Je pense à toi, Myrtho, divine enchanteresse,
Au Pausilippe altier, de mille feux brillant,
À ton front inondé des clartés d'Orient,
Aux raisins noirs mêlés avec l'or de ta tresse.
C'est dans ta coupe aussi que j'avais bu l'ivresse,
Et dans l'éclair furtif de ton œil souriant,
Quand aux pieds d'Iacchus on me voyait priant,
Car la Muse m'a fait l'un des fils de la Grèce.
Je sais pourquoi là-bas le volcan s'est rouvert . . .
C'est qu'hier tu l'avais touché d'un pied agile,
Et de cendres soudain l'horizon s'est couvert.
Depuis qu'un duc normand brisa tes dieux d'argile,
Toujours, sous les rameaux du laurier de Virgile,
Le pâle Hortensia s'unit au Myrte vert!
Myrtho
Gérard de Nerval
Listen to the poem read in the original French by Jenna Le:
In 1854, Gérard de Nerval published a group of twelve sonnets titled Les Chimères (The Chimeras). These esoteric poems, influenced by occultism and numerology and laden with obscure allusions to Greek and Egyptian mythology, have tantalized readers across the centuries. "Myrtho," the second sonnet in the group, is addressed to an ancient Greek enchantress named Myrtho who stands on the rocky heights of the historical Neapolitan district of Posilippo. This Muse-like figure graciously introduces the speaker of Nerval's poem to the joys of wine and poetry.
I initially set out to write a literal translation of "Myrtho," but I found myself stymied by the distant feel of many of Nerval's word choices. In order to make the poem seem more relevant to a modern reader, I capriciously transformed Nerval's ancient Greek enchantress Myrtho into a modern-day American plutocrat named Matthew. I do not think this change is overly presumptuous, as it seems to me that our society worships wealth in a manner not unlike that in which the ancient Greeks worshipped their gods and goddesses.
Once this change had been made, writing the translation became easy: mountainous Posilippo naturally morphed into mountainous Vail, the famed Colorado ski resort with its glamorous nightlife, and Nerval's poignant tale of a young man who is star-struck by a Greek goddess gave way to my own account of a young woman who is star-struck by a Wall Street "golden boy." I trust that I have remained faithful to the spirit of Nerval's poem, in my own fanciful irony-laden way.
I initially set out to write a literal translation of "Myrtho," but I found myself stymied by the distant feel of many of Nerval's word choices. In order to make the poem seem more relevant to a modern reader, I capriciously transformed Nerval's ancient Greek enchantress Myrtho into a modern-day American plutocrat named Matthew. I do not think this change is overly presumptuous, as it seems to me that our society worships wealth in a manner not unlike that in which the ancient Greeks worshipped their gods and goddesses.
Once this change had been made, writing the translation became easy: mountainous Posilippo naturally morphed into mountainous Vail, the famed Colorado ski resort with its glamorous nightlife, and Nerval's poignant tale of a young man who is star-struck by a Greek goddess gave way to my own account of a young woman who is star-struck by a Wall Street "golden boy." I trust that I have remained faithful to the spirit of Nerval's poem, in my own fanciful irony-laden way.
Gérard de Nerval was born in Paris in 1808. He committed suicide in the same city in 1855. His works, including Voyage en Orient (1851), Sylvie (1853), and Les Filles du Feu (1854), influenced countless writers ranging from Marcel Proust to T. S. Eliot.
Jenna Le is a poet and translator. Her first full-length collection of poetry, Six Rivers, was published by New York Quarterly Books in 2011. Her poems and translations of poetry have appeared or are forthcoming in AGNI Online, Barrow Street, The Brooklyn Rail InTranslation section, New York Quarterly, Post Road, Salamander, the Sycamore Review website, and others. She has been a finalist in the William Carlos Williams Poetry Competition, a Pushcart Prize nominee, and a nominee for the PEN Emerging Writers Award.
