Arthur Rimbaud

(20 October 1854 – 10 November 1891 / Charleville, Ardennes)

Arthur Rimbaud
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Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud was a French poet. Born in Charleville, Ardennes, he produced his best known works while still in his late teens—Victor Hugo described him at the time as "an infant Shakespeare"—and he gave up creative writing altogether before the age of 20. As part of the decadent movement, Rimbaud influenced modern literature, music and art. He was known to have been a libertine and a restless soul, travelling extensively on three continents before his death from cancer just after his 37th birthday.

Family and childhood (1854–1861)

Arthur Rimbaud was born into the provincial middle class of Charleville (now part of Charleville-Mézières) in the ... more »

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Quotations

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  • The poet makes himself a seer by a long, prodigious, and rational disordering of all the senses. Every form of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself, he consumes all the poisons in him, ...
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. Letter, May 15, 1871. Collected Poems, ed. Oliver Bernard (1962).
  • ''I is another.''
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. Letter, May 13, 1871. Collected Poems, ed. Oliver Bernard (1962).
  • ''I saw that all beings are fated to happiness: action is not life, but a way of wasting some force, an ennervation. Morality is the weakness of the brain.''
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. repr. In Collected Poems, ed. Oliver Bernard (1962). "Délires II: Alchimie du Verbe," Une Saison en Enfer (18...
  • ''But, truly, I have wept too much! The dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.''
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. repr. In Collected Poems, ed. Oliver Bernard (1962). Le Bateau Ivre (written 1871).
  • ''Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.''
    Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891), French poet. "Mauvais Sang," Une Saison en Enfer (1874).
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Comments about Arthur Rimbaud

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  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (11/22/2015 4:47:00 PM)

    by Rimbaud, in Italian:

    La danza degli impiccati

    Alla nera forca, amabile moncone,
    danzano, danzano i paladini,
    i magri paladini del demonio,
    gli scheletri dei Saladini!
    Messer Belzebù tira per la cravatta
    i suoi piccoli neri fantocci che fan smorfie al cielo,
    e picchiandoli in fronte con la ciabatta
    li fa danzare sulle note d'un vecchio Natale!
    E i fantocci scioccati intrecciano i loro gracili braccini,
    come neri organi i petti squarciati
    che un tempo stringevano dolci donzelle
    cozzano a lungo in un amore immondo.
    Urrà per i gai danzatori che non hanno più pancia!
    Possono fare giravolte, perché il palco è così grande!
    Op! Che non si sappia se è danza o battaglia!
    Belzebù irato coi suoi violini raglia!
    O duri talloni, non usate mai sandali!
    Quasi tutti han tolto la camicia di pelle!
    Il resto non impaccia si guarda senza schifo.
    Sui crani la neve posa un candido cappello:
    la cornacchia è un pennacchio sulle incrinate teste,
    un brano di carne trema sul mento scarno:
    si direbbe vorticante nelle oscure resse
    di prodi, rigide armature di cartone.
    Urrà! La tramontana soffia al gran ballo degli scheletri!
    La forca nera mugola come un organo di ferro!
    E i lupi rispondono da foreste violette:
    all'orizzonte il cielo è d'un rosso inferno...
    Olà, scuotete quei funebri capitani
    che sgranano sornioni tra le dita spezzate
    un rosario d'amore sulle vertebre pallide:
    questo non è un monastero, o trapassati!
    Oh! Ecco, nel mezzo della danza macabra
    nel cielo rosso un folle scheletro avanza
    di slancio, e come un cavallo impenna:
    e, poiché al collo la corda è stretta,
    raggrinza le dita sul femore che scricchiola
    con grida simili a ghigni
    e come un acrobata che rientra nella sua baracca
    rimbalza nel ballo al canto delle ossa.
    Alla nera forca, amabile moncone,
    danzano, danzano i paladini,
    i magri paladini del demonio,
    gli scheletri dei Saladini!

    -Arthur Rimbaud

  • Grace Moneymaker (12/23/2014 2:40:00 PM)

    Good ol' Arthur Rimbaud. He inspires me to write poetry, even though I am a troubled poet like he was. One of the best.

  • Jetty J Newnham Jetty J Newnham (11/19/2012 5:31:00 AM)

    If I hadn't read the beat poets I may never of heard Rimbaud, I thank them for that. Its also possible that if I had not read either I may not write my own.

  • Shakti Shetty (7/22/2006 4:25:00 AM)

    If u r looking for a true rebel..a constant disclaimer of world orthodoxy then rimbaud is the closest you can get................ morever he was young, vibrant and too close to dream than reality.........unashamed of his thoughts, profane at times but nonetheless a genius who wrote with no qualm whatsoever!

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Best Poem of Arthur Rimbaud

Novel

I.

No one's serious at seventeen.
--On beautiful nights when beer and lemonade
And loud, blinding cafés are the last thing you need
--You stroll beneath green lindens on the promenade.

Lindens smell fine on fine June nights!
Sometimes the air is so sweet that you close your eyes;
The wind brings sounds--the town is near--
And carries scents of vineyards and beer. . .

II.

--Over there, framed by a branch
You can see a little patch of dark blue
Stung by a sinister star that fades
With faint quiverings, so small and white. . ...

Read the full of Novel

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