To Gautier

Georgian version here

This poem contains many references, and is dedicated to Théophile Gautier

To Gautier

You named your native haven Pimodan,
A place forever Delaroche’s hues.
The light awaited us, and it was laden
Laden with laurel and with petit choux
This blessed time is even now more perfect!
In each: the lightning of Brumel and Lauzon.
And please, please where are all the altruistic
Poets, painters, passing ladies, mimosian?
Surrounding us are white streams of rememberance.
Surrounding us are streams, light and clandestine:
The place glowed — a snug, erudite Parnassus,
It was a legendary lifestyle of the mind.
But we were seeking something profound, something Georgian…
Rhyme — and subtle nuance, rhythmic shadows.
Where were all the people from the pattern:
The Maenads — swan and wing — Infantas?
For now the road is thornier than thorn,
And no one else is trampled as this soul.
Now I’m an empty mountain church, forlorn,
And the dying sunlight dooms me with a smile.