Caerulei Oculi - Théophile Gautier
Pierre Jules Théophile Gautier was born in Tarbes at August 31 of 1811; he was a poet, novelist, journalist, dramaturge, literary critic and French photographer. His family moved to Paris in his childhood. At first, he wanted to be a painter but his literary leaning took him into the poetry; he was friend of Honore de Balzac and Victor Hugo.
His poetry began to develop since 1826 and to publish in La Presse daily and others. He traveled around the world especially by Spain, Italy, Turkey, Egypt and Algeria; his travels influenced in his works, such as Voyage en Espagne (1843), Trésors d'Art de la Russie (1858) and Voyage en Russie (1867). He was the principal of the Revue de Paris from 1851 to 1856. He was a defender of the romanticism but his work has references of the parnasianism, symbolism and modernism. He died in October 23 of 1872 and buried in the Cimentière de Montmartre, Paris.
Poems in french
Caerulei OculiUne femme mystérieuse,Dont la beauté trouble mes sens, Se tient debout, silencieuse, Au bord des flots retentissants. Ses yeux, où le ciel se reflète, Mêlent à leur azur amer, Qu'étoile une humide paillette, Les teintes glauques de la mer. Dans les langueurs de leurs prunelles, Une grâce triste sourit; Les pleurs mouillent les étincelles Et la lumière s'attendrit ; Et leurs cils comme des mouettes Qui rasent le flot aplani, Palpitent, ailes inquiètes, Sur leur azur indéfini. Comme dans l'eau bleue et profonde, Où dort plus d'un trésor coulé, On y découvre à travers l'onde La coupe du roi de Thulé. Sous leur transparence verdâtre, Brille parmi le goémon, L'autre perle de Cléopâtre Prés de l'anneau de Salomon. La couronne au gouffre lancée Dans la ballade de Schiller, Sans qu'un plongeur l'ait ramassée, Y jette encor son reflet clair. Un pouvoir magique m'entraîne Vers l'abîme de ce regard, Comme au sein des eaux la sirène Attirait Harald Harfagar. Mon âme, avec la violence D'un irrésistible désir, Au milieu du gouffre s'élance Vers l'ombre impossible à saisir. Montrant son sein, cachant sa queue, La sirène amoureusement Fait ondoyer sa blancheur bleue Sous l'émail vert du flot dormant. L'eau s'enfle comme une poitrine Aux soupirs de la passion ; Le vent, dans sa conque marine, Murmure une incantation. " Oh ! viens dans ma couche de nacre, Mes bras d'onde t'enlaceront ; Les flots, perdant leur saveur âcre, Sur ta bouche, en miel couleront. " Laissant bruire sur nos têtes, La mer qui ne peut s'apaiser, Nous boirons l'oubli des tempêtes Dans la coupe de mon baiser. " Ainsi parle la voix humide De ce regard céruléen, Et mon coeur, sous l'onde perfide, Se noie et consomme l'hymen. Théophile Gautier |
Caerulei OculiA mysterious woman,whose beauty disordered my senses, Standing, silent, At the edge of the waves resounding. Her eyes, when the sky is reflected, Mixed with its bitter blue As stars a wet straw, The glaucous color of the sea In the languor of their eyes, With a sad smile; The tears wet the spark And the light softened; And eyelashes like seagulls Shave that smoothed the flow, Pulsating, restless wings, On its undefined blue. As in the deep blue water, When more than one treasure sleep deeply We discover through the wave The cut of the King of Thule. Transparency in their greenish Shines among the seaweed, Another pearl of Cleopatra Near to the ring of Solomon. The crown launched the abyss In the ballad of Schiller, Without a diver is the pact, Y throws again its clear reflection. Train of magical power Towards the abyss of that look, As water in the siren Harald drew Harfagar. My soul, with violence On an irresistible desire Dashes in the middle of the abyss Towards the shadow impossible to grasp. Showing her breast, hiding its tail, The siren of love Is waving its white blue Under the frame of green enamel flow. The water swells like a chest With sighs of passion; The wind, in his shell, Whispers an incantation. "Oh, come into my layer of nacre, Wave my arms hold you; The waves, losing their acrid, On your mouth, honey flow. "Leaving rustle over our heads, The sea can calm down, We drink to forget storms In the cup of my kiss. " Thus speaks the voice wet As a cerulean eyes, And my heart, as the treacherous wave It drowns and consumes the hymen. Théophile Gautier |
© 2007-2023 - All Rights Reserved