PROSOPOPEIA FOR A DECEASED PASSER-BY

by Jean de Vitel
translated from French by David R. Slavitt

Traveler, slow your steps, pause awhile,
And you will learn how and why it is that I lie
in this tomb. When I dwelt in the daylight, Angers was my
cradle, from where I went to give Paris a trial,

And myself, of course.  I thrived there and I wrote
in the April of my age. The River Clain
at Poitiers had nourished me and my brain
produced lines of verse that people would quote.

They called me the French Apollo.  I was a success.
I followed a sweetheart to Venice, I confess,
to win the heart—and other parts of my friend.  

I sent her elegant verses, the very best
I had ever done. Fate itself was impressed
and out of jealousy brought my life to an end.

Prosopopée du défunt à un passant

Passant, bride tes pas, séjourne en cette place,
Et tu sauras comment je dors en ce tombeau.
Quand je humai le jour, Angers fut mon berceau,
D’où sortant le choisis Paris pour mon Parnasse.

Et quand j’eus plus avant allege la filasse
De l’age fleurissant, en mon avril nouveau,
Le doux Clain à Poutiers m’abreuva de son eau,
Et la loi façonna de mes beaux ans l’audace.

D’ou savant au métier de l’Apollon François
Je vins brusque aurgir à ce port Vénétois,
Ou pour vaincre le coeur d’une divine amie,

Je fis brave, marcher mille escadrons de vers,
Si bien q’il rendait quand le destin pervers
Jaloux de mon Bonheur me déroba la vie.

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