury my fear and grant me that my hope brings me visions

I am never whom I was
I am never these illusions  

The child in me still searching for absolution.

I don’t want my youth to be a grave that I visit
I don’t want my youth to be a grave that I visit
I don’t want my youth to be a grave that I visit
More than fire and rain
More than sticks and stones
A home

A castle of glass misguiding emotions that are born
Never growing younger the age outdoing the clock

Decisions growling
Decisions howling

The child in me still looking for a flower.

I don’t want my youth to be a grave that I visit
I don’t want my youth to be a grave that I visit
I don’t want my youth to be a grave that I visit
More than fire and rain
More than sticks and stones
A home

A home
A home
A home
A home

Welcome home to childhood dreams
Welcome home to a destiny
Welcome home to a fragile heart
Welcome home

I don’t want my youth to be a grave that I visit.
Solus Dec 2017
Well, what did you expect?
A parade and celebration to honor your return?
A banquet and feast laid out just for you?
A thousand people waving and waiting to give you gifts,
every person outdoing the other, each gift more extravagant than the next?
For me to fall into your arms and say that I was waiting for you to come back?
Well, then you've got something coming.
I'm sorry if when I opened the door to your knock,
I didn't react like you thought I would,
But you were the one who said we were over
So I quit crying over you and moved on,
I tried to tell you before, that if you dump me,
You wouldn't get a second chance.
You found someone else with a lot of money,
And so you dumped me and picked her up.
But now you're back and wanting me again,
Your smile and open arms are tempting
But I know better than to trust someone,
Who told me they would never choose another over me.
So don't mind me as I tell you to never set foot here again,
And slam the door in your face.
Because in truth, while I am moving on with my life,
Inside a part of my heart, I'm still crying,  
Wishing, I could rewind time.
Small on the skyline,
This beautiful ship I’ve launched-
Testing the waters and her seaworthiness.
I stand on shore and strain to see
The sun glint off her sails as they unfurl,
It won’t be long before the horizon
Reaches out and takes her from my sight.

And yet she circles back again,
To the safety of this harbor
Where the ocean gathers calm and still.
But I know the tide is freshening
And the wind is for adventure.
I long to let her glide away but
It hurts too much to open up my fingers,
So I heave and pull on the mooring rope
Striving to keep her next to the pier-
Proud of the way she rides the swells-
Thrilled with the cut of her mainmast-
Excited with visions of where she can go-
Still I’m reluctant to bid her bon voyage.

For I have no ticket - this isn’t my trip,
I’ll have to be happy with postcards
From places mundane and wildly exotic-
Hoping she’s not out at sea too long and
That killer squalls don’t find her.

I’ve built her well - she’s sound and good.
There’s great common sense on the rudder.
The maps are laid out in orderly rows
And her spirit holds steady the sextant.

The tugs on the rope are outdoing my fingers
And I’ve had to begin to let go.
I must save some strength to lift hands in farewell
And keep vision clear through the teardrops.
        ljm
Thinking about Mother's Day
Mitchell May 2018
There are the days
When the mind is so sluggish
The imagination so depleted
Passion, desire, motivation
Evaporated

That all I'm left with
Is life
And all of its beautiful
Mundaneness

How do I describe
The lack of energy?

How do I describe
The depression
That keeps me from me?

How do I mute
The voices
That voice there
Knowingly
Consciously
Purposefully

There is a mad rhythm
In all of this
In all of us
And some days it's simply there
Underneath the fingertips
In the mind
In the soul
In the heart
And onto

The page

Other days
This day
This hour
This minute
This second

There is nothing but the objective truth
Of my fan whirring
Pushing air that mixes with this 9:40 PM
Early summer breeze
Warm neon orange reflecting on the
Silver moon Camry across the street
The pavement dry and littered with cold dog ****
With the rumbling echo of a plane filling the night sky

I put these down
These setting details
And I worry about the mechanics
Of such things

Wishing I didn't recognize
These things
Wishing I was as new to all this
Ignorant to the purpose
Of the proposed
As I was when I was a child
Not thinking about word choice
Page count
Structure, themes, authorial interpretation
Twitter followers and re-tweets

Is this what
This is now?

A game
Of
Outdoing
Yourself?

Of elbowing your way
To a seat
At the table?

Is this
What it's always
Been?

Is this
What it will always
Be?
am depressed,
it's like I never dressed ....
something reminds me of a golden opportunity I lost .
just because I couldn't concentrate ,I am lamenting !
this happened because of ignorance ,I am on the paying end,no light beyond the tunnel.
should I go ahead and hope for the impossible ?
should I turn back and loose?
no I should do something ....even the illuminated can't block me now...
agh! my agitation is the disgrace!
when will I get out of this satanic lock?
poverty bonds that can't allow me plan,even to buy a snack,
deep rooted right from my great granny ....was it to end like this!
I will face it anyway ,I want my hands to swell or sweat blood,
I won't give up.
I will die holding my pen,
perhaps it will bring my dream to reality!
it's me,working to defeat this situation already outdoing my brainy shell.
let me see !
I want to see at my coffin.
Dr Peter Lim Jan 2021
My aim in life is simple-- do the doable to the best of my ability--not to measure myself against others,  for life is not about competing with or outdoing others but self-becoming.  

I can't lead nor change the world and should only be concerned with creating meaning for myself - it's in the humble pursuit of ordinary daily things that I can find my worth, self-respect and, none the least, my limitations.  

Let me remain an ordinary person, live an ordinary life and die happy and content as the world goes by without me being noticed or known for I would have deemed this life of mine to been lived in the way I most value and cherish.  Death is the ultimate humility and has to be embraced and accepted -- it is not a blemish nor a killjoy but rather the summary and sublimation of a life that has been lived in fulness and  gratitude.
Dr Peter Lim Sep 2019
Outdoing others?
   I can't do myself that
   too full of errors
   in my silence I am glad

— The End —