This is not how I envisioned this project beginning. I have always been able to find the books I want on ABEbooks.com, Amazon.com, or through the library. Not so in this case. I looked in all of these places. There are books, all in French. I ordered a copy of Le France: sonnets, which Amazon assured me was in English. It is a beautiful little volume I will keep it as a souvenir, but I am years of French language lessons from appreciating its verbal beauty. As I write I await an anthology from the Pennsylvania State Library System which might have some translated poems. Both MaryAnn and I have been hard on the trail of this elusive Frenchman. So far our search has yielded only one translation Le vase brise (The broken vase). I love it but need much more. While we wait for translations let’s take a look at our scientist turned poet.
Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme was born in Paris on March 16, 1839. His father died when he was two so his mother was forced to move to the home of her brother. His father, known as Sully, inspired the poetic non de plum, hyphenating his fathers nick name with their surname. He excelled in classical literature and mathematics at the Lycee Bonaparte where he took a Bachelor of Science degree with the intention of entering engineering. While a student he contracted ophthalmia, a severe inflammation of the eyes, which forced him to discontinue his studies. The scientific mind set stayed.
After several job changes, he studied law while working in a Persian law office. As remedy for an unhappy love affair he studied philosophy in the evenings and composed short poems. These were well received by fellow writers. He became attached to the Parnassians, a group who insisted on restraint, precision, and objectivity in poetry. They viewed themselves as an antidote to romantics such as Victor Hugo. Acceptance into this group allowed him to forgo study of the law and devote his full time to writing. In 1865 he published his first volume of poetry, Stanzas and poems.
For the next five years he would enjoy a happy and productive existence. In 1870, while serving France’s national militia during the Franco-Prussian War, Sully heard that his mother, and beloved uncle and aunt all had died. It is believed the shock coupled with the stresses of the war resulted in a stroke which left the lower part of his body partially paralyzed. He continued to write poetry described as wistfully tender and serious. During what is called his middle period he went to longer poetic forms. In this medium he discussed philosophical and scientific concepts. His goal was to bring art and life together. I am frustrated by my lack of linguistic skills. I would love to read La justice . From descriptions it sounds like just the kind of thing that would appeal to me. A trip to the Library of Congress is in the near future to see if there is a translation available. Even then, I am sure the translation does not do justice to the original. I can see this is a poet I will pursue long after I have finished this project.
Sully Prudhomme did several epic poems and a series of prose works, largely on literary criticism, scientific reasoning, and philosophical thought. In 1881 he was elected to the French Academy, the authority on grammar, vocabulary, and usage of the French language. After a long and paralyzing illness he died in his home in Chatenay-Malabry, France , September 7, 1907.
In his presentation speech C. D. af Wirsen, Permanent Secretary of the Swedish Academy, explained the nature of the award and said specifically of Sully Prudhomme’s work, “The Swedish Academy has been less attracted by his didactic or abstract poems than by his smaller lyric compositions, which are full of feeling and contemplation, and which charm by their nobility and dignity and by the extremely rare union of delicate reflection and rich sentiment.”
I am afraid I will have to take the good Permanent Secretary at his word. MaryAnn and I had the great good fortune to finding seven translations of Sully Prudomme’s poems on the internet. We found an excellent translation of The broken vase at http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/programs/2009/fraility/prudhomme-poetry.shtml with the French. At http://oldpoetry.com we found At the water’s edge, In this world, On the water, Cradles, Never to see or hear her, and Music for the dying. Also the book I ordered through the library came through. It is a series entitled Nobel prize library (1971) Alex Gregory, NY & CRM Publishing, CA. It has four more poems and a prose piece, An intimate journal. This too small collection of poems is like a bracelet of diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls on the wrist of a lover. The beauty of the ornament is only enhanced by the far deeper beauty of its wearer. Each of these little poems sent me to a time and with a person. How did this man, more than one hundred years ago, know about the time I…no, this is neither the time or place for that story. I was especially moved by The broken vase and Never to see or hear her, I suspect anyone who has been passionately in love would resonate to these words. I have included the translation of The broken vase from the Nobel prize library . I hope you enjoy it as much as me.
The Broken Vase
The vase that holds the dying rose
Tapped lightly by a lady’s fan
Cracked at this slightest of all blows,
Though not an eye the flaw could scan.
And yet the line, so light, so slight,
Etched ever deeper on the bowl,
Spread to the left, spread to the right,
Until it circled round the whole.
The water sinks, the petals fall,
Yet none divines, no word is spoken;
The surface seems intact to all;
Ah! Touch it not – the vase is broken.
Thus oft the heart is lightly brused
By some slight word of those we cherished;
Yet through the wound our blood has oozed,
As lo! The flower of love has perished.
Thought to the world our life seems whole,
The hidden wound is unforgot5;
It grows and weeps within the soul:
The heart is broken – touch it not.
I am sure she did not mean to hurt the poor fellow, but when your heart is so close to the surface the brush of something so light as a fan can cause the dripping which kills something inside. But God forbid Never to see or hear her. I enjoyed this too short visit with Sully Prudhomme. I am sure I will come back many times.
This is going to be a big change, from a French poet to a German classical historian. This calls for Wagner, probably Tannhauser, some good very dark beer, and sausage thinly sliced. Now to settle back in my chair to read Imperial lives and letters of the eleventh century by Theodor Mommsen, winner of the 1902 Nobel Prize in Literature.
Are you still reading Nobel Prize in Literature winners? Our bookclub is about half way through the list after ten years of reading (sometimes we read a single book...other times we read several),
ReplyDeleteL. Wolfe .