Page 19 - Gallery 19c Volume 3_Les Types de Paris_digital_Neat
P. 19
Stéphane Mallarmé, Les Types de la Rue
La Petite Marchande de Lavande Le Carreleur de souliers Le Crieur d’imprimés
(The Woman Selling Lavender) (The Cobbler) (The Newsboy)
Your blue straw of lavender Lacking wax nothing to do, Over and over, whatever the headline,
Does not believe with this daring Lilies are born white, as smell Without even catching a cold when the
Eyelash that you sell it to me Frankly I prefer them to Ice thaws, this cheery little half-pint
As the hypocrite who This man who repairs so well. Keeps calling out some new number.
Would decorate earthenware He will supplement my pair
Which never complete With more leather than I had
Lurked in his own failure Ever, driving to despair
La Femme du carrier
Enjoys the blue sentiment: My demand for heels unclad.
(The Quarryman’s Wife)
Better between an untidy His sure hammering
Wife, child and soup
Hair here put it there Impales with cheeky nails
En route to the quarryman
Where the strand feels On the sole the urge
The customary courtesy he receives
Zephyrine, Pamela Always leading elsewhere.
In a marriage.
To give to the husband He would create your shoes anew,
The first fruits of your vermin Dear feet — if it suited you!
La Marchande d’habits
(The Old Clothes Woman)
Le marchand d’ail et d’oignons Le Cantonnier
Your keen eye peering
(The Seller of Garlic and Onions) (The Road Mender)
Right into their contents
The matter of going visiting These pebbles, you level them Parts me from my togs
With garlic we push it away. And, being a troubadour, So that like a god I go naked.
Weeping Elegy can hardly wait A cube of brains
Whenever I slice an onion I too must crack open each day.
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