Après Trois Ans

Returning after three years, 
Paul Verlaine pushed open      
the creaking garden gate.            
Dew glistened on the flowers           
in the morning sunshine.           
Everything was familiar,             

the humble vine creeping
round the arbour, the rattan chairs, 
the fountain's silvery murmur,
the old aspen muttering to itself,
roses fluttering and lilies
standing proud in the breeze;

the larks, all recognisable again,
even the Veleda statue, still standing,
at the far end of the path, 
weatherworn, its plaster still flaking, 
amid the mignonette's sickly scent, 
and nothing had changed - so he said.

As if I would ever believe that!
And yet his time-arresting voice stills
my breathing, like Barber's Adagio.

(Appropriating  'Après Trois Ans' by Paul Verlaine 1844 - 1896)

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Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

It's funny how time stands still. Nothing changes, yet, everything changes. The surface is still the same, but the undercurrents constantly move. You return, and it's like a faint memory of a dream once had. While the place is the same, you are not. Your shift in perspective places you out of time, a ghost walking through a world you once inhabited. 💙

[Gerald Parker]

I know what you mean but we need to understand what Verlaine meant by his poem. It's a mystery. Thanks for your comment.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Perhaps you're struggling too hard to understand something less complicated. He entered a garden after three years. Perhaps it was a return to the garden (of his marriage) after his affair with Rimbaud. Things still the same with plaster flaking. I certainly wouldn't twist myself in knots projecting that which might not be.

[Gerald Parker]

"Rien n'a changé", nothing's changed, says Verlaine early in the poem, as though he believes it, and he lists things that are still present in the garden. But as the poem develops it is clear that time has not stopped still: things are still moving, emitting sounds and fragrances. Yhe stature of Velleda in the conclusion represents resistance, just as Verlaine's cousin had resisted his advances. Time is passing, the statue is flaking, the one he loved is ageing. He feels sad. To cap or confirm his meloncholy, in the last line, the flowers, the mignonnettes, have a decaying, sickly perfume.