{"id":4252,"date":"2019-01-19T21:43:50","date_gmt":"2019-01-20T05:43:50","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/GXL\/?p=4252"},"modified":"2019-02-01T15:25:09","modified_gmt":"2019-02-01T23:25:09","slug":"au-cabaret-vert-cinq-heures-du-soir","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/alteritas.net\/GXL\/?p=4252","title":{"rendered":"Au Cabaret-Vert, cinq heures du soir"},"content":{"rendered":"

This is the way I like it. Near the end of Season One of the French TV series <\/i>Chefs, there is a culinary show-down, <\/i>Iron Chefs style, which turns around a 1870 sonnet by the prodigy Arthur Rimbaud, written when he was turning 17. \u00a0I had always loved this poem, simplicity itself, Rimbaud\u2019s point.<\/i><\/p>\n

After I woke up this morning my rhymed translation fell into place before lunch, the last rhyme knitting together during my post-prandial nap.\u00a0[And thanks to J.A. for a deft suggestion.]<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 *<\/p>\n

For a whole week I\u2019d been wearing out my soles
\ntramping down rocky paths. When I got home
\nI headed to the Cabaret-Vert, ordering rolls
\nwith butter and a slab of lukewarm ham.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

At peace, I stretched my legs out, admired
\nthe simple patterns on tapestry hung
\non the wall. Then the girl served up the desired
\nbuns, her tits big, bright eyes so young\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2014 not likely would she shy away from a peck!
\nThe pink ham with its rim of white fat bedecked
\nwith pungent garlic sat on a fancy dish.<\/p>\n

With it she brought a stein topped with froth,
\nspume glistening in the sun. In truth,
\nthere was little more I could ever wish.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 *<\/p>\n

Depuis huit jours, j’avais d\u00e9chir\u00e9 mes bottines
\n<\/i>Aux cailloux des chemins. J’entrais \u00e0 Charleroi.
\n<\/i>– Au Cabaret-Vert : je demandai des tartines
\n<\/i>Du beurre et du jambon qui f\u00fbt \u00e0 moiti\u00e9 froid.<\/i><\/p>\n

Bienheureux, j’allongeai les jambes sous la table
\n<\/i>Verte : je contemplai les sujets tr\u00e8s na\u00effs
\n<\/i>De la tapisserie. – Et ce fut adorable,
\n<\/i>Quand la fille aux t\u00e9tons \u00e9normes, aux yeux vifs,<\/i><\/p>\n

– Celle-l\u00e0, ce n’est pas un baiser qui l’\u00e9peure ! –
\n<\/i>Rieuse, m’apporta des tartines de beurre,
\n<\/i>Du jambon ti\u00e8de, dans un plat colori\u00e9,<\/i><\/p>\n

Du jambon rose et blanc parfum\u00e9 d’une gousse
\n<\/i>D’ail, – et m’emplit la chope immense, avec sa mousse
\n<\/i>Que dorait un rayon de soleil arri\u00e9r\u00e9.<\/i><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
“Le Cabaret-Vert\u201d, du peintre ardennais Jean-Paul Saurin<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

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\"\"<\/a>
Yours truly at Rimbaud’s tomb, Charleville, 1988<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This is the way I like it. Near the end of Season One of the French TV series Chefs, there is a culinary show-down, Iron Chefs style, which turns around a 1870 sonnet by the prodigy Arthur Rimbaud, written when he was turning 17. \u00a0I had always loved this poem, simplicity itself, Rimbaud\u2019s point. After … <\/p>\n

Continue reading “Au Cabaret-Vert, cinq heures du soir”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n

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