I have the cold and hard perfection of
A dream. My breast, where mortal men expire,
Is made of stone, the better to inspire
The dumbstruck artist's everlasting love.
Dispassionate, aloof and motionless,
A solemn sphinx, preeminent in space,
I have a snow-capped heart, a swan-like grace,
And no emotion mars my loveliness.
Poets will sacrifice their lives to brood
On all the noble poses I assume;
My every attribute and attitude
Shall play a part in that curriculum,
And I can show them what they wish to see
Through the eyes of otherworldly clarity!
An interesting poem from Baudelaire's Fleurs du Mal, in the section "Spleen and Ideal." Notable change in tone and thematic content -- most of the poems (at least from Spleen and Ideal) deal with themes of decadence, death, eroticism and the degradation of urban lifestyle. This poem was translated (very well, in my opinion) by Walter Martin. Original French can be found here.
2 comments:
FLOWERS OF BAD.
(http://www.flowersofbad.com/)
From "To Santa Claus" in the Flowers of Bad:
"As asses go, yours is more like a statue of the Chrysler Building than an old sailor's"
This is endlessly funny.
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