Rimbaud
The nights, the railway-arches, the bad sky,
His horrible companions did not know it;
But in that child the rhetorican´s lie
Burst like a pipe: the cold has made a poet.
Drinks bought him by his weak and lyric friend
His five wits systematically deranged,
To all accustomed nonsense put an end;
Till he from lyre and weakness was estranged.
Verse was a special illness of the ear;
Integrity was not enough; that seemed
The hell of childhood: he must try again.
Now, galloping through Africa, he dreamed
Of a new self, a son, an engineer,
His truth acceptable to lying men.
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
Dante
Was utterly enchanté
When Beatrice cried in tones that were peachy:
Noi siamo amici
¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨
5 comentarios:
`Cause her italian is still rusty?
`Cause her Italian is NOW rusty?
I have a lot of things to say about the first poem (I could say more, but I havent read Rimbaud's biography for the second time...by the way, thanks for the gift!). First: I think there is more writing about Rimbaud that we can imagine (I think that was his strategy: To shut up so others would talk about him). Today I was reading some poems of Max Jacob and I found some weird relationship between this converted jewish and the guy with the ''bad blodd''. (I think you might be interested in this writer: we was a visionary of the war. He died inside the gas chambers. He was Picasso's friend).
Anyway...too much rubbish. One of my teachers mentioned one book of Guy Michaud called ''Le simbolistes''. He says that this book is a key to open Rimbaud's hermetic door. Im not sure if it is translated. I cannot read French that well yet. Je ne sais pas!
el primer poema me gustó, el segundo tampoco me dio risa, jajaja, creo que tendrás que explicármelo, jajaja, pero bueno, no todos nos reímos por lo mismo ;) saludos
yo si me rei, yo soy mas inteligente!sera que es mas dificil que a una mujer le den ese argumento para noandar con ellas, o sera que a los hombres les gusta mas lo merol, como escribir sobre los monstruos del infierno
Publicar un comentario