A Toast by Stéphane Mallarmé

A Toast

Nothing, this foam, virgin verse

Denoting only the cup;

From afar a siren troop

Drowns upended in reverse.

We sail, O my diverse

Friends, I upon the stern,

You the dashing prow that churns

The flood of winters we traverse;

A lovely flush enlists

Me without fearing its pitch

To offer upright this toast:

Solitude, star, atoll coast

To whatever toll prevails

By the white care of our sail.

Original Poem:

Salut

Rien, cette écume, vierge vers

A ne désigner que la coupe;

Telle loin se noie une troupe

De sirènes mainte à l'envers.

Nous naviguons, ô mes divers

Amis, moi déjà sur la poupe

Vous l'avant fasteux qui coupe

Le flot de foudres et d'hivers;

Une ivresse belle m'engage

Sans craindre même son tangage

De porter debout ce salut

Solitude, récife, étoile

A n'importe ce qui valut

Le blanc souci de notre toile.

Department by Toeti Heraty

Department
For Rien

You gave me

a final order: bring me
everlasting youth and beauty.

The chamber is stifling

as dry dust piles

onto folders, files, and papers

with crinkled corners, and hopes

already stacked and locked away,

silent in dust.

Passion, at first trembling,

arises as orange flames

to youth-green life,

becomes scribbled paper

with typed requests

that are set aside.

Windows opened and curtains pushed aside

let in the sun to warm

the ever-shortened working hours

torn up here and there—

for tables are deserted, ashtrays gleam

and the phone rings and rings

as a voice is lost

in swarming idleness.

Ah, so mankind lives by quiet strength

with roots so deep to seize the earth

and closed-off meetings, seminars, reports

with working papers, copies, texts,

advice from bosses and vice-deputies?

  

The life of man is too much aflame

and without a sign annuls as mute

the piles of dust that echo

and fall upon the paper boys

at the main entrance, and the line

of official cars that come and go.

Indeed,

far from life

and your last request.

Suata Departemen

Untuk Rien

kau katakan padaku

pesan terakhir:

      bawakan keindahan dan

      kemudaan selalu

ruang menyesak, karena

keusangan debu membiak

map-map, berkas dan kertas dengan

ujung-ujung layu dan harapan-harapan

telah ditumpuk, diperam

membisu dalam debu

gairah, semula menggetar

bangunkan nyala-nyala jingga pada

hidup yang hijau muda,

jadi coretan-coretan

secarik kertas dengan ketikan permohonan

      yang dibiarkan saja

jendela terbuka dan tirai menyisi

lewatkan matahari menghangati

jam-jam kerja yang semakin pendek

disobek sana-sini—karena

meja-meja lengang, asbak mengkilat

dan telpon berdering berkali-kali

suara hilang dalam iseng

       yang berlipat ganda ini

ah, manusia hidup kukuh tenang

dengan akar dalam-dalam mencekam bumi

       dan rapat-rapat, seminar, laporan

       serta prasaran, naskah-naskah kerja

       wejangan oleh bapak-bapak atau wakilnya?

hidup manusia terlalu membara

dan tanpa isyarat akan menganggap sepi

tumpukan debu yang berkumandang

       menyentuh anak-anak penjual koran

       di depan pintu, mobil-mobil dinas

       berderetan datang dan lalu

memang,

jauh dari hidup

dan pesan akhirmu