Studio Scene, Poem by Charles Cros

Poem by Charles Cros Collection The Collar of ClawsPeriod 19th century

To Louis Montégut.

Exquisite musician, before his easel,
The painter with golden hair, with flowing beard,
Hums. And yet he brushes furiously
The canvas, for, truly, that subject pleases him.

The model is a tiger, a real tiger, complete,
Alive and miaowing as in its homeland;
This tiger poses badly, its movement varies,
It is no longer the profile the painter wanted.

One must see claw, and jealousy…
And the painter, singing nightingale songs,
Pushes the beast, which roars. He is in ecstasy.

And with his black brush, which runs with a light flight,
Sows among the striped fur “Fantasy,”
Sixteenth note, and sigh and sharp and flat.

—–

I have been a dead man for several years;
My bones are covered by faded roses.

—–

So much the worse for virtue! Polichinelle the drunkard,
And doubly hunchbacked, mocks lawsuits,
The devil, death; after so many crimes!
And we all adore him. Why? Because he hits!

Charles Cros

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-studio-scene-charles-cros-2/