| SONNET 1 | SONNET 1 |
| Louise Labé | tr. Peter Low |
|
Si jamais il y eut plus clairvoyant qu'Ulysse, Il n'aurait jamais pu prévoir que ce visage, Orné de tant de grâce et si digne d'hommage, Devienne l'instrument de mon affreux supplice. Cependant ces beaux yeux, Amour, ont su ouvrir Dans mon coeur innocent une telle blessure - Dans ce coeur où tu prends chaleur et nourriture - Que tu es bien le seul à pouvoir m'en guérir. Cruel destin! Je suis victime d'un Scorpion, Et je ne puis attendre un remède au poison Que du même animal qui m'a empoisonnée! Je t'en supplie, Amour, cesse de me tourmenter! Mais n'éteins pas en moi mon plus précieux désir, Sinon il me faudra fatalement mourir. |
Not even shrewd Ulysses could have guessed that I would suffer, from a god whose face is full of honour, courtliness and grace, such anguishes and torments in my breast. Yet, Eros, with two eyes you have delivered so many wounds into this innocent heart (of which you already ruled a major part) that there’s no hope for me unless you give it. I’m like the victim of a scorpion’s tail who knows - cruel fate! - all cures are doomed to fail that don’t come from the beast that is to blame. I call on him to end my dreadful pain ... but not to quench this flame of love I cherish, because without it I would surely perish. |
(i)This sonnet was originally composed in Italian. Click here for the Italian text.
Trans. Copyright © Peter Low 2005