Vilmorin’s poem for Mazurka flows down the page and includes a repeated element: Font, font, font. There are other elements and images here, too, that are repeated from the Prelude.

Here’s the original French text:

Les bijoux aux poitrines,

Les soleils aux plafonds

Les robes opalines,

Miroirs et violons

Font ainsi, font, font, font

Des mains tomber l’aiguill

L’aiguille de raison

Des mains de jeunes filles

Qui s’envolent et font

Font ainsi, font, font,

D’un regard qui s’appuie,

D’une ride a leur front

Le beau temps ou la pluie

Et d’un soupir larron

Font ainsi, font, font,

font Du bal une tourmente

Où sage et vagabond

D’entendre l’inconstante

Dire oui, dire non

Font ainsi, font, font,

font Danser l’incertitude

Dont les pas compteront,

Oh! Le doux pas de prudes,

Leurs silences profonds

Font ainsi, font, font,

font, Du bal une contrée

Où les feux s’uniront.

Des amours rencontrées

Ainsi la neige fond.

La neige fond, fond, fond.

And here is my poetic translation:

Mazurka

The bejeweled breasts,

the ceiling its suns,

the opaline gowns,

mirrors and violins

make so, make, make, make

from the hands fall away the needle,

the needle of reason,

from the hands of young girls

who fly themselves away and make

make so, make, make

of one who leans and watches,

of one wrinkle upon a brow

a day of beauty or of rain

and of one thieving sigh

make so, make, make

make of an evening’s dance a torment

where the wise and wandering

listen to the whispered

affirmations and rebuttals

make so, make, make

make of those counted steps

a halting dance.

Oh! The soft steps of the innocents,

their silences overbrimming

make so, make, make

make of an evening dance a country

where flames will converge,

these lovers met,

so the snow melts, the snow

melts, and melts, and melts.

Here is my first draft of a literal translation:

Valse

Le flot du silence ne porte,

The flood of silence cannot bring

Qu’un vaisseau d’absence à ma porte.

But an empty vessel to my door

Feuilles mortes, letter morte,

Dead leave, dead letters,

Je n’ai d’autre courier.

I have no other courier.

Le pas vers votre découverte

The step toward your discovery

Ta voix à ma pensée offerte,

Your voice at my thoughts offering

Feuilles vertes, letter ouverte,

Green leaves, open letters

Vous m’avez oublié.

You have forgotten me.

Valsez. J’ai valsé ma bataille.

Waltz. I have waltzed my battles

Pour arme j’avais votre taille, fiancailles,

For a weapon I had your waist, betrothed,

Feu de paille,

Fire of straw,

Vous brulez tout mon temps.

You burn all my steps.

Perce-neige des matinées

Snow-drop of mornings

Dans la neige des destinées

In the snow of destinies

Bien aimée J’ai le coeur mécontent.

Beloved I have a wretched heart

Viens, sur le flot du silence

Come, on the flood of silence

Descends de ton vaisseau d’absence,

Descend from your vessel of absence,

Viens présence

Come presence

Et dépense

And use up

Tous mes baisers chagrins.

All my sorrowful kisses.

Forgeant les anneaux de nos chaînes,

Forge the rings of our chains,

La valse vers moi te ramène.

Bring back your waltz to me

Du domaine de mes peines

From the world of my griefs

Ton coeur est riverain.

Your heart is the shore.

And here is the final poem:

Waltz

The flood of silence cannot bring

but an empty vessel to my door:

dead leaves, dead letters.

I have no other messenger.

Your voice edges my mind

toward your undraping:

green leaves, open letters.

You have forgotten me. The waltz!

I have danced my struggles.

Your waist had been my weapon,

my betrothed, fire of dried grass,

all my steps have burned.

You, the flower piercing

this bed of morning snow,

my love, this wretched heart.

Come, come on the silent wave.

Descend from your vessel of absence,

Come, being

and swallow up

all my sorrowful kisses.

Let us alloy ourselves.

Bring back your waltz to me.

From the world of my griefs

Your heart is the shore.

Une forêt surgit des flots Et ces flots sonts les nuits passées, Flots d’avenir, forêts berceaux, Les ombres sont mes fiancées. Chantez, chantez le choeur de mes pensées Dans la forêt des devenirs Aubes d’hiver, mes fiancées, Mes lauriers n’ont plus qu’à fleurir. Demain, demain, j’irai ceullir à l’heure où l’ombre est allongée,  L’étoile fleur de mes soupirs Fleur à mes lèvres enneigées. Et toutes les froideurs vengées, Auront de mon bras la chaleur. Et toutes mes amours songées Auront de mon front la pâleur. Et je verrai l’astre des pleurs S’éteindre aux branches enlacées De ce vert laurier dont la fleur Brille aux lèvres des fiancées.

Here’s my first rough pass at a literal translation:

Une forêt surgit des flots

A forest of waves rises

Et ces flots sonts les nuits passées,

And these waves are the nights past

Flots d’avenir, forêts berceaux,

Waves of the future, forest bowers,

Les ombres sont mes fiancées.

These shadows are my brides

Chantez, chantez le choeur de mes pensées

Sing, sing choir of my thoughts

Dans la forêt des devenirs

In the forest of becoming

Aubes d’hiver, mes fiancées,

Dawns of winter, my brides,

Mes lauriers n’ont plus qu’à fleurir.

My laurels are no longer in bloom.

Demain, demain,

Tomorrow, tomorrow

J’irai ceullir à l’heure où l’ombre est allongée,

I will go gathering where the shadow has lenthened

L’étoile fleur de mes soupirs

The star flower of my sighs

Fleur à mes lèvres enneigées.

Flower of my snow-covered lips

Et toutes les froideurs vengées,

Et all the avenged chills

Auront de mon bras la chaleur.

Will have in my arm the heat

Et toutes mes amours songées

And all my dreaming lovers

Auront de mon front la pâleur.

Will have my pale face

Et je verrai l’astre des pleurs

And I will see the star of tears

S’éteindre aux branches enlacées

Extinguised in the entwined branched

De ce vert laurier dont la fleur

Of this green laurel of which the flower

Brille aux lèvres des fiancées.

Shines at the lips of the brides.

Finally, here’s the translated poem:

Prelude

From the flood of nights passed

rises a forest, a bower

whose shadows

are my brides: Choir

of my imaginings

sing the forest of becoming,

my winter dawns, my brides,

whose laurels no longer

bloom! Tomorrow, tomorrow

where the shadow has lengthened

the star of my sighs

will I gather, the flower

of my snow-covered lips,

the cold affronts all

avenged will melt in my arm’s

heat and all my dreamed of lovers

will melt the pallor

of my face, and the star, its tears

extinguished, will I see

through the entwined branches

of this laurel green

that shines

at the lips of the brides.

One choice I made here at the beginning was to go with “flood” rather than “waves” when translating “flots.” Flood, in English, is evocative of being overcome, and it was more alliterative with “forest.” The sense of being overwhelmed, by sorrow or by passion, is a running thread throughout these poems, so I think “flood” works. These poems are quite lyric and imagistic. There is a narrative that can be teased out, especially when reading all of the poems together, but they work through the accretion of sounds and images, rather than through story-telling.