The world suggests.
I do not wait for the muse's visit,
I go after her, I lead her by the hand.
Those who know me
say mine is a sad life.
Endeavoring to spend hours with a stranger
arguing, arguing.
They cannot imagine how much I prefer
her grating company,
the argument almost always antagonistic,
the sarcastic smile of triumph,
to the complacent prattling of them all,
my congenial friends.
Then they say I cut an embarrassing figure
when I go out to seek the elusive muse
at whatever hour and in whatever fashion,
and I return alone and they hear me inventing monologues
that clumsily imitate a dialogue.
But before each failure I think,
Tomorrow I will look for her again,
if I am lucky
she will bring her harp and between speeches
she will play me splendid music.

Translation: 2010, Constance Lardas