Paul Claudel: "The Crucifix"

 Introduction

Paul Claudel (1868-1955) was a French playwright and poet, known for his devout Catholicism and how it affected his poetry.  The following diptych, "The Crucifix," first appeared in his 1916 collection Other Poems During the War.  The original poem consists of long lines that rhyme in couplets; my translation is instead in a kind of ballad meter: alternating tetrameters and trimeters rhyming ABCB.  Each two of my lines reflects one of Claudel's lines, so the rhymes are still in equivalent relation.

The Crucifix

Paul Claudel

His Head Seen From the Right

Of all the Body crucified,
    only Head is free.
The thorns they’ve wrapped around, with care,
    mean no support can be.
Three hours it has reigned and prayed;
    three hours we’ve seen God’s Face.
In the end, the Head must fall
    when force has left His frame.
Behold! the moment has arrived
    that patient we’ve awaited.
We can look at Christ, but now
    He looks at us no more.
Behold Him now upon the Cross:
    forever He’s surrendered.
Whatever we might do, henceforth,
    we know that He won’t change;
He’ll never more lift up His Head,
    His transfixed feet remain,
definitive His outstretched arms:
    partiality unchanged.
Whatever we might do, His Head
    won’t turn the other way.
He meditates, He knows before,
    He bears four nails for me.
It’s easy now to see He’s in
    no state to defend Himself.
Death in me, love in Him—
    together, they are one.
His innocence and sin in me—
    a living link’s between us.
If He is my Redeemer, where’d
    He be if I’d not sinned?
The nails would be less hard in flesh
    if I’d not been so low.
The Cross holds tight—but how heavy He’s
    when weight and want outstretch Him!
His weight, for me, means, tacitly,
    a fruit that needs be plucked.

His Head Seen From the Left

It’s written down in Genesis,
    history mystery-full,
that Joseph, after long sojourn,
    when he’d recovered brothers,
made all assistants leave the room
    before he showed his face.
(Egypt—Hebraic shadows—is earth
    where we are, low and gloomed.)
For it befit that no one be
    that sacred instant’s witness,
when brother who’s returned to us
    invites us see his face.
This Christ has willed—since strong’s His Heart—
    perhaps through too-great love—
so many saints and saintettes below
    at His left side be shown.
No matter what they do, He feigns
    that they have not been seen.
When they pray, it’s said He listens
    elsewhere, face turned way.
But they know Him, and they smile,
    and they don’t heed the change,
and, peaceably, they return
    to sowing and to reaping.
For unto him who Christ believes
    faith alone suffices.
What eternity’s reserved for us,
    we need not see in time.
Good servants, you know your duty well—
    and that alone’s enough.
Sufficient light is with you now;
    the path is all laid out.
When your Creator turns to you
    with eyes where wrath is not,
He’s will nor men nor angels be
    that sacred instant’s witness.

Source: Paul Claudel, Œuvre poètique, ed. Stanislas Fumet (Paris: Bibliothèque de la Pléiade, 1957), 560-562.

Translation ©2024 Brandon P. Otto.  Licensed via CC BY-NC.  Feel free to redistribute non-commercially, as long as credit is given to the translator.