Mirabeau Bridge

There’s a certain amount of reflection & restlessness perhaps as the seasons change—a looking back & a looking ahead; the days grow longer again, the quiet introspection of winter fading into the raucous longings & memories of spring time. I recall in graduate school how we used to poke fun at Eliot’s “April is the cruelest month” (my favorite jibe on this from those long ago Virginia days: Eberle’s “February is the shortest month”); but there’s some truth in what he wrote about “memory & desire” arising in the early spring.

In keeping with that thought—& despite the fact that it's March, not April—the Weekly Poem series this month will explore those themes, & I can’t think of any better poem to lead this off than Apollinaire’s "Le Pont Mirabeau." The translation was done by yours truly back in the 90s.

Regular readers of Robert Frost’s Banjo know that I hold Apollinaire’s poetry in the highest regard, & this poem illustrates one of his many poetic strengths—the ability to write about a timeless subject in language that’s both completely fresh & personal & also itself “timeless.” Of course, as always, I’d encourage readers who know French to read the original as well; the French text of Alcools is in the public domain & is available here at Project Gutenberg.

Hope you enjoy this moving & lyrical poem.

Mirabeau Bridge

Under the Mirabeau bridge flows the Seine
              And our love
          Must I recall
Joy always followed after pain

              Let night come toll the hour
              Days move on I remain

Hand in hand let’s linger face to face
              While beneath
          The bridge of our embrace
The weary swell of timeless glances flows

              Let night come toll the hour
              Days move on I remain

Love moves on like that current
              Love moves on
          How slow life seems
And Expectation how violent

              Let night come toll the hour
              Days move on I remain

Days pass on then the weeks pass on
              Neither past times
          Nor loves shall come again
Under the Mirabeau bridge flows the Seine

              Let night come toll the hour
              Days move on I remain

Guillaume Apollinaire
translation by John Hayes © 1990-2009