Poem -CHARLES BAUDELAIRE-
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6/5/2008 7:31 pm |
Poem de C.BAUDELAIRE "le gout du neant" THE THIRST FOR THE VOID My soul, you used to love battle's rumble. Hope, whose sharp spur once kindled you like flame, Will mount on you no more. Rest, without shame, Old charger, since at every step you stumble. Sleep now the sleep of brutes, proud heart: be humble. O broken raider, for you outworn mettle, Love has no joys, no fight is worth disputing. Farewell to all the trumpeting and fluting! Pleasure, have done, when brooding shadows settle, The blooms of spring are vanquished by the nettle. As snows devour stiff corpses in their welter, Time wolfs my soul in, minute after minute. I've seen the world and everything that's in it, And I no longer seek in it for shelter; Come, Avalanche! and sweep me helter-skelter. Charles Baudelaire -Trad. of Roy Campbell Song of the day; THE SOULSAVERS "Revival" |
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6/6/2008 6:08 am |
Interesting. French, are you ok? Again? Reads like a death poem... Here is a better poem for you, OKKKK??? DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. New Song of the day, LOVE WILL FIND A WAY "Amy Grant" Be blessed... in life, French, NoniJuice4  "Only a few things are really important." -- Marie Dressler
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6/6/2008 8:34 am |
Hello Noni, It happened that "The Flowers of Evil" from C. Baudelaire is one of my favorite poems book.I know, most of the writting, is quite "dark" and pessimist... but don't worry, it isn't a death poem. I admit that my level of optimism is low at this time, even inexistant but i don't have the thought of going farther... (sic in bad deed) As i say, i don't give up... i have just surrender at this time. Thanks Noni. Have A Beautiful Day,
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6/6/2008 1:25 pm |
Yes, that is the spirt. You may have lost this battle but the war is not over Yet ! We fight on.....sometimes we have to retreat, regroup and plan our next move. Always, we try to live to fight another day....and so it goes! French, after you regroup keep fighting the good fight and remember you are not alone !!  KORN
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6/6/2008 5:26 pm |
Yes, it's befitting, Frenchy. Like you, I have a preference for melancholia, as much of my music exudes. Here's to dying embers and new beginnings ...
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6/6/2008 5:27 pm |
Senor Korn, Yes, you're right. As you wrote, i have to regroup for a "new" start... Thanks Buddy Have a beautiful day
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6/6/2008 5:39 pm |
Miss Fawn, yes... well, you know my music tastes. Most of the lyrics are on the melanchic, pessimist side. I find solace in this music, as i do with writtings from Baudelaire, E.A.Poe, A.Rimbaud, M.Proust,... Have a beautiful day
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6/6/2008 5:41 pm |
... melancholic... (better like this)
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6/6/2008 7:16 pm |
I like that poem. But this is my favorite poem by Baudelaire. A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA My heart rose like a bird, and, winging joyfully. It soared without restraint among the masts and shrouds; The vessel rolled beneath a heaven free of clouds, An angel tipsy from the sun's ferocity. What dismal isle is that? - It's Cythera, they say. In song it is a land of great celebrity, An Eldorado in the gaffers' history. But look at it: a place in dismal disarray. - Isles of tender secrets and love's festivity! The ancient Venus hovers, a resplendent ghost, And, spreading her aromaon your seas and coasst, Replenishes the sense of love and lethargy. Sweet isle of verdant myrtle, strewn with blooming flowers, Forever venerated, and by every nation, Where every heart exhales a sigh of adoration Suffusing like an incense from the rosy bowers, A land where turtledoves eternally should sing! - Yet Cythera appeared to be a meager place, Troubled by bitter cries, a stone-infested waste. However, I caught sight of an astounding thing! It was no little temple in a grove of trees To which the virgin priestess with a flower-filled passion Might come, her inner body warmed in secret fashion, Robes lifting halfway open on a willful breeze. But as we neared the shore, so close along the lea That our white sails aroused the birds to loud alarms, In front of us we saw a gibbet with three arms Outlined against the sky, black as a cypress tree. A few ferocious birds were perched on their refection And in a rage destroyed a corpse already foul; Each used a filthy beak for gouging like a tool Into each bloody cranny of the putrefaction. The eyes were two bleak holes, and through the ruined skin The ponderous intestines dangled on the thighs. His executioners, gorged on their hideous prize, With snappings of the beak slowly castrated him. Below his feet a pack of jealous quadrupeds, With muzzles elevated, pushed and prowled shout; Among them moved one rangy, energetic brute, Distraught as an executive among his aides. Inhabitant of Cythera, child of a sky so blue, In silence you have suffered these insulting deeds, In expiation of your ignominious creeds And of those sins that interdict a grave for you. Ridiculous cadaver, your sorrows are my own! And when I saw your limbs unhinged and pendulous I felt against my teeth a surging vomitus, A cataract of bitterness of anceint woe. Confronting you, poor devil - the memory is fresh - I felt the prodding of each beak, the clench of every jaw, The lancinating crow, the swarthy panther's maw That would have loved to grind its molars on my flesh. - The sky was charming and the sea smooth all around. But everything became, for me, as black as blood; Alas! I found my heart, as in a heavy shroud, Caught in this allegory and securely wound. Upon your isle, O Venus, what I found was just A dark, symbolic gibbet with my dangling image.... - Ah! Lord! If you would only give me strength and courage To contemplate my heart and flesh without disgust! by Charles Baudelaire "If I could lead you into the promised land, i could lead you back out again."
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6/6/2008 7:25 pm |
And this is another good piece of Baudelaire's pathos. THE OLD WOMAN'S DESPAIR The tiny, wizened old woman was overjoyed to see the pretty baby that everybody fussed over and tried to please; the pretty thing was as fragile as the little crone herself and, like her, had no teeth or hair. She came to him wanting to smile and make funny faces for him. But the terrified infant fought against the caresses of the kind, decrepit hag and filled the house with his howls. So the kind old woman withdrew into her eternal solitude and, weeping in her corner, said: "Ah! We miserable old females: the age of pleasing even the innocent has passed, and we terrify the babies that we long to love." by Charles Baudelaire "If I could lead you into the promised land, i could lead you back out again."
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6/6/2008 9:31 pm |
Hey JeTe, Good call Buddy, Voyage to Cythera is nice. I never read (or certainly can't recall) "the old woman's despair" Another one that i like is 'Spleen IV' Have a beautiful day
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6/6/2008 11:16 pm |
Edgar Allen Poe you say? Well...(smile) One of my favorite poems from that writer would be El Dorado (Spanish for "the gilded one"). I'd learned this one years ago while in my youthful High school years. it is still one of my favorite to quote: Eldorado. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ BY EDGAR A. POE. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Gaily bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado. But he grew old — This knight so bold — And o'er his heart a shadow Fell, as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado. And, as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow — 'Shadow,' said he, 'Where can it be — This land of Eldorado?' 'Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride,' The shade replied, — 'If you seek for Eldorado!' So much for melancolly moods, hmm? ...although I'd much prefer a Zen Attuitude...  "Only a few things are really important." -- Marie Dressler
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6/7/2008 12:58 pm |
Hello Noni, yes, "El Dorado' is beautifully write. E.A.POE was an extraordimary writer -poems and essais are so enthralling- I like a lot 'A dream' from him In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed- But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted. Ah! what is not a dream of life and light To him whose eyes are cast On things around him with a ray Turned back upon the past? That holy dream- that holly dream, While all the world were chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam A lonely spirit guiding. What though that light, thro' storm and night, So trembled from afar- What could there be more purely bright In Truth's day-star? Thanks Noni, Have a beautiful day
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6/7/2008 5:59 pm |
Hmm... Interesting. Definately an emo interpretation...that first stanza: In visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed- But a waking dream of life and light Hath left me broken-hearted. VERY dark.  "Only a few things are really important." -- Marie Dressler
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6/26/2008 10:12 am |
I thought that you need the Loves strength.I want to be able to have many people to support you, also includes me [blog NightDieu ^_^]Three cat biscuits!
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6/26/2008 5:14 pm |
Thank you NightDieu, I welcome your friendship.
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12/10/2008 12:49 am |
Bonsoir Frenchguy, Heureuse de voir un compatriote aussi populaire ici sur KFF !lol La première fois que j'ai chatté ici, vous avez été cité plusieurs fois, toujours en bien !lol J'aimerai ajouter ma contribution à ce post poétique et j'ai choisi un poème que j'étudie en ce moment avec mes élèves... A une passante....(Charles Baudelaire) La rue assourdissante autour de moi hurlait. Longue, mince, en grand deuil, douleur majestueuse, Une femme passa, d'une main fastueuse Soulevant, balançant le feston et l'ourlet; Agile et noble, avec sa jambe de statue. Moi, je buvais, crispé comme un extravagant, Dans son oeil, ciel livide où germe l'ouragan, La douceur qui fascine et le plaisir qui tue. Un éclair... puis la nuit! - Fugitive beauté Dont le regard m'a fait soudainement renaître, Ne te verrai-je plus que dans l'éternité? Ailleurs, bien loin d'ici! trop tard! jamais peut-être! Car j'ignore où tu fuis, tu ne sais où je vais, O toi que j'eusse aimée, ô toi qui le savais! Je n'ai pu me résoudre à poster ce texte en anglais, il est si beau en langue française... A bientôt j'espère. Vainoa "There are only one truth but several ways of saying it..."
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