Gevey Babele translation: para #1

Another attempt at translating stuff ...

... this time from a language of which I know not a single word:

Facing Snow
by Du Fu (translation by Rik Roots)

The battle's demise brings cries from new shades;
the man grieves, alone and aged: he worries.

As the day ends clouds break rank, fall close;
the fleet snow ribbons amid a swirl of winds.

A spoon of gourd, discarded; a springless cup;
a stove mimics the ruddy flames of summer.

The gabble of messages bleach from the land;
I sit rigid, shocked, my ink-drained book white.

Rik attempts to translate Victor Hugo

Background note - I failed my French O level twice ...

The original in all its glory:

En hiver la terre pleure;
Le soleil froid, pâle et doux,
Vient tard, et part de bonne heure,
Ennuyé du rendez-vous.

Leurs idylles sont moroses.
- Soleil ! aimons ! - Essayons.
O terre, où donc sont tes roses ?
- Astre, oò donc sont tes rayons ?

Il prend un prétexte, grêle,
Vent, nuage noir ou blanc,
Et dit: - C'est la nuit, ma belle ! -
Et la fait en s'en allant;

Comme un amant qui retire
Chaque jour son coeur du noeud,
Et, ne sachant plus que dire,
S'en va le plus tôt qu'il peut.

My attempted translation:

For winter, the earth cries;
The sun cools, pale and soft,
Tardy, yet soon to leave,
Bored with its assignation.

Their dalliance is inept.
- Sun! Let's dance - let's try.
My earth, where are your roses?
- Star, where are your rays?

An excuse is grasped, hail,
Wind, black clouds or white -
Says: night is come, sweet one
A construct of departures.

As lovers who pull each day
At the core of their knot
and, frayed of shared phrases,
take their leave too soon.