Arthur Rimbaud: “My Bohemia”

My Bohemia

And so I set out, hands in pockets with no seams.
My overcoat, too, was becoming an ideal.
I roamed beneath the sky, Muse, under your heel.
And oh, what marvelous loves filled my dreams!

My one pair of pants was torn and worn thin.
Tom Thumb dreamer, I trampled roads with a tread
Made of rhymes.  On constellations, I lay my head.
The stars in the skies made a rustling din.

And I listened to them by the roadside stops,
On sweet September nights, when I felt the drops
Of dew on my forehead, like a wine, strong and tart.

And rhyming among strange shadows and traces,
I plucked the harp-strings I found in the laces
Of my ragged boots, one foot pressed to my heart.

Arthur Rimbaud

Translated from French by Paul Weinfield, © 2014

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s