Baudelairian past life

Back with another of my fav poems from our great old Charles Baudelaire. This one, "La vie antérieure", which could be translated as "Past life", is a sonnet taken from the Flowers of Evil, part Spleen and Ideal.

Enjoy your reading!

 

La vie antérieure

J'ai longtemps habité sous de vastes portiques
Que les soleils marins teignaient de mille feux
Et que leurs grands piliers, droits et majestueux,
Rendaient pareils, le soir, aux grottes basaltiques.

Les houles, en roulant les images des cieux,
Mêlaient d'une façon solennelle et mystique
Les tout-puissants accords de leur riche musique
Aux couleurs du couchant reflété par mes yeux.

C'est là que j'ai vécu dans les voluptés calmes,
Au milieu de l'azur, des vagues, des splendeurs
Et des esclaves nus, tout imprégnés d'odeurs,

Qui me rafraîchissaient le front avec des palmes,
Et dont l'unique soin était d'approfondir
Le secret douloureux qui me faisait languir.

 

Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), The Flowers of Evil, "Spleen and Ideal", 1857-61-68

 

Previous Existence

For a long time I lived under vast colonnades,
Stained with a thousand fires by ocean suns,
Whose vast pillars, straight and majestic,
Made them seem in the evening like grottos of basalt.

The sea-swells, in swaying the pictures of the skies,
Mingled solemnly and mystically
The all-powerful harmonies of their rich music
With the colors of the setting sun reflected by my eyes.

It is there that I have lived in calm voluptuousness,
In the center of the blue, amidst the waves and splendors
And the nude slaves, heavy with perfumes,

Who refreshed my forehead with palm-leaves,
Their only care was to fathom
The dolorous secret that made me languish.

— Geoffrey Wagner, Selected Poems of Charles Baudelaire (NY: Grove Press, 1974)

As every poem in the book, it is one of the many and vain poet's attempts to get rid of his spleen. The way used here is the memory of an old, antical perfect place that can be the baudelairian Ideal.
Naturally this world is directly inspired from the parnassian poetical movement which has influenced Baudelaire since teenage. Inspired because it cannot be parnassian at all: the poet, that shows his presence in the verses, describes a little bit his feeling, and anyway, this poem inspires us a sort of idealistic, dreamy, paradise atmosphere, which isimpossible in a parnassian poem. Remember, one of the Parnasse caracteristics is not to be lyrical, so as to fight the huge place romanticism took at the moment.
Therefore we have here bits of romanticism; those are confidences from the poet; but it's not romanticism. We know the poet is here, however he seems to fade a little whereas the romantic poet talk about himself to himself: we know it's him and not Mr. Everybody. Baudelaire's poetry tends to be universal. Anyone of us can figure himself/herself in this past life and feel Baudelaire's Spleen. Well it's also possible with some romanticist texts, but less because it is most of the time too descriptive. Most of the romanticists show their feelings, Baudelaire and later the symbolists suggest them through symbols (I know, there aren't any symbol here). The key is suggesting an emotion, a feeling. You see, Baudelaire describes here his environment, and then we can feel through this description what he feels. The music and sounds help too.
Conclusion: this poem is some exalted parnassian and baudelairian one.

This poem confirms, too, that the Spleen is fatal and that there is no cure to it. The past life is a dreamy environment, with wonderful landscapes, where everything seems to be perfect, calm, rich, right, where the senses are well treated;and then we have the two last verses: there are some secrets that are hurting the poet's  mind. Plus note the i sound that makes an horrible noise. The Spleen eats our mind even in the Ideal. Poor us, poor Baudelaire. Human's mind will never change, and the Ideal is unreachable except through dreams.

Well, all of this illustrates partly the whole of Baudelaire's work, life, psychology and philosophy.

I hope those explanations are right and satisfy everyone, though they are not organised. I could do a whole commentary of this; anyway would it be useful?

Shall you get flowers of evil for this anniversapoetry?

Let's wish some bitter-sweet feeling to Charles Baudelaire's grave so as to heal his poor damned soul. Superior forces have mercy of you, our dear poet!

160 years ago, a ragged, depressed, bullied, misunderstood but genius, modern and ingenious dandy and poet - that deserves now to be called the vert first modern! - published his lifetime poetry book that had cost him 15 years of Spleen fighting and that would be condemned two months later. Damn it and the censorers. Anyway, we still talk about it nowadays...

To celebrate this prodigious book, I'll be posting some of mmy fav poems from both 1857 and 1861 versions.
Therefore, let's begin with "Correspondances", that is one unless THE key of the baudelairian poetry and the bases of symbolism, theorising and illustrating the two forms of correspondances: vertical and horizontal or synesthesia. Vertical ones make links between our material world and the invisible world of the Truth behind the things, or matches senses with ideas. Synesthesias are links between senses, aka like Frida you're hearing images, you're seeing songs no poet has ever painted (ABBA - I Let the music speak). Naturally I give you the origina version, in French.

Correspondances
La Nature est un temple où de vivants piliers
Laissent parfois sortir de confuses paroles;
L'homme y passe à travers des forêts de symboles
Qui l'observent avec des regards familiers.

Comme de longs échos qui de loin se confondent
Dans une ténébreuse et profonde unité,
Vaste comme la nuit et comme la clarté,
Les parfums, les couleurs et les sons se répondent.

II est des parfums frais comme des chairs d'enfants,
Doux comme les hautbois, verts comme les prairies,
— Et d'autres, corrompus, riches et triomphants,

Ayant l'expansion des choses infinies,
Comme l'ambre, le musc, le benjoin et l'encens,
Qui chantent les transports de l'esprit et des sens.


— Charles Baudelaire

 

Video by DODV14TakerFan

Newborn albatross

Some poetry would have fitted, yes. However as I have not written yet some pieces for our master, whose year is this year, here we go with the traditional message.

Charles Baudelaire would be 196 today. One of our dearest writers of all the time. Probably one of the most talented poet of the 19th century. I'm sure you've already fallen of ectasy while ready the Flowers of Evil.
Parnasse, romanticism, symbolism, matching stuff, mediumism, all those, I have to say, brought their brick to the litterary history. Baudelaire joined the all,you may know. Tasty style, fascinating topics, strange and pathetic life, and a wonderful poetic. A damned poet. THE damned poet with all the dreamy concepts around, a damned poet who predicted once his fame of nowadays, as wished in The death of artists. A poet, an art critic, a thinker. Read The Spleen of Paris, it is worth.

Dear Mr Baudelaire, you have suceeded in souls and heart. You have touched my soul and my heart. And even if you're damned and unfriendly I'll never let you down. An aspiring poet speaks and thanks you for every little advice and wonder you offered me indirectly while she was in love with your poems.

Therefore I say, happy birthday to you, who has found pleasure and end to your suffer away from Earth and Life.