Original subtitles

A throw of the dice will always abolish chance

We all ran away

from the Latin "angustia," anguish

What will the living do here?

They are little so,

according to the legend stamped with vigor

comparing them to specters.

An/guish

What representation,

the world holds:

a book, held in our hand,

if it enunciates some august idea,

makes up for all theaters,

not by casting them all into oblivion,

but, to the contrary,

by imperiously recalling them.

A metaphoric heaven

spread out around the thunder of verse

artifice par excellence at the point of stimulating

and incarnating the hero.

Arrived alone at this hour because the present hour

is ceaselessly as good as ever,

in the way of a messenger,

with a gesture he brings the book or on his lips

before effacing himself;

and the one who kept the general dazzlement,

multiplies it in everyone,

by dint of communication.

The marvel of a high poem

seems to me that, as here,

conditions are born that authorize

its visible deployment and interpretation,

first it lends itself to it

and ingenuously as needed only replaces everything as needed.

I imagine that the cause of assembling,

henceforth, in view of the festivals inscribed into the human program

will not be the theater

limited or incapable alone of responding to subtle instincts

nor music also too fleeting

to not disappoint the crowd.

I had rowed for a long time,

with a clean, sweeping, drowsy motion,

my eyes turned inward

in utter forgetfulness of the passage,

as the laughter of the hour

flowed round about.

So much motionlessness idled away the time

that brushed by a dull sound

into which my boat half slid,

I was only able to determine it had come to a halt

by the steady glittering of initials

on the bared oars,

which recalled me to my worldly identity.

What was happening?

Where was I?

Here, the harmony of a naive art will be established

according to the site, and costumes become rural

effortlessly with emotions

and truths ample,

grave and primordial.

The following:

But theater institutes characters

acting and in relief precisely

so they can neglect metaphysics

as actors omit the presence of the chandelier;

they won't pray toward anything beyond themselves

except through the elementary and obscure cry of passion.

What will the living do here; they are little so,

according to the legend stamped with vigor

which compares them with specters?

A Salon, I know,

one put forth in attenuation which will charm:

where, ceremoniously, they chat

for the beauty of it

beyond the laughing launched by a lady;

of subjects where echo isn't propagated.

That rumor, rather,

which makes of them an elite stuck in survival

as branch the naked syntax of a sentence,

attentive to the funeral slab of the dictionary,

that scattered words strew:

or if, according to their metaphor,

they are disquieted by the death in a double sense of one of them

immediately they climb on a platform where the successor

finishes off through features understood only by itself

the unsuitable shadow

and invites the empty quiver of some there

to appear invulnerable.

The spectacle, on the audience,

imposes a mythical exploit,

perhaps of the Phoenix recovered from his ashes

such as humans can represent it.

What's the use of the decor if it doesn't uphold the image:

the human translator has, poetically, only to undergo

and render this haunting.

Positive, negative, you see, they're also reversed.

The shadow projects something so there's...

completely--there you go, like that.

Look, there they're reversed, you see. It's the positive, right?

Society, hollowest of terms,

inheritance of the philosophers,

has this at least which is advantageous and easy,

that nothing exists, approximately, in fact

like the summons that its august concept arouses

to speak about it is equal to treating no subject at all

or to being silent in the way of relaxation.

Something, missing,

confronts the violence of contradictions,

and in no direction,

does one risk going too far about an entity.

Nothingness or dazzlement in a vacuum,

with fear in the mass of folks who have run to the fake shelter,

any vulgar working-out usurping that profitable invocation.

To divest oneself, on the other hand,

To divest oneself, on the other hand,

of the general means and question it,

announces, in poverty a solidarity

and classy taste.

All selection, on high, fine:

it can be reflected, inverse, down low;

and the modern base consists in that equivalence

however indicative still it may be of where the top is,

where the bottom, parsimony, opulence,

all ambiguous.

Essentially the work of art:

this suffices, as opposed to ambitions and interests.