Charles Baudelaire

(9 April 1821 – 31 August 1867 / Paris)

Comments about Charles Baudelaire

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (6/9/2016 1:03:00 PM)

    '' Who among us has not dreamt, in moments of ambition, of the miracle of a poetic prose, musical without rhythm and rhyme, supple and staccato enough to adapt to the lyrical stirrings of the soul, the undulations of dreams, and sudden leaps of consciousness. This obsessive idea is above all a child of giant cities, of the intersecting of their myriad relations. ''

    (from:  Dedication of 'Le Spleen de Paris' *

    * also known as 'Paris Spleen' or 'Petits Poèmes en prose'

    28 person liked.
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  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (6/9/2016 1:02:00 PM)

    '' Who among us has not dreamt, in moments of ambition, of the miracle of a poetic prose, musical without rhythm and rhyme, supple and staccato enough to adapt to the lyrical stirrings of the soul, the undulations of dreams, and sudden leaps of consciousness. This obsessive idea is above all a child of giant cities, of the intersecting of their myriad relations. ''

    (from:  Dedication of 'Le Spleen de Paris' *

    * also known as 'Paris Spleen' or 'Petits Poèmes en prose'

  • Shobana Gomes Shobana Gomes (4/28/2014 5:54:00 AM)

    His poems tread on the catchy-ness of his phrases. Love it.

  • Lucianne Fasolo (9/26/2007 8:54:00 AM)

    Ah, Baudelaire. The forefather of modern poetry, and also of the French Symbolism. He had a unique style, his poems were flawless and beautiful. And he's one of my favorite poets ever, :)

  • ari anna arena (1/17/2007 1:30:00 AM)

    Why no 'Le Balcon'? A bella poesia.

  • Geneva Henderson (1/30/2006 12:53:00 PM)

    This is one of those cool poems. It makes you think. Personally I love Baudelaire. He has a beautiful rythem and sound that enchants me and inspires me.

Best Poem of Charles Baudelaire

Get Drunk

Always be drunk.
That's it!
The great imperative!
In order not to feel
Time's horrid fardel
bruise your shoulders,
grinding you into the earth,
Get drunk and stay that way.
On what?
On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever.
But get drunk.
And if you sometimes happen to wake up
on the porches of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the dismal loneliness of your own room,
your drunkenness gone or disappearing,
ask the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock,
ask everything that flees,
everything that groans
or rolls
or...

Read the full of Get Drunk

Lethe

Come to my heart, cruel, insensible one,
Adored tiger, monster with the indolent air;
I would for a long time plunge my trembling fingers
Into the heavy tresses of your hair;

And in your garments that exhale your perfume
I would bury my aching head,
And breathe, like a withered flower,
The sweet, stale reek of my love that is dead.

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