French poet Charles Baudelaire lived a dark life from 1821 to 1867. Embattled by lifelong habits of drug use, drinking, and frequenting prostitutes, he became ill at an early age and illness plagued him the rest of his years. Regarded as his greatest work was a heavily censored volume of poetry titled Les Fleurs du mal (or, The Flowers of Evil). Despite his success as a writer, his habits and censorship left him bankrupt by the end of his life where he died under the care of his mother.
Most of Baudelaire's poetry was vulgar and graphic, despite the artistry present in his work. It was a reflection of the troubled life he lived and his bleak outlook on living and dying. Almost every poem that Baudelaire wrote was dark in nature, with an exception for his poem "L'invitation au voyage" (or, "Invitation to the Voyage"). In this poem, the speaker sways their lover to accompany them to a descriptively ideal place. In essence, it is a love poem wrapped in beauty and tinged with a soft perfume (plus some hyacinths, too).
This is my personal translation of the poem from French to English. I am not the first to tackle translating this poem, but I feel that many translations do little to respect the effort Baudelaire put into penning this poem. Many English translations choose to neglect the tight meter and rhyme scheme of the original French poem; my version does its best to adhere to these devices.*
My lover, my dear,
Dream softly and clear
Of living in unity!
To love in respite,
Till the dying light
In lands that flaunt your beauty!
The aqueous suns
Of cloudy heavens
My spirits they have seduced,
So full of mystique
Like your eyes bespeak,
Full of shining tears diffused.
There, all is in perfect measure,
Plentiful in peace and pleasure.
The bright furnishings,
Polished by the springs,
Shall decorate our room;
Where the rarest flowers
Mix in the aura
Of amber scented perfume,
The ceiling expanse,
The deep mirror glance,
The oriental grandeur,
All things their can reach
The soul in a speech
Of soft and native candor.
There, all is in perfect measure,
Plentiful in peace and pleasure.
See on the channels
The sleeping vessels
Whose temperament is to roam;
To soothe any ire
And slightest desire
They come from corners they comb.
– Now the sun comes down
And blankets the town,
Channels and fields entire,
In hyacinth and gold;
The world sleeps in fold,
Underneath the light of fire.
There, all is in perfect measure,
Plentiful in peace and pleasure.
*For the original poem and more English translations, you can click on the following link: http://fleursdumal.org/poem/148.
