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I
Before entering my cell
I had to strip naked
And what a sinister voice howls
Guillaume what has become of you
Lazarus entering the tomb
Instead of coming out of it as he did
Farewell farewell singing round
O my years O young girls
II
No I no longer feel there
Myself
I am the fifteenth of the
Eleventh
The sun filters through
The panes
Its rays make on my verses
Buffoons
And dance on the paper
I listen
To someone tapping with his foot
The vault
III
In a pit like a bear
Every morning I take my walk
Let us turn turn turn always
The sky is blue like a chain
In a pit like a bear
Every morning I take my walk
In the cell next door
They make the fountain run
With the keys he jingles
Let the jailer go and come back
In the cell next door
They make the fountain run
IV
How bored I am between these bare walls
And painted in pale colors
A fly on the paper with tiny steps
Travels along my uneven lines
What will become of me O God who knows my sorrow
You who gave it to me
Take pity on my tearless eyes my pallor
The noise of my chained chair
And all these poor hearts beating in the prison
Love that accompanies me
Take pity especially on my feeble reason
And this despair that overwhelms me
V
How slowly the hours pass
As a burial passes
You will weep the hour when you weep
Which will pass too swiftly
As all the hours pass
VI
I listen to the sounds of the city
And prisoner without horizon
I see nothing but a hostile sky
And the bare walls of my prison
The day goes away now burns
A lamp in the prison
We are alone in my cell
Beautiful clarity Dear reason
September 1911.
Guillaume Apollinaire
Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.
Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-in-the-sante-guillaume-apollinaire/