Poems Under Saturn: Po�mes Saturniens: Poemes Saturniens

by Paul Verlaine, Karl Kirchwey

Poems Under Saturn is the first complete English translation of the collection that announced Paul Verlaine (1844-1896) as a poet of promise and originality, one who would come to be regarded as one of the greatest of nineteenth-century writers. This new translation, by respected contemporary poet Karl Kirchwey, faithfully renders the collection's heady mix of classical learning and earthy sensuality in poems whose rhythm and rhyme represent one of the supreme accomplishments of French verse. Restoring frequently anthologized poems to the context in which they originally appeared, Poems Under Saturn testifies to the blazing talents for which Verlaine is celebrated.The poems display precocious virtuosity, mingling the attractions of the flesh with the longings of the spirit. Greek and Hindu myth give way to intimate erotic meditations and wickedly satirical society portraits, mythological landscapes alternate with gritty narratives of mid-nineteenth century Paris, visions of happiness yield to nightmarish glimpses of deep alienation, and real and imaginary characters--including Achilles, Valmiki, Charlemagne, and Spain's baleful King Philip II--all figure as the subject matter of a supremely ambitious young poet.Poems Under Saturn presents the extraordinary devotion and intense musicality of an artist for whom poetry remained the one true passion.

Genres: Poetry, Classics, France, French Literature, 19th Century, Fiction, Literature

176 pages, Kindle Edition

First published October 1, 1866

About the author

Paul-Marie Verlaine was a French poet associated with the Symbolist movement. He is considered one of the greatest representatives of the fin de siècle in international and French poetry.

Despite Rimbaud admiring his poetry, these poets had a stormy affair which led to Verlaine's incarceration after shooting Rimbaud. This incident indirectly preceded his re-conversion to Roman Catholicism.

Verlaine's last years were particularly marked by alcoholism, drug addiction and poverty.

His poems have inspired many composers, such as Chopin, Fauré and Poldowski.

Art Poétique describes his decadent style and alludes to the relevance of nuances and veils in poetry.

Reviews

[Flo · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sentimental Stroll

The setting sun cast its final rays
And the breeze rocked the pale water lilies;
Among the reeds, the huge water
Lilies shone sadly on the calm water.
Me, I wandered alone, walking my wound
Through the willow grove, the length of the pond
Where the vague mist conjured up some vast
Despairing milky ghost
With the voice of teals crying
As they called to each other, beating their wings
Through the willow grove where I alone wandered
Walking my wound; and the thick shroud
Of shadows came to drown the final rays
Of the setting sun in their pale waves
And, among the reeds, the water
Lilies, the huge water lilies on the calm water.

*

Promenade sentimentale

Le couchant dardait ses rayons suprêmes
Et le vent berçait les nénuphars blêmes;
Les grands nénuphars entre les roseaux,
Tristement luisaient sur les calmes eaux.
Moi, j’errais tout seul, promenant ma plaie
Au long de l’étang, parmi la saulaie
Où la brume vague évoquait un grand
Fantôme laiteux se désespérant
Et pleurant avec la voix des sarcelles
Qui se rappelaient en battant des ailes
Parmi la saulaie où j’errais tout seul
Promenant ma plaie; et l’épais linceul
Des ténèbres vint noyer les suprêmes
Rayons du couchant dans ses ondes blêmes
Et des nénuphars, parmi les roseaux,
Des grands nénuphars sur les calmes eaux.

Verlaine, observer and blind, creator and destroyer; a poet made of light and shadows. A parallel between this author and Rimbaud's poetry is predictable but ineluctable. Undoubtedly, while I liked the young poet's sophisticated song of perpetual revolt and mystifying symbols, I was able to connect with Verlaine's art on a deeper level (also young when he wrote this collection), as he also unveiled all aspects of human nature—both sublime and decadent, depending on the eye of the beholder—with sheer beauty, sumptuous symbolism and a clear voice whose melody resonated with me several times, creating evocative images which speak of every emotion we are capable of feeling.



Dec 05, 16
* Also on my blog.

[Ulysse · Rating 5 out of 5]

Verlaine your name like a face in the rain
Verlaine your brain like the wind's weathervane
Verlaine your veins full of absinthe and champagne
Verlaine your pain like a misty northern plain
Verlaine your fame like some dark forbidden lane
Verlaine your finger-stains your immaculate pen
Verlaine your small nose and your dirty long fingernails
Verlaine your insane skull shining under a lamp
Verlaine your rain drops falling like a chain
Verlaine your Rimbaud and Verlaine
Verlaine your hurricane no-one could contain
Verlaine you villain treat your wife like a dame!
Verlaine yours the shame yours the wolfsbane
Verlaine there ain't no pill for what you can’t explain
Verlaine I would not have liked to meet you on a train
But Verlaine I will read your poems again and again

[Steve]

A young Paul Verlaine, painted by Gustave Courbet c. 1871


When his first book of verses, Poèmes saturniens, appeared in 1866 at his own cost, Paul Verlaine was 22 years old and had been writing poetry since his early teens. He was still under the influence of the Parnassians like Charles Marie René Leconte de Lisle and Théophile Gautier,(*) who were proponents of l'art pour l'art - art for art's sake - and inveighed against les passionists. Many of the poems in Poèmes saturniens had been published in journals either edited by or sympathetic to the Parnassians. But Verlaine was already deeply engaged with the poetry of Charles Baudelaire, a poet with a singular style and vision whom many have tried to copy without equalling, and he was already freeing himself from the Parnassian grip.

At 22 Verlaine was still the very comfortable son of a well-to-do family and had no idea of the heights and depths of the life that lay before him. He had money in his pocket and was a recognized apprentice in Paris' literary world. And he had no emotional ties, except to his mother (and his cousin, Elisa, with whom he apparently fell in love but who was already married and after some hesitation was unable to give him what he wanted). All of that was soon to change, but this story will be told in other reviews.

Through his entire career Verlaine was more the musician than the painter,(**) and much more the poet than the thinker. He was also the sort of poet I appreciated much more when I was a "tormented" young man than I do now [blend in Voltaire's serene smile] - a highly sensitive and self-obsessed writer for whom any glances away from his bellybutton towards the outside world were just opportunities to project his moods and concerns onto a wider screen.

Nonetheless, nonetheless... His music, his floating moods still reach me.

Though there are some flat copies and pastiches in Poèmes saturniens, there are also some fine pieces where he has already found the waters of his poetic source. And because his music and moods are inseparable from his language, I won't offer any translations(***), with apologies to those not well versed in French. I also won't enter into technicalities, but in this text Verlaine artfully adapts a metric scheme used primarily in the 16th century in France (vers impair) to his purposes. For example, consider this little poem written in lines of five syllables. (As usual, if you want to see the proper line spacings, please use the link at the bottom of the review.)

Marine

L'océan sonore
Palpite sous l'oeil
De la lune en deuil
Et palpite encore,

Tandis qu'un éclair
Brutal et sinistre
Fend le ciel de bistre
D'un long zigzag clair,

Et que chaque lame,
En bonds convulsifs
Parmi les récifs,
Va, vient, luit et clame,

Et qu'au firmament,
Où l'ouragan erre
Rugit le tonnerre
Formidablement.


Poèmes saturniens contains many sonnets, of which the following anti-romantic poem echoing Baudelaire and Gautier and striking a pose that is not quite credible for a 22 year old fils de bourgeois is a technically fine example.

L'Angoisse

Nature, rien de toi ne m'émeut, ni les champs
Nourriciers, ni l'écho vermeil des pastorales
Siciliennes, ni les pompes aurorales,
Ni la solennité dolente des couchants.

Je ris de l'Art, je ris de l'Homme aussi, des chants,
Des vers, des temples grecs et des tours en spirales
Qu'étirent dans le ciel vide les cathédrales,
Et je vois du même oeil les bons et les méchants.

Je ne crois pas en Dieu, j'abjure et je renie
Toute pensée, et quant à la vieille ironie,
L'Amour, je voudrais bien qu'on ne m'en parlât plus.

Lasse de vivre, ayant peur de mourir, pareille
Au brick perdu jouet du flux et du reflux,
Mon âme pour d'affreux naufrages appareille.

Finally, in the next poem Verlaine employs a structure I've not seen before with some off-rhymes (the "rhyme" automne/monotone he certainly cribbed from Baudelaire). The ancient Chinese always read their poetry aloud, even when alone. This poem must be read aloud. One final aside: The first stanza was the code read over the BBC to signal to the French resistance that the invasion of Normandy was underway.

Chanson d'Automne

Les sanglots longs
Des violons
De l'automne
Blessent mon coeur
D'une langueur
Monotone.

Tout suffocant
Et blême, quand
Sonne l'heure,
Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure;

Et je m'en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m'emporte
Deçà, delà,
Pareil à la
Feuille morte.

Despite the lack of sales and critical resonance, the career of the man later to be declared "le prince des poètes" was well and truly launched.


(*) But Gautier was not "just" a Parnassian.

(**) Oh, how composers love to set his poems!

(***) Most of his poetry has been translated into many languages.

Rating

http://leopard.booklikes.com/post/953...

[Steven Godin · Rating 5 out of 5]

Souvenir, souvenir, que me veux-tu? L'automne
Faisait voler la grive à travers l'air atone,
Et le soleil dardait un rayon monotone
Sur le bois jaunissant où la bise détone.

Nous étions seul à seule et marchions en rêvant,
Elle et moi, les cheveux et la pensée au vent.
Soudain, tournant vers moi son regard émouvant:
« Quel fut ton plus beau jour ? » fit sa voix d'or vivant,

Sa voix douce et sonore, au frais timbre angélique.
Un sourire discret lui donna la réplique,
Et je baisai sa main blanche, dévotement.

— Ah, les premières fleurs, qu'elles sont parfumées!
Et qu'il bruit avec un murmure charmant
Le premier oui qui sort de lèvres bien-aimées.

- - -

Le Souvenir avec le Crépuscule
Rougeoie et tremble à l'ardent horizon
De l'Espérance en flamme qui recule
Et s'agrandit ainsi qu'une cloison
Mystérieuse où mainte floraison
— Dahlia, lys, tulipe et renoncule —
S'élance autour d'un treillis, et circule
Parmi la maladive exhalaison
De parfums lourds et chauds, dont le poison
— Dahlia, lys, tulipe et renoncule —
Noyant mes sens, mon âme et ma raison,
Mêle, dans une immense pâmoison,
Le Souvenir avec le Crépuscule.

[Zei · Rating 5 out of 5]

Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville;
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénètre mon coeur ?

Ô bruit doux de la pluie
Par terre et sur les toits !
Pour un coeur qui s'ennuie,
Ô le chant de la pluie !

Il pleure sans raison
Dans ce coeur qui s'écoeure.
Quoi ! nulle trahison ?...
Ce deuil est sans raison.

C'est bien la pire peine
De ne savoir pourquoi
Sans amour et sans haine
Mon coeur a tant de peine !

J'ai savouré chaque lettre de ces trois recueils rassemblés, la finesse du verbe et la mélancolie du ton. Un pur délice pour l'âme!

[Ana · Rating 5 out of 5]

A Angústia

Nada em ti me comove, Natureza, nem
Faustos das madrugadas, nem campos fecundos,
Nem pastorais do Sul, com o seu eco tão rubro,
A solene dolência dos poentes, além.

Eu rio-me da Arte, do Homem, das canções,
Da poesia, dos templos e das espirais
Lançadas para o céu vazio plas catedrais.
Vejo com os mesmos olhos os maus e os bons.

Não creio em Deus, abjuro e renego qualquer
Pensamento, e nem posso ouvir sequer falar
Dessa velha ironia a que chamam Amor.

Já farta de existir, com medo de morrer,
Como um brigue perdido entre as ondas do mar,
A minha alma persegue um naufrágio maior.

[Sass · Rating 4 out of 5]

J'ai lu deux recueils de poésie du XIXème siècle très récemment -chose qui n'arrive que
très rarement -et j'ai adoré.

Paul Verlaine, dans un long texte qui publiera dans la revue l'Art, écrira, à propos de
Charles Baudelaire que : « La profonde originalité de Charles Baudelaire, c'est, à mon sens,
de représenter puissamment et essentiellement l'homme moderne (.) Je n'entends ici que
l'homme physique moderne, tel que l'ont fait les raffinements d'une civilisation excessive,
l'homme moderne, avec ses sens aiguisés et vibrants, son esprit douloureusement subtil, son
cerveau saturé de tabac, son sang brûlé d'alcool, en un mot, le biblio-nerveux par excellence ».
Dans ses Poèmes saturniens, Paul Verlaine fait de nombreux hommages à la poésie
baudelairienne, en reprenant bon nombre de ses thématiques, comme celle de la ville
(notamment de Paris), dans le « Nocturne Parisien », Paris comme une ville de la mort, sombre
et ténébreuse. Mais également, le poète fait de nombreuses fois référence au temps, au souvenir
(« Nevermore»), mais aussi au rêve dans le fameux poème « Mon rêve familier». Il y a
également de nombreuses occurrences à la femme aimée, qui est portée au rang de quasi-idole,
mais un motif poétique traditionnel qui se voit généralement dégradé («Initiur»).
Quant aux Fleurs du Mal, probablement le recueil de poésie de la littérature française le
plus connu et reconnu, j'ai adoré ma lecture, j'ai adoré me plonger dans cet univers macabre,
sombre, infernal. Il y a évidemment certains poèmes qui tombent des mains, car beaucoup plus
hermétique. C’est l’harmonie entre la recherche d’universalité dans le propos et la touche profondément personnelle du poète baudelairien. C'est cette harmonie parfaite qui permet, selon moi, à ce
recueil de survivre dans le temps. Les images sont évidemment marquantes, avec la célèbre
« La Charogne » par exemple, sans oublier ces peintures grossières, vulgaires, voire macabres
ou mystiques de femmes aimées (« Bizarre déité, brune comme les nuits, / Au parfum mélangé
de musc et de havane,/ Œuvre de quelque obi, le Faust de la savane,/ Sorcière au flanc
d'ébène, enfant des noirs minuits », « Sed Non Satiata »).
De plus, le recueil fait office d'art poétique pour Baudelaire, qui met en avant dans ses
poèmes, sa conception de l'art avec cette volonté d'atteindre une forme d'Idéal poétique
inatteignable (« Ce ne seront jamais ces beautés de vignettes,/Produits avariés, nés d'un siècle
vaurien,/Ces pieds à brodequins, ces doigts à castagnettes,/Qui sauront satisfaire un coeur
comme le mien./Je laisse à Gavarni, poète des chloroses,/Son troupeau gazouillant de beautés
d'hôpital,/Car je ne puis trouver parmi ces pâles roses/Une fleur qui ressemble à mon rouge
idéal. », « L'Idéal »), qui semble annoncer la poésie d'Arthur Rimbaud.

[Alejandro Saint-Barthélemy · Rating 4 out of 5]

Verlaine was great. This book is great. Everybody knows it, or at least should, if interested in poetry.
I prefer Rimbaud, like most people, I guess, but it is good to remember that great writers such as Juan Ramón Jiménez, Luis Cernuda, Jorge Luis Borges... were more fond of Paul than Rimbe.

The worst things about this book are the asfixiating influence of Baudelaire (Rimbaud managed to overcome it better by misreading him creatively [criticizing his highly technical, too artistic and miserly versification]) and Verlaine's juvenile need of proving himself well-read and adult by writing one or two (don't remember now) highbrow long poems at the beginning of the book (to prove whom? Talentless critics or adults lacking critic instinct? Rimbaud, again, knew better, and never even bothered).

[Eadweard · Rating 4 out of 5]

Tired of life, afraid of death, not unlike
A lost brig, toy of ebb and flow on the ocean,
My soul weighs anchor for a frightful shipwreck.
--



Night. Rain. A livid sky pierces the lacework
Of spires and towers, the silhouette of a Gothic
Town dim in the gray distance.
The plain. A gibbet full of corpses, shrivelled ones Shaken by the crows’ avid beaks,
In the black air dancing incomparable gigues
While their feet are the provender of wolves.
--



Spilled through the meadow by
An enfeebled dawn,
The melancholy
Of setting suns.
Melancholy
Rocks my heart to oblivion
With sweet melody
Amid setting suns.
And strange dreams
Like suns, setting,
Ruddy phantoms
Over shores, passing
Unceasingly, passing like some
Huge suns, like them
Over shores, setting.
--



When the hour rings, I summon
Days long gone
With my weeping;
And then I go
On an ill wind to
Carry me off
Here and there
In just the manner
Of a dead leaf
--



Like a troubled flock of birds when they cry,
All my memories fall on me,
They fall amid the yellow leaves of my heart
Gazing at its alder trunk, bent
In the silver mirror-back of the water
Of Regret that flows melancholy and near
--



The cemetery’s small yews
Tremble in the glacial light,
In the wintry breeze.
With muffled sounds that hurt,
On the new graves wooden crosses
Irregularly vibrate.
Silently as rivers,
But swollen with tears like a flood,
The sons, the widows and mothers,
Along the curves of the sad
Enclosure—in a slow cortège—disperse,
To the rhythm of sobs interrupted.
The earth beneath their feet slips and cries,
While huge twisted clouds overhead
Wildly dishevel themselves.
Piercing as remorse, a heavy cold
Descends that sickens you,
And that must seep down to the dead,
To the poor dead who
Are always alone and shivering
Endlessly—Whether we forget them or are able to

[Markus · Rating 4 out of 5]

VERLAINE (1844 – 1896)
Poèmes Saturniens - première œuvre publié.
Avec ses poèmes saturniens Verlaine fait la démonstration de son style personnel, quasiment subversif à son époque.
« Ainsi, lecteurs austères qui dédaignez la forme pour ne vous attacher qu’à la pensée, n’ouvrez pas les Poèmes saturniens. Verlaine est un styliste.
Si la forme n’est pas parfaite, sa langue très énergique et très gracieuse parfois, est aussi par moments obscure et entortillée.
Le vers de Verlaine n’est pas souple, il est désarticulé. Le rire du poète ressemble plus à la grimace artistique et fantaisiste d’une gargouille d’église. » (Anatole France)
Confessions – dernière œuvre publié de son vivant.
Trop court pour une autobiographie, ses confessions s’arrêtent avec l’arrivée dans sa vie de Rimbaud.
Il s’agit d’un charmant recueil de ses souvenirs de la première et sans doute heureuse partie de sa vie. La beauté du style d’écriture est attachante et sympathique, et se lit comme un roman.
Ce petit aperçu de l’œuvre de Verlaine donne certainement envie d’approfondir.

[Karim Rhayem · Rating 3 out of 5]

[3.5/5]: Le style de Verlaine est fluide, ses métaphores intéressantes, et ses sonorités musicales.

J'ai senti que quelques poèmes sont trop répétitifs, tandis que d'autres ne m'ont pas vraiment touché vu l'anachronisme entre les faits racontés et le temps actuel.

J'ai particulièrement apprécié les textes abordant les saisons et les descriptions automnales, une saison qui ne fait qu'inspirer tous les poètes.

[Constance · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Les roses comme avant palpitent; comme avant" c'est ma ligne préférée de toute la poésie française. Elle saisit ce qui est entre l'éternel et le moment fugitif; la césure qui apparaît dans l'alexandrin produit un moment comme le battement du cœur.

[Anastasia · Rating 3 out of 5]

te odio verlaine

[Dimitris Papastergiou · Rating 3 out of 5]

A captivating collection marked by profound melancholy and a quest for beauty.

Verlaine's mastery of musicality and vivid imagery shines in standout poems, expressing a longing for the ideal and a deep introspection on life's fleeting moments. His ability to evoke powerful emotions with simplicity, coupled with dream-like atmospheres, takes you into a wonderful journey.

I would say, that those I liked, I loved and those I didn't like, I don't even recall. So it was a bit hit or miss, but overall I liked this collection, emotionally charged poetry, which, had some nice surprises such as mentions of Homer and Achilles and ancient Greece in general, Verlaine mentioning Greek Wars and places and such was interesting to read in his poems.

I only wish I knew french because I bet it sounds much better than in english.

Also, fun fact, his poem Autumn Song:

When a sighing begins
In the violins
Of the autumn-song,
My heart is drowned
In the slow sound
Languorous and long

was the hidden message that was played by BBC back in WWII on the radio before D-Day, which were used to signal the imminent invasion to the French Resistance. The first message (first 3 lines) indicated that the invasion could be expected within 2 weeks. The second meesage (last 3 lines) meant that the invasion was to begin within 48 hours in Normandy.

This was the whole reason I searched for the poet and read his collection, because I was reading a history book about the D-Day. Reading is fun.

[Stef De Meyer · Rating 4 out of 5]

ik hou van Verlaine

[Anita · Rating 4 out of 5]

It Rains In My Heart (Il Pleure Dans Mon Coeur)

It rains in my heart
As it rains on the town,
What languor so dark
That it soaks to my heart?

Oh sweet sound of the rain
On the earth and the roofs!
For the dull heart again,
Oh the song of the rain!

It rains for no reason
In this heart that lacks heart.
What? And no treason?
It’s grief without reason.

By far the worst pain,
Without hatred, or love,
Yet no way to explain
Why my heart feels such pain!

[Josh Boardman · Rating 2 out of 5]

There are a few good poems here. There aren't any translation issues that I can see, just Verlaine uses a rather narrow range of vocabulary and doesn't have much profundity in him. Quite disappointing. Ah, well. Youthful inconsistency.

[Daniela · Rating 5 out of 5]

inegalable!

[Léa · Rating 3 out of 5]

Vraiment bien ! Le fait d’étudier l’œuvre en cours m’aide beaucoup à comprendre l’esprit de Verlaine dans les poèmes. J’ai beaucoup aimé les deux poèmes Nevermore et Croquis Parisien !

[Ivanko · Rating 4 out of 5]

Francuski pjesnik Paul Verlaine napisao je ovu malu zbirku sa samo 22 godine. Predvodnik simbolizma u francuskoj, u svojim pjesmama se bavi prirodom, osjećajima i ženama koje su prikazane kao predmet njegove sreće, a isto tako i propasti. Pjesme su kratke, no to ne spriječava Paula da postavi tugaljivu i mističnu atmosferu od samog starta.
Kao najbolje radove izdvojio bih pjesme: "Zasićenost", "Tjeskoba", dvije pjesme o jeseni, "Pastirev čas", "Žena i mačka" i "Serenada".

8.6/10

I.J.

[Léopold · Rating 5 out of 5]

Absolument sublime. La mélancolie et le sentiment de disharmonie affleurent dans ce premier recueil de Verlaine. Sublime en ce qu’il ne sombre jamais dans le topique, et en ce qu’il va sans cesse plus loin dans l’évocation, convoquant références Romantiques et Parnassiennes. Vivement la suite !

[Suzanne · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.75/5

JÉSUITISME¹

"Le Chagrin qui me tue est ironique, et joint
Le sarcasme au supplice, et ne torture point
Franchement, mais picote avec un faux sourire
Et transforme en spectacle amusant mon martyre"


¹ Jésuitisme : conduite jésuistique, mais toujours en mauvaise part : hypocrisie.

[Del Johns · Rating 4 out of 5]

It’s been a long time since I picked up a collection of french poems. It didn’t disappoint. Full disclosure I have a soft spot for Verlaine as he championed the poetry of Marceline Desbordes-Valmore, a favourite of mine!

[Océane G · Rating 4 out of 5]

de toute beauté, mon cœur en est bouleversé

[Christine · Rating 4 out of 5]

I mean, it's Verlaine. He wrote beautiful poetry, there's not a whole lot for me to say. I grew up having to learn or analyze a lot of his poems, and then of course there were plenty featured in paperback French poetry collections. Poemes Saturniens doesn't contain all the hits, but it has a fair amount of good verses (as well as some that Verlaine thought would be either funny or shocking, or both).

It's easy to read Verlaine without thinking of him as a person because, for a long time, he wasn't a person. He was a poet and a name for me to say at the end of a recitation at the front of the class. He had this "great love affair" with Arthur Rimbaud, another good poet, and it ended with a (serious? drunken?) murder attempt on Rimbaud and a stint in jail for Verlaine. Honestly, the more I read about Verlaine and his life, the more difficult I find it to enjoy his poetry, which is disappointing because he really does write some great stuff. But it's hard to imagine where he drew such beautiful thoughts from when, frankly, he did a lot of horrible things (and the "great love affair" looked, um, very twisted and unhealthy upon closer inspection). A lot of people do horrible things, so I guess it's not a surprise, but it's still a letdown.

The one good thing that's come out of growing up and learning more about the poet without the pedestal is that I can enjoy the poetry for what it is: poetry. It wasn't written by a god or a paragon of perfection. Some of it is excellent, some of it is playful, and yes, some of it is a little stale or corny. When you read the whole work, not just a few poems in isolation, you get a better sense of the writer as a human. You notice themes that bounce from work to work, and you can almost tell which ideas inspired them versus which ones felt kind of forced. What I'm saying is, if you've never sat down to read a poetry book by your favorite poet, you really should. You might not like all of it, but you'll come out with a lot of appreciation for what truly shines through and how it developed.

Recommended if you can read French. Please don't read poetry in translation if you can help it, it's a really weird experience and I'm not sure how it works (technically the translation itself is a whole other poem that can be just as masterfully crafted). Maybe some Emily Dickinson or William Wordsworth would do?

[Jeanne Martin · Rating 3 out of 5]

Intéressant pour la culture générale.
Les poèmes sont très inégaux, certains immensément célèbres, d'autres inconnus, parfois ridicules. J'aime bien celui sur les fleuves (nocturne parisien)
Les confessions sont instructives. D'un style très désagréable (phrases constamment interrompues par des digressions) et passablement narcissiques, elles montrent Verlaine comme un alcoolique violent qui battait sa femme de 16 ans au bout de quelques semaines de vie conjugale. Ca donne à réfléchir sur la légende dorée du poète maudit poursuivi pour son amour passionné avec Rimbaud.
Dans la chronologie on apprend aussi qu'il a été condamné pour des violences sur sa mère.

[Sean A. · Rating 4 out of 5]

verlaine is a damn good poet.

[Shelley · Rating 4 out of 5]

I need to learn French

[Elijah ⭐ · Rating 5 out of 5]

( 4.5/5 )

J'ai beau détester l'homme qu'est Verlaine, je ne peux nier son talent 🕺💕


Les poèmes qui m'ont marqué et que j'ai adoré sont : "Mon Rêve Familier", "Chanson D'automne", "Initium", "Sub Urbe" "Nervermore", "Il bacio", "Marco" et tout ceux de la section Eaux Fortes 💕💕

[Maya⁎⁺˳✧༚ · Rating 3 out of 5]

« Et, dans la splendeur triste d’une lune
Se levant blafarde et solennelle, une
Nuit mélancolique et lourde d’été,
Pleine de silence et d’obscurité,
Berce sur l’azur qu’un vent doux effleure
L’arbre qui frissonne et l’oiseau qui pleure. »

J’ai beaucoup aimé les poèmes Le rossignol, Chanson d’automne, Après trois ans, Soleils couchants, Nevermore, Initium et Marine.