A liberal translation of Mallarmé’s “Salut”

By | March 16, 2013


Here’s to nothing foam this blank verse
With nothing to show but a flute
Far off and just as drowns a moot
Of sirens many and inverse

We navigate oh my diverse
Friends me far to the stern as you
Tend to the prow that ploughs our route
Through winter waves and winds adverse

Adorable drunkenness will
And unafraid to take a spill
Have me raise up this salute

This reef or star or solitude
To whatever it is that’s worth
The pale distress of sailing forth