Stéphane Mallarmé (1842–1898)

These carefully-curated writings span from 1863-97.

“Apparition” (1863) establishes him as an obvious genius right out of the gate. Some of its heart-rending imagery includes “vaporous flowers,” “dying violins,” “white sobs,” “the perfume of sadness,” and “white bouquets of perfumed stars.” (That last one is its final line, and you can see how it seamlessly brings together three topics used previously in the poem.)

The next year, he picked up right where he left off with “The Azure” (1864), which is tumultuously exciting. This homage to the blue canopy lurking above us culminates alarmingly with
“It travels ancient through the fog, and penetrates
Like an unerring blade your native agony;
Where flee in my revolt so useless and depraved?
For I am haunted! The Sky! The Sky! The Sky! The Sky!”

The translation of “Sigh” (1864) somewhat reconfigures it, boldly taking it from 10 lines to 14 while keeping the same approximate number of words. The translator, Frederick Morgan, manages to brilliantly tease out some rhymes (“sky” & “eye,” “leaves” & “cleave”) that weren’t necessarily set up to rhyme in the original structure. I’m guessing this is why he decided to mold the clay on the way that he did. I can’t recall ever seeing this done before.

The enigmatic and dreamlike effort “Lace Passes Into Nothingness…” (1884) could be called ambient poetry. Its pacing and precision brings to my mind Emily Dickinson.

The collection concludes spectacularly with the avant-garde “Dice Thrown Never Will Annul Chance” (1895), using an array of font sizes and text splashed across the pages to truly throw the gauntlet down. This proto-Dadaist splurge, superior to Ginsberg’s “Howl” in my opinion, even has its own two-page preface, by Mallarmé himself.

This book presents each poem except for “Dice…” in French on the left pages and English on the right. (The prose is only given in English.) Evidently Mallarmé’s writing style is challenging to translate, as fifteen different translators were recruited, each giving his or her own twist to each item, so it helps to know a good bit of French, as I luckily do.

As Eliot, Baudelaire, and Neruda did to me some years ago, this slim book has rekindled my love of the written word and fired up my imagination to levels that should be illegal. It’s that great. Now to acquire everything this guy ever put to paper…

RIYL: Baudelaire, Neruda, Shakespeare’s sonnets, Jim Morrison, 1980s gothic rock / ethereal wave lyricists… (mais)