Here, for the first time, the work of three of Frances greatest poets has been published in a single volume: the sensual and passionate glow of Charles Baudelaire, the desperate intensity and challenge of Arthur Rimbaud, and the absinthe-tinted symbolist songs of Paul Verlaine.
To bring the essence of these three giants of modern poetry to the American public, Joseph M. Bernstein, a noted interpreter and translator of French literature, has selected the most representative of their writings and presented them along with a biographical and critical introduction.
"Not to know these three poets", he points out, "is to deprive oneself of a pleasure as rare as it is indispensable to any real understanding of the aims and direction of modern literature.
The volume includes Arthur Symons' unabridged translation of Flowers of Evil and the Prose Poems of Baudelaire; Louise Varese's translation of Rimbaud's A Season in Hell and Prose Poems from "Illuminations"; J. Norman Cameron's translation of the verse from the Illuminations; and a representative selection from Verlaine's verse translated by Gertrude Hall and Arthur Symons.
I'm abandoning this one after barely thrashing through Baudelaire and drowning in Rimbaud. The translations are horrid - especially in the verse rather than the prose poems. Every other stanza in the Baudelaire poems had "tenebrous" somewhere in them and that just seemed lazy work by the translator. It's a great word, but only in moderation. The word no longer connotes gloomy murkiness if it draws attention to itself so much.
I think the best way to get through this translation is to make a drinking game out of it: Every time you read the word "tenebrous" you drink a shot of absinthe!"
I also think I'm the wrong age to read Rimbaud - his wine is a young wine. A lot of times I was thinking, "Oh, grow up and stop showing off. And get a haircut!"
These three would have kicked all our aarses back in the day. Baudelaire with his purple hair flowing down the Champ-Eylles(sp?), syphillitic Rimbaud hustling off to Africa and Verlaine with a glass of Absinthe in one hand, a cross in the other. You can't go wrong even if these days Baudelaire reads like ornate, clove-scented drapery, Rimbaud like a 19th century version of a spoiled teen and Verlaine, well he's practically unreadable.
They were, and still remain, the most luminous writers in the history of the French language. Their use of images reinvented French poetry, taking it away from the formal nonsense trendy at the time to a whole new level of achievement, beauty and vitalism.
Baudelaire, Rimbaud and Verlaine share certain sentiments as poets and also lead a 'fascinating' way of living when it comes to love.
Baudelaire's well-known for his relationship with Jeanne Duval who's only after his money. Remind you a bit of master and slave relationship between Severin and Wanda von Dunajew in Masoch's Venus in Furs, ey?! The poet's trapped in a love-hate relationship but unable to get out ot it. Poems like Thee I adore and Exotic Perfume confirm it. At 40, he's a physical wreck of man and on his verge of insanity and paralysis, trying to commit suicide. He suffered an initial stroke in 1860 and the second one in 1864 when he's in Belgium delivering unsuccessful lectures. Broke and being forced to return to France in 1867 he lived another year until his death which came as a release on 31 August 1867.
Meanwhile, Arthur Rimbaud and Paul Verlaine's life is also interesting. Rimbaud wrote his famous poem the Drunken Boat in 1871 and sent a copy to Paul Verlaine. Verlaine - not knowing that Rimbaud was only 17 urged him to come to Paris where they began their feverish homosexual passion and emotional abmormalities. It lasted for 13 months as in 1873, Verlaine shot Rimbaud in Belgium. In 1876, Rimbaud joined the Dutch army and was sent to Indonesia in 1876. He was stationed in a small city of Salatiga, East Java where he finally escaped and made his way to Europe a week after his arrival. He then made it to Cyprus before headed to Africa and lived a prosperous life in Abyssinia for 11 years until he contracted syphilis. In 1891, he had a leg injury and was forced to return to France. It was too late because his leg would have to be amputated and at the same year he died in the hospital there. Meanwhile, 3 years later in 1894, Paul Verlaine died penniless and in relative obscurity after: being divorced by his wife, prison in 1981 and living as a religious Bohemian who could not stop his drinking habit even in poverty.
Slide 5: Baudelaire & Duval Slide 6: Rimbaud & Verlaine Slide 7: Debussy's Suite Bargamasque from Verlaine's Clair de Lune - my fave ❤ Slide 8: Rimbaud's monument in Salatiga Slide 9-10: Movie adaption of Rimbaud and Verlaine
Despite the fact that these French poems have been translated into "English", I found reading them to be similar to attempting to understand a language I do not speak. For me they were virtually incomprehensible. In other words, these poets do not speak to me.
*A note on the translation (since many think it is poorly translated)
First, go ahead and look up some poems by Arthur Symons (London Nights, if you can find it). If anything like a zeitgeist exists, then Symons is a prime candidate for the times. Although the translations might be a little difficult, he still manages to capture the attention to form that so many modern translations of Baudelaire lack. Also, like Baudelaire, he is a "premiere" Decadent. He liked whores, absinthe, walking around at night and poetry. His study, "The Symbolist Movement in Literature," basically introduced the English speaking world to the concept. Just ask TS Eliot's ghost. Anyway, try and keep that in mind when reading it. I, at first, didn't take much to the volume, but then again I didn't realize the actual age of the translations. I found that reading Symons' own poems, in addition to reading subsequent translations of "Les Fleurs du Mal," gives a much better perspective on the overall qualities of the translation, especially when compared to others.
But yeah, this edition is a good source. It has most of everything by Rimbaud and Baudelaire in one volume, including the Louise Varese translation of Rimbaud's "A Season in Hell". The Verlaine is forgettable.
Rating is for the Rimbaud and Verlaine sections. See separate review for Baudelaire's Les Fleurs du Mal, as translated by William Aggeler. Could not stomach the Arthur Symons translations of Baudelaire included here.
Still reading. I flipped through another edition of A Season In Hell at a bookstore once and loved it. It seemed snotty in attitude but also pessimistic and cool. I've read a lot of Baudelaire poems and prose in this book. Baudelaire writes neat, little vignettes. Sometimes they seem a little too expectant of sighs, some of them too full of Victorian titillation, but they are good over all.
I actually do not like this collection but am too lazy to put each of those I prefer on here. So long as you get "A Season In Hell" and "The Flowers of Evil" you're set. Verlaine I consider a novelty act.
Perhaps this was just a bad translation, but most of these poems seemed inaccessible to me. Granted they were written in the 19th century, but nevertheless, I think they could have benefited from a fresh translation, one that makes them more comprehensible to the modern reader.
These three famed French poets -- Baudelaire, Rimbaud, and Verlaine -- are all beyond my present reading interest. (Just an FYI for myself. Book discarded.)
I would rather dive into a monolith on each than to find out what the editors chose to present. That being said, there is always pleasure to be found in their work.