Tristan Corbière
Time for Bed (smiling sweetly)
Pleasure was so hard for you, but evil’s easy –
Let it thrive and come to a head.
It’s no go the Muse, she’s a death-mask and wheezy;
One goes off alone to be dead –
Your sheet knows your come and your handkerchief your snot;
Sing up, but do not bite the dust
By taking to the streets with your little begging pot
For a pittance of love or disgust.
You’ll have a sleep: for troubled waters that’s the oil;
Patient Death though is playing with your mortal coil,
Skinny-cat-with-a-mouse style;
Her velvet paw fondles you and throws you. Treasure
Such paroxysms – they’re another sensual pleasure:
Twist your mouth, foam at the lips . . . and smile.
Translated by Christopher Pilling
Page(s) 127
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