Beacons Poem by Charles Baudelaire
Beacons
Reubens, river of forgetfulness, garden of sloth,
Pillow of wet flesh that one cannot love,
But where life throngs and seethes without cease
Like the air in the sky and the water in the sea.
Leonardo da Vinci, sinister mirror,
Where these charming angels with sweet smiles
Charged with mystery, appear in shadows
Of glaciers and pines that close off the country.
Rembrandt, sad hospital full of murmurs
Decorated only with a crucifix,
Where tearful prayers arise from filth
And a ray of winter light crosses brusquely.
Michelangelo, a wasteland where one sees Hercules
Mingling with Christ, and rising in a straight line
Powerful phantoms that in the twilight
Tear their shrouds with stretching fingers.
Rage of a boxer, impudence of a faun,
You who gather together the beauty of the boor,
Your big heart swelling with pride at man defective and yellow,
Puget, melancholy emperor of the poor.
Watteau, this carnival of illustrious hearts
Like butterflies, errant and flamboyant,
In the cool decor, with delicate lightning in the chandeliers
Crossing the madness of the twirling ball.
Goya, nightmare of unknown things,
Fetuses roasting on the spit,
Harridans in the mirror and naked children
Tempting demons by loosening their stockings.
Delacroix, haunted lake of blood and evil angels,
Shaded by evergreen forests of dark firs,
Where, under a grieving sky, strange fanfares
Pass, like a gasping breath of Weber.
These curses, these blasphemies, these moans,
These ecstasies, these tears, these cries of "Te Deum"
Are an echo reiterated in a thousand mazes;
It is for mortal hearts a divine opium!
It is a cry repeated by a thousand sentinels,
An order returned by a thousand megaphones,
A beacon lighting a thousand citadels
A summons to hunters lost in the wide woods.
For truly, O Lord, what better testimony
Can we give to our dignity
Than this burning sob that rolls from age to age
And comes to die on the shore of Your eternity?
Translated by William A. Sigler
Submitted by Ryan McGuire
a poem of human emotions beautifully portrayed by the artists of the day................magnificently written.
A fantastic poem with so meaning of life and how to spend the life itself by engaging something useful
In praise of art. Or better yet, Art. With a capital A. Baudelaire is brilliant at evoking the very nature, the essence exuded by these named painters ouvres. An amazing array of some of the absolute greats from the history of painting. Each framed in a snapshot of just 4 lines,4 lines for each in an ethereal cloud of visceral impact. The style is pure Baudelaire, not too neat, never fussy, one can almost smell the unholy earthiness of the painters' subjects, the odor of oil paint and turpentine in the studio. And still it ascends to an ecstasy of timelessness, to fine art. The glorification of man set down in paint, or the words of great poet, transcends the lives and the petty realities of our day-to-day existence. Art makes the mean sublime.
FOUR: While reading, there is a certain flow in this essay-poem, excellent tune and rhythm, only the lack of 100% knowledge about these famous personalities, that is a very pity. Thinking of the years he lived, there were not many citizens (worldwide) who had suffice knowledge to have critic upon his piece of essay-poem. For Beaudelaire´s inheritants, Congratulations as ro be chosen as The Classic Poem Of The Day. A 10 vote.
THREE: As a writer, we should be well informed to write about names, especially well known names, like Reubens, Rembrandt, Da Vinci, Michelangelo and more (read the poem) . Not to insult the late Beaudelaire, but as a well known and intelligent person, he must know first about the background and historical facts BEFORE he could create a poem with a tinge of irony about these world famous persons, I reckon.
TWO: poem, although he presented these in stanza form, but these words, when read do sound like a narrated verse, and to my vision is that the same as an essay-ppem. Well, I am a paintress next to being a poetess, and I know those names too well that I dare to say that Beaudelaire had no knowledge to write an essay-poem about those famous names.
ONE: Indeed all things and subjects come to die on the shore of His eternity. These are all Beaudelaire´s personal comments and attitude toward ´s worlds famous name who centuries before died, he did that with tinges of irony. I must say that differs with mine about the same names as Beaudelaire mentioned in his essay-
Let well emotion catch us that we can do something for human, well penned by Charles Baudelaire
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 3:51:09 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Air in the sky... thanks for posting.....