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Friday Poetry Corner Tribute to Baudelaire

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    Friday Poetry Corner Tribute to Baudelaire

    Cats


    Both ardent lovers and austere scholars
    Love in their mature years
    The strong and gentle cats, pride of the house,
    Who like them are sedentary and sensitive to cold.


    Friends of learning and sensual pleasure,
    They seek the silence and the horror of darkness;
    Erebus would have used them as his gloomy steeds:
    If their pride could let them stoop to bondage.


    When they dream, they assume the noble attitudes
    Of the mighty sphinxes stretched out in solitude,
    Who seem to fall into a sleep of endless dreams;


    Their fertile loins are full of magic sparks,
    And particles of gold, like fine grains of sand,
    Spangle dimly their mystic eyes.






    Les Chats


    Les amoureux fervents et les savants austères
    Aiment également, dans leur mûre saison,
    Les chats puissants et doux, orgueil de la maison,
    Qui comme eux sont frileux et comme eux sédentaires.


    Amis de la science et de la volupté
    Ils cherchent le silence et l'horreur des ténèbres;
    L'Erèbe les eût pris pour ses coursiers funèbres,
    S'ils pouvaient au servage incliner leur fierté.


    Ils prennent en songeant les nobles attitudes
    Des grands sphinx allongés au fond des solitudes,
    Qui semblent s'endormir dans un rêve sans fin;


    Leurs reins féconds sont pleins d'étincelles magiques,
    Et des parcelles d'or, ainsi qu'un sable fin,
    Etoilent vaguement leurs prunelles mystiques.


    — Charles Baudelaire






    #2
    Monkey See, Monkey Do

    Monkey See, Monkey Do


    Monkey see, monkey do
    One day a monkey did a poo
    Another monkey saw that poo
    Monkey see, monkey do

    Elena Sweet
    I've seen much of the rest of the world. It is brutal and cruel and dark, Rome is the light.

    Comment


      #3
      Tore Down a la Rimbaud

      Dance of the Hanged Men

      On the black gallows, one-armed friend,
      The paladins are dancing, dancing
      The lean, the devil's paladins
      The skeletons of Saladins.

      Sir Beelzebub pulls by the scruff
      His little black puppets who grin at the sky,
      And with a backhander in the head like a kick,
      Makes them dance, dance, to an old Carol-tune !

      And the puppets, shaken about, entwine their thin arms :
      Their breasts pierced with light, like black organ-pipes
      Which once gentle ladies pressed to their own,
      Jostle together protractedly in hideous love-making.

      Hurray ! the gay dancers, you whose bellies are gone !
      You can cut capers on such a long stage !
      Hop ! never mind whether it's fighting or dancing !
      - Beelzebub, maddened, saws on his fiddles !

      Oh the hard heels, no one's pumps are wearing out !
      And nearly all have taken of their shirts of skin ;
      The rest is not embarrassing and can be seen without shame.
      On each skull the snow places a white hat :

      The crow acts as a plume for these cracked brains,
      A scrap of flesh clings to each lean chin :
      You would say, to see them turning in their dark combats,
      They were stiff knights clashing pasteboard armours.

      Hurrah ! the wind whistles at the skeletons' grand ball !
      The black gallows moans like an organ of iron !
      The wolves howl back from the violet forests :
      And on the horizon the sky is hell-red...

      Ho there, shake up those funereal braggarts,
      Craftily telling with their great broken fingers
      The beads of their loves on their pale vertebrae :
      Hey the departed, this is no monastery here !

      Oh ! but see how from the middle of this Dance of Death
      Springs into the red sky a great skeleton, mad,
      Carried away by his own impetus, like a rearing horse :
      And, feeling the rope tight again round his neck,

      Clenches his knuckles on his thighbone with a crack
      Uttering cries like mocking laughter,
      And then like a mountebank into his booth,
      Skips back into the dance to the music of the bones !

      On the black gallows, one-armed friend,
      The paladins are dancing, dancing
      The lean, the devil's paladins
      The skeletons of Saladins.
      Why not?

      Comment


        #4
        The Ghost


        Like angels with wild beast's eyes
        I shall return to your bedroom

        And silently glide toward you
        With the shadows of the night;


        And, dark beauty, I shall give you
        Kisses cold as the moon

        And the caresses of a snake
        That crawls around a grave.


        When the livid morning comes,
        You'll find my place empty,
        And it will be cold there till night.


        I wish to hold sway over
        Your life and youth by fear,
        As others do by tenderness.



        Le Revenant


        Comme les anges à l'oeil fauve,
        Je reviendrai dans ton alcôve
        Et vers toi glisserai sans bruit
        Avec les ombres de la nuit;


        Et je te donnerai, ma brune,
        Des baisers froids comme la lune
        Et des caresses de serpent
        Autour d'une fosse rampant.


        Quand viendra le matin livide,
        Tu trouveras ma place vide,
        Où jusqu'au soir il fera froid.


        Comme d'autres par la tendresse,
        Sur ta vie et sur ta jeunesse,
        Moi, je veux régner par l'effroi.


        — Charles Baudelaire

        Comment


          #5
          AJP

          You're far too literate for the likes of us
          Still enjoying the cosmic dance, I take it?
          Hard Brexit now!
          #prayfornodeal

          Comment


            #6
            The Cat


            Come, superb cat, to my amorous heart;
            Hold back the talons of your paws,
            Let me gaze into your beautiful eyes
            Of metal and agate.


            When my fingers leisurely caress you,
            Your head and your elastic back,
            And when my hand tingles with the pleasure
            Of feeling your electric body,


            In spirit I see my woman. Her gaze
            Like your own, amiable beast,
            Profound and cold, cuts and cleaves like a dart,


            And, from her head down to her feet,
            A subtle air, a dangerous perfume
            Floats about her dusky body.


            — Charles Baudelaire







            Le Chat


            Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon coeur amoureux;
            Retiens les griffes de ta patte,
            Et laisse-moi plonger dans tes beaux yeux,
            Mêlés de métal et d'agate.


            Lorsque mes doigts caressent à loisir
            Ta tête et ton dos élastique,
            Et que ma main s'enivre du plaisir
            De palper ton corps électrique,


            Je vois ma femme en esprit. Son regard,
            Comme le tien, aimable bête
            Profond et froid, coupe et fend comme un dard,


            Et, des pieds jusques à la tête,
            Un air subtil, un dangereux parfum
            Nagent autour de son corps brun.


            — Charles Baudelaire

            Comment


              #7
              AJP is all that cat poetry some kind of veiled reference to George Galloway?

              Comment


                #8
                Macavity: The Mystery Cat



                Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw -
                For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.

                He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
                For when they reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!

                Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
                He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
                His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,

                And when you reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!
                You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air -
                But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!

                Mcavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
                You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.

                His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
                His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.

                He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
                And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.

                Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
                For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.

                You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square -
                But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!

                He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
                And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.
                And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,

                Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
                Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair -
                Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!

                And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty's gone astray,
                Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
                There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair -
                But it's useless to investigate - Mcavity's not there!


                And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
                It must have been Macavity!' - but he's a mile away.
                You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
                Or engaged in doing complicated long-division sums.

                Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
                There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
                He always has an alibi, and one or two to spaer:
                At whatever time the deed took place - MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!

                And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
                (I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
                Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time

                Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

                TS Elliot
                Last edited by AlfredJPruffock; 27 January 2006, 14:30.

                Comment


                  #9
                  Voici Le Soir Charmant,ami du criminel et prostuite
                  Il vient comme un complice, pas de loup,Le Ciel
                  Se ferme comme une grande alcove
                  Et l'homme impatient se change en homme fauve


                  Charles Baudelaire 1852



                  Here comes the enticing evening, friend of the criminal and prostitute
                  It comes softly like an accomplice
                  The sky closes slowly, like a great alcove
                  And the impatient man becomes a wild beast

                  Last edited by AlfredJPruffock; 27 January 2006, 14:30.

                  Comment

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