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Charles Baudelaire

Charles Baudelaire

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

It is the greatest art of the devil to convince us he does not exist.
There exist only three beings worthy of respect: the priest, the soldier, the poet. To know, to kill, to create.

The Albatross

The Albatross
Often to pass the time on board, the crew
will catch an albatross, one of those big birds
which nonchalently chaperone a ship
across the bitter fathoms of the sea.
Tied to the deck, this sovereign of space,
as if embarrassed by its clumsiness,
pitiably lets its great white wings
drag at its sides like a pair of unshipped oars.
How weak and awkward, even comical
this traveller but lately so adoit -
one deckhand sticks a pipestem in its beak,
another mocks the cripple that once flew!
The Poet is like this monarch of the clouds
riding the storm above the marksman's range;
exiled on the ground, hooted and jeered,
he cannot walk because of his great wings.

Travelling Bohemians

Travelling Bohemians
The prophetic tribe of the ardent eyes
Yesterday they took the road, holding their babies
On their backs, delivering to fierce appetites
The always ready treasure of pendulous breasts.
The men stick their feet out, waving their guns
Alongside the caravan where they tremble together,
Scanning the sky their eyes are weighted down
In mourning for absent chimeras.
At the bottom of his sandy retreat, a cricket
Watched passing, redoubles his song,
Cybele, who loves, adds more flower,
Makes fountains out of rock and blossoms from desert
Opening up before these travelers in a yawn—
A familiar empire, the inscrutable future.
Translated by William A. Sigler
Submitted by Ryan McGuire

Afternoon Song

Afternoon Song
Though your wicked eyebrows call
Your nature into question
(Unangelic's their suggestion,
Witch whose eyes enthrall)
I adore you still
O foolish terrible emotion
Kneeling in devotion
As a priest to his idol will.
Your undone braids conceal
Desert, forest scents,
In your exotic countenance
Lie secrets unrevealed.
Over your flesh perfume drifts
Like incense 'round a censor,
Tantalizing dispenser
Of evening's ardent gifts.
No Philtres could compete
With your potent idleness:
You've mastered the caress
That raises dead me to their feet.
Your hips themselves are romanced
By your back and by your breasts:
By your languid dalliance.
Now and then, your appetite's
Uncontrolled, unassuaged:
Mysteriously enraged,
You kiss me and you bite.
Dark one, I am torn
By your savage ways,
Then, soft as the moon, your gaze
Sees my tortured heart reborn.
Beneath your satin shoe,
Beneath your charming silken foot.
My greatest joy I put
My genius and destiny, too.
You bring my spirit back,
Bringer of the light.
Exploding color in the night
Of my Siberia so black.

Au Lecteur

Au Lecteur
La sottise, l'erreur, le péché, la lésine,
Occupent nos esprits et travaillent nos corps,
Et nous alimentons nos aimables remords,
Comme les mendiants nourrissent leur vermine.

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

Get Drunk

Get Drunk
Always be drunk.
That's it!
The great imperative!
In order not to feel
Time's horrid fardel
bruise your shoulders,
grinding you into the earth,
Get drunk and stay that way.
On what?
On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever.
But get drunk.
And if you sometimes happen to wake up
on the porches of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the dismal loneliness of your own room,
your drunkenness gone or disappearing,
ask the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock,
ask everything that flees,
everything that groans
or rolls
or sings,
everything that speaks,
ask what time it is;
and the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock
will answer you:
"Time to get drunk!
Don't be martyred slaves of Time,
Get drunk!
Stay drunk!
On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!"
Any healthy man can go without food for two days -- but not without poetry.

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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hell yeah! its boude-lai-re
19/March/2023

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