In Memoriam

A translation of Mallarmé’s “Brise Marine” by Anne Freadman For Jill Anderson (Sept. 14, 1949–Nov. 30, 2008)

Sea Breeze

Dark night. Saddened flesh. I have read every book. Oh how I long to leave!—Birds look drunk on spray, flung into unknown skies. No vanished gardens shining in my eyes nothing can hold this seaborn heart from flight! not my deserted lamp shedding its light— on pages empty in forbidding white— no, not the cherished infant at the breast. Depart! Steamer, weigh anchor! Clipper, fill your sails! Steer toward the land of mariners’ tales!

Crushed by cruel hope, ennui still dwells fondly on hope, ennui still dwells hoping for fond farewells. Is this the kind of tempest-tempting mast that storm-winds shatter above shipwrecks cast away—mastless, unharboured, drifting things . . . ? But oh my heart, the song! hear what the sailor sings!