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Qu’est-ce pour nous, mon cœur, que les nappes de sang
Et de braise, et mille meurtres, et les longs cris
De rage, sanglots de tout enfer renversant
Tout ordre ; et l’Aquilon encor sur les débris
Et toute vengeance ? Rien !… — Mais si, toute encor,
Nous la voulons ! Industriels, princes, sénats,
Périssez ! puissance, justice, histoire, à bas !
Ça nous est dû. Le sang ! le sang ! la flamme d’or !
Tout à la guerre, à la vengeance, à la terreur,
Mon esprit ! Tournons dans la Morsure : Ah ! passez,
Républiques de ce monde ! Des empereurs,
Des régiments, des colons, des peuples, assez !
Qui remuerait les tourbillons de feu furieux,
Que nous et ceux que nous nous imaginons frères ?
À nous ! Romanesques amis : ça va nous plaire.
Jamais nous ne travaillerons, ô flots de feux !
Europe, Asie, Amérique, disparaissez.
Notre marche vengeresse a tout occupé,
Cités et campagnes ! — Nous serons écrasés !
Les volcans sauteront ! et l’océan frappé…
Oh ! mes amis ! — mon cœur, c’est sûr, ils sont des frères :
Noirs inconnus, si nous allions ! allons ! allons !
Ô malheur ! je me sens frémir, la vieille terre,
Sur moi de plus en plus à vous ! la terre fond,
Ce n’est rien ! j’y suis ! j’y suis toujours.
What’s it to us, my heart, the folds of blood
And the coals, and a thousand murders, and long wailings
Of rage, cries from every inferno upturning
Every order; and the north wind gusts over the wreckage
And all vengeance? Nothing!… – But still, just the same,
We want it! Industrialists, princes, courts:
Perish! Down with power, justice, history!
This is our reward! The blood! The blood! The golden flame!
All to war, to vengeance, to terror,
My spirit! We turn in this vise: oh, be gone
Republics of the world! We’ve had enough of
Emperors, regiments, empires and peoples!
Who would whip up the whirlwind of furious fire,
But we ourselves and those we imagine to be our brothers?
For us, romantic friends, it will give us pleasure,
We never shall work, o waves of fire!
Europe, Asia, America, disappear!
Our avenging march has occupied all,
City and country!—We shall be crushed!
Volcanoes shall erupt! And the ocean struck. . .
Oh, my friends!—My heart is confident they are our brothers:
The dark unknowns, if we were to go! Let’s go!
Woe to us! I sense the shudders, the old soil,
Upon me, yours more and more! The soil melts.
But it’s nothing; I am here; I am still here.
–Arthur Rimbaud, Qu’est-ce pour nous, mon cœur (1872) in: Œuvres complètes p. 124 (R. de Renéville & J. Mouquet eds. 1954) (S.H. transl.)
More from Scott Horton:
Conversation — March 30, 2016, 3:44 pm
Joseph Hickman discusses his new book, The Burn Pits, which tells the story of thousands of U.S. soldiers who, after returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, have developed rare cancers and respiratory diseases.
The new docudrama The People v. O. J. Simpson: American Crime Story (FX) isn’t really about Orenthal James Simpson. It’s about the trials that ran alongside his — those informal, unboundaried, court-of-public-opinion trials in which evidence was heard for and against the murder victims, the defense and the prosecution, the judge, the jury, and the Los Angeles Police Department, to say nothing of white and black America. History has freed us from suspense about Simpson’s verdict, so that the man himself (played here by Cuba Gooding Jr.) is less the tragic hero he seemed in the mid-Nineties than a curiously minor character. He comes to the center of our attention only once, in Episode 2, at the end of the lengthy Ford Bronco chase scene — which in real life was followed by a surreal cavalcade of police cars and media helicopters, as well as an estimated 95 million live viewers — when Simpson repeatedly, and with apparent sincerity, apologizes for taking up so much of so many people’s time. It is an uncannily ordinary moment of social decorum, a sort of could-you-please-pass-the-salt gesture on a sinking Titanic, in which Simpson briefly becomes more than just an archetype.
Amount an auditor estimated last year that Oregon could save each year by feeding prisoners less food:
Kentucky is the saddest state.
An Italian economist was questioned on suspicion of terrorism after a fellow passenger on an American Airlines flight witnessed him writing differential equations on a pad of paper.
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“Matt was happy enough to sustain himself on the detritus of a world he saw as careening toward self-destruction, and equally happy to scam a government he despised. 'I’m glad everyone’s so wasteful,' he told me. 'It supports my lifestyle.'”