The idiosyncratic poet and cabaret performer Maurice Mac-Nab had a short but appreciated career in Paris in the 1880s. He was known for his deadpan delivery and limited vocal range; it was said of him that he could sing only three notes, but each was flawless. My translation of his poem “The Fetuses” is a paraphrase respecting the formal constraints of the original: tercets that alternate masculine and feminine rhymes. It’s rather long; here’s the beginning of it.

THE FETUSES
(Maurice Mac-Nab, 1886)

Some large, some little, some bizarre,
And some quite normal, here they are,
Each in its own transparent jar.

You see a few who, smiling sweetly,
Hands laid across their bellies neatly,
Were born into the world discreetly.

And then again, some seem to jeer,
Their gaze aloof and cavalier,
Although with eyes that will not clear.

And then still others, folded double,
Appear alarmed that you might trouble
Their blissful alcoholic bubble.

Their faces may look dissolute,
Their bodies soft as rotten fruit,
But still, the fetuses are cute,

As they rock gently in aquatic
Security, serene, phlegmatic,
So tranquilly aristocratic.

And notice every little nose,
As swollen as a blooming rose:
From all the drinking, I suppose.

For barred from glory, love, or choosing
Whatever makes our lives amusing,
They pass their days in constant boozing…