Ezra Pound - Pierrots lyrics

From the French of Jules Laforgue (Scene courte mais typique) Your eyes! Since I lost their incandescence Flat calm engulphs my jibs, The shudder of Vae soli gurgles beneath my ribs. You should have seen me after the affray, I rushed about in the most agitated way Crying: My God, my God, what will she say?! My soul's antennae are prey to such perturbations, Wounded by your indirectness in these situations And your bundle of mundane complications. Your eyes put me up to it. I thought: Yes, divine, these eyes, but what exists Behind them? What's there? Her soul's an affair for oculists. And I am sliced with loyal aesthetics. Hate tremolos and national frenetics. In brief, violet is the ground tone of my phonetics. I a not 'that chap there' nor yet 'The Superb' But my soul, the sort which harsh sounds disturb, Is, at bottom, distinguished and fresh as a March herb. My nerves still register the sounds of contra-ba**, I can walk about without fidgeting when people pa**, Without smirking into a pocket-looking-gla**. Yes, I have rubbed shoulders and knocked off my chips Outside your set but, having kept faith in your eyes, You might pardon such slips. Eh, make it up? Soothings, confessions; These new concessions Hurl me into such a ma** of divergent impressions