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Georges RODENBACH ! (1855-1898)
The aquarium is so bluish, so lunar
The aquarium is so bluish, so lunar;
Window of infinity, opening onto which garden?
Mirror of eternity, of which the sky is the link.
To what extent does this visionary water deepen,
And to what extent does it extend
its azure, ventilated by shivers of silver?
It's like a warm greenhouse flowering atmosphere...
From time to time, in silence, the water embroiders
itself From the passage of a slow fish
that comes, oblique, leaves, melts, becomes fluid;
Charcoal quickly erased on the screen that empties,
Draft of a stillborn drawing on a fabric.
As the fish fades, enters a mist,
Pâlit more and more, becomes almost posthumous,
dragging like emaciated
oars His fins which are already all colourless.
Departures without any wake, with hardly spying,
Like that of the stars in the dawn.
What a bitter charm the things that will end up!
And is it not, this slow fish, a thought
of which our soul had a nuanced
moment and which flees and which is already only a memory?
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