from the fantastic patterns of dreams to the surrealistic behaving of reality

written in Dinglish (that's Germanic English)

Nürnberg, Mittelfranken, 2005-07-10 - 4:47 a.m.

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the rescue of my poor recitating

you remember one of my recent entries some days ago, titled 'la douce langue', where I quoted some lines of a french poem I once had learnt, but almost forgotten - to continue this story - here (or some lines later) is the complete text - consider, that of all the poems of Charles Baudelaire, this was the 'one', worthwile to me, to be learnt - it had some longing in it (Sehnsucht), that I also saw in some other Baudelaire poems, that touched my soul. Baudelaire was one of the centre books in my life, when I was about 25 (if read this number backwards then you know how old I am today) - I always had texts of poetry or of songs or voices of my fave singers in my mind in that time to identify my moods, longings or to compensate my frustrations & deep emotions bound to wheel circling me between heaven & hell - there where the Rolling Stones, Doors etc. - there were Baudelaire, Oscar Wilde, Rimbaud & in my semi-youth mind then some lines of poetry either by songs or poets, were like meaningful prophecies to me - there was a magic feeling around me in that time & quoting Baudelaire: "Enivrez-vous sans cesse! De vin, de poésie ou de vertu, à votre guise." - I was always drugged by that strong influences in that time - later on I lost that magic feeling by the attacks or 'real' sober life later on - but to continue: at the age of 25 I lived together with 5 people in a flat in community - one night I had written part of a poem of Rimbaud with a thick black pencil on the outside of my room door - , I still can remember it - it was "sur le brute assoupie - un ange se reveille" - means 'above the sleeping beast an angel awakes' -
about 10 years later after I had left that flat & all my compagnons who had lived there had left too, I met the new tenant of just that same flat, who shared these 5 rooms with a pal - I visited him once - all the flat was totally renovated, new carpets, colours on the walls etc. - but on my ex-door, still this Rimbaud french quotation had remained.
That's one of the things you like - if your tracks are still visible, centuries after you'd touched that regions.

But back to Baudelaire - in my period of life, when I was reading his poems (of course translated to German)- 'les fleures du mal' weren't mal or bad or vicious, - they were full of true emotions from love to hate, to good & bad, to the holy & to Satan, of treachery, dissapointments, regrets, longing for the flesh & for the spiritual, touching it, but not preaching it, mainly in the role of the observer, but sometimes involved to regret, remorse of the lost paradize. Out of all the decadent venturing to the edge of the borders of the dark side, the demonic depth of soul, I could see in most of his poems also see the deep longing for something higher, for the holy & the light, - but of course you could see his christian roots - between hell, damnation, salvation & longing for .. - like in 'Moesta et Errabunda':

Dis-moi, ton coeur parfois s'envole-t-il, Agathe,
Loin du noir océan de l'immonde cité,
Vers un autre océan où la splendeur éclate,
Bleu, clair, profond, ainsi que la virginité ?
Dis-moi, ton coeur parfois s'envole-t-il, Agathe ?

that's in english (wait I'll gooogle it..)

Tell me, does your heart sometimes fly away, Agatha,
Far from the black ocean of the filthy city,
Toward another ocean where splendor glitters,
Blue, clear, profound, as is virginity?
Tell me, does your heart sometimes fly away, Agatha?


this is my German version of 'flowers of evil' (Die Blumen des Bösen):

& this my french version I once got for about 50 cent on a flea-market(Americans probably don't say flea market, but the German 'Floh Markt', where private people can sell there stuff):

This is the poem I tried in vain to recite in my former entry:

L'invitation au voyage

Mon enfant, ma soeur,
Songe à la douceur
D'aller là-bas
vivre ensemble!
Aimer à loisir,
Aimer et mourir
Au pays qui te ressemble!
Les soleils mouillés
De ces ciels brouillés
Pour mon esprit ont les charmes
Si mystérieux
De tes traîtres yeux,
Brillant à travers leurs larmes.

Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.


Des meubles luisants,
Polis par les ans,
Décoreraient notre chambre;
Les plus rares fleurs
Mêlant leurs odeurs
Aux vagues senteurs de l'ambre,
Les riches plafonds,
Les miroirs profonds,
La splendeur orientale,
Tout y parlerait
À l'âme en secret
Sa douce langue natale.

Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.


Vois sur ces canaux
Dormir ces vaisseaux
Dont l'humeur est vagabonde;
C'est pour assouvir
Ton moindre désir
Qu'ils viennent du bout du monde.
Les soleils couchants
Revêtent les champs,
Les canaux, la ville entière,
D'hyacinthe et d'or;
Le monde s'endort
Dans une chaude lumière.

Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.


Of course you liked to have a translation - I found three translations of this poem to english - & it was shocking how different they were translated - so today I give you the translation, that in my mind's eye fits most, but in a further entry I will write more about the difference of words in translations.

so here the english version translated 1954, one year after I'd been born:

Invitation to the Voyage

My child, my sister,
Think of the rapture
Of living together there!
Of loving at will,
Of loving till death,
In the land that is like you!
The misty sunlight
Of those cloudy skies
Has for my spirit the charms,
So mysterious,
Of your treacherous eyes,
Shining brightly through their tears.

There all is order and beauty,
Luxury, peace, and pleasure.

Gleaming furniture,
Polished by the years,
Will ornament our bedroom;
The rarest flowers
Mingling their fragrance
With the faint scent of amber,
The ornate ceilings,
The limpid mirrors,
The oriental splendor,
All would whisper there
Secretly to the soul
In its soft, native language.

There all is order and beauty,
Luxury, peace, and pleasure.

See on the canals
Those vessels sleeping.
Their mood is adventurous;
It's to satisfy
Your slightest desire
That they come from the ends of the earth.
The setting suns
Adorn the fields,
The canals, the whole city,
With hyacinth and gold;
The world falls asleep
In a warm glow of light.

There all is order and beauty,
Luxury, peace, and pleasure.

William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)


so good night with thoughts about luxury, peace & pleasure - more words of the difference in translations will follow - sooner or later..

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