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Charles Baudelaire

Charles Baudelaire

1821-04-09 Paris, França
1867-08-31 Paris, França
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Some Poems

Any healthy man can go without food for two days - but not without poetry.
There exist only three beings worthy of respect: the priest, the soldier, the poet. To know, to kill, to create.
It is by universal misunderstanding that all agree. For if, by ill luck, people understood each other, they would never agree.

Beauty

Beauty
I am as lovely as a dream in stone;
My breast on which each finds his death in turn
Inspires the poet with a love as lone
As everlasting clay, and as taciturn.
Swan-white of heart, as sphinx no mortal knows,
My throne is in the heaven's azure deep;
I hate all movement that disturbs my pose;
I smile not ever, neither do I weep.
Before my monumental attitudes,
Taken from the proudest plastic arts,
My poets pray in austere studious moods,
For I, to fold enchantment round their hearts,
Have pools of light where beauty flames and dies,
The placid mirrors of my luminous eyes.

The Invitation to the Voyage

The Invitation to the Voyage
My sister, my child
imagine, exiled,
The sweetness, of being there, we two!
To live and to sigh,
to love and to die,
In the land that mirrors you!
The misted haze
of its clouded days
Has the same charm to my mind,
as mysterious,
as your traiterous
Eyes, behind glittering blinds.
There everything’s order and beauty,
calm, voluptuousness, and luxury.
The surface gleams
are polished it seems,
Through the years, to grace our room.
The rarest flowers
mix, with fragrant showers,
The vague, amber perfume.
The dark, painted halls,
the deep mirrored walls,
With Eastern splendour hung,
all secretly speak,
To the soul, its discrete,
Sweet, native tongue.
There, everything’s order and beauty,
calm, voluptuousness and luxury.
See, down the canals,
the sleeping vessels,
Those nomads, their white sails furled:
Now, to accomplish
your every wish,
They come from the ends of the world.
- The deep sunsets
surround the west,
The canals, the city, entire,
with blue-violet and gold;
And the Earth grows cold
In an incandescent fire.
There, everything’s order and beauty,
calm, voluptuousness and luxury.
It is necessary to work, if not from inclination, at least from despair. Everything considered, work is less boring than amusing oneself.

The Venal Muse

The Venal Muse
O muse of my heart, lover of palaces,
Will you bring, when January lets loose its sleet
And its black evenings without solace,
An ember to warm my violet feet?
What will revive your bruised shoulders,
The nocturnal rays that pierce the shutters?
When you cannot feel your palace, just your empty billfold,
How will you harvest the gold of azure vaults and gutters?
You should, to earn your bread today
Like a choir boy with a censer to wave,
Sings hymns with feeling but without belief.
Or, a starving rip-off artist, selling your charm
And your laughter shades the tears so no one sees the harm
In bringing to bloom an ordinary rat, a vulgar thief.
Translated by William A. Sigler
Submitted by Ryan McGuire

Cats

Cats
They are alike, prim scholar and perfervid lover:
When comes the season of decay, they both decide
Upon sweet, husky cats to be the household pride;
Cats choose, like them, to sit, and like them, shudder.
Like partisans of carnal dalliance and science,
They search for silence and the shadowings of dread;
Hell well might harness them as horses for the dead,
If it could bend their native proudness in compliance.
In reverie they emulate the noble mood
Of giant sphinxes stretched in depths of solitude
Who seem to slumber in a never-ending dream;
Within their fertile loins a sparkling magic lies;
Finer than any sand are dusts of gold that gleam,
Vague starpoints, in the mystic iris of their eyes.

Ill-Starred

Ill-Starred
To bear a weight that cannot be borne,
Sisyphus, even you aren't that strong,
Although your heart cannot be torn
Time is short and Art is long.
Far from celebrated sepulchers
Toward a solitary graveyard
My heart, like a drum muffled hard
Beats a funeral march for the ill-starred.
—Many jewels are buried or shrouded
In darkness and oblivion's clouds,
Far from any pick or drill bit,
Many a flower unburdens with regret
Its perfume sweet like a secret;
In profoundly empty solitude to sit.
Translated by William A. Sigler
Submitted by Ryan McGuire

Be Drunk

Be Drunk
You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it--it's the
only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks
your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually
drunk.
But on what?Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be
drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the green grass of
a ditch, in the mournful solitude of your room, you wake again,
drunkenness already diminishing or gone, ask the wind, the wave,
the star, the bird, the clock, everything that is flying, everything
that is groaning, everything that is rolling, everything that is
singing, everything that is speaking. . .ask what time it is and
wind, wave, star, bird, clock will answer you:"It is time to be
drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be
continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish."
Charles Baudelaire was born in Paris. He made a name as an art critic and translator of Edgar Allan Poe, but his fame rests on the poems of Les Fleurs du Mal. He visited Mauritius in but lived most of his life in Paris in poverty on a small allowance. He is pre-eminently the poet of the City, and an illusory immorality clings to his poetry that reveals, in reality, the sensitivity of a deeply moral spirit.
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Charles Baudelaire (Part 1): The Poet's Life
Por que ler: CHARLES BAUDELAIRE - As Flores do Mal
Charles Baudelaire - The Beauty and Horror of Modern Life
Charles Baudelaire - vita e opere
Comment Charles Baudelaire a écrit "Les Fleurs du Mal"
Charles Baudelaire - Les Fleurs du Mal (and Selected Poems) BOOK REVIEW
La minute de poésie : L'albatros [Charles Baudelaire]
Tédio | Poema de Charles Baudelaire com narração de Mundo Dos Poemas
Charles Baudelaire - Los gatos
Charles Baudelaire en 10 choses à savoir - Culture Prime
Charles Baudelaire (Part 2): The Poetics of Evil
Charles Baudelaire - Les fleurs du mal
Baudelaire: Flowers of Evil
Au cœur de l'histoire: Charles Baudelaire (Franck Ferrand)
Charles Baudelaire - O Veneno (As Flores do Mal) - tradução do poema por Luís Delfino
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE Poems: HYMN TO BEAUTY (A Poem by Charles Baudelaire)
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE (1821-1867) – Une vie, une œuvre [2011]
Be Drunk by Charles Baudelaire [with subtitles] read by Arthur L Wood
EMBRIAGUEM-SE – Charles Baudelaire
RESENHA #143: FLORES DO MAL | LES FLEURS DU MAL, de CHARLES BAUDELAIRE
La minute de poésie : Poèmes Choisis [Charles Baudelaire]
🌸Charles BAUDELAIRE – Italiano
Charles Baudelaire
"The Vampire" by Charles Baudelaire (read by Tom O'Bedlam)
Minibiografia: Charles-Pierre Baudelaire | Super Libris
Charles Baudelaire's "The Flowers of Evil" (Les Fleurs du mal), translated by Aaron Poochigian
Qui est BAUDELAIRE ?
Literatura Fundamental 02 - As Flores do Mal - Álvaro Faleiro
Il Simbolismo francese
Embriaguem-se | Charles Baudelaire | Sonoridade Literária
Charles Baudelaire Quotes About Life And Humanity | Life Changing Quotes
El poeta maldito: Charles Baudelaire
EP58 charles baudelaire - květy zla
La última página 22: Charles Baudelaire: poesía, Modernidad y Decadentismo
EMBRIÁGUENSE. Charles Baudelaire.
Les FLEURS du MAL : Introduction à la poésie de Baudelaire
El Spleen de Charles Baudelaire en Charles Chaplin | MÁS LITERATURA
Enivrez-vous, Charles Baudelaire - Animated Poem
🌸Charles BAUDELAIRE – Español
Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), le poète "maudit" (2020 - Toute une vie / France Culture)
Pourquoi Baudelaire écrit-il de la poésie ? avec Jérôme Thélot, professeur de littérature.
Thierry Ardisson rencontre Charles Baudelaire | INA Arditube
Les Fleurs du Mal, Charles Baudelaire | Bac français 2023
Charles Baudelaire - "Femmes Damnées / Lanetlenmiş Kadınlar"
"To the Reader" by Charles Baudelaire
Agnès Spiquel - Charles Baudelaire au carrefour du XIXe siècle
Élévation - Charles Baudelaire
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE - DIE EULEN
"EMBRIÁGUENSE" de Charles Baudelaire por Ricardo Vonte
Be Drunk by Charles Baudelaire - Poetry Reading

See also

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