Autumn Poems: Autumn - Poem by Charles Baudelaire

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Autumn - Poem by Charles Baudelaire

Soon we will plunge ourselves into cold shadows,
And all of summer's stunning afternoons will be gone.
I already hear the dead thuds of logs below
Falling on the cobblestones and the lawn.

All of winter will return to me:
derision, Hate, shuddering, horror, drudgery and vice,
And exiled, like the sun, to a polar prison,
My soul will harden into a block of red ice.

I shiver as I listen to each log crash and slam:
The echoes are as dull as executioners' drums.
My mind is like a tower that slowly succumbs
To the blows of a relentless battering ram.

It seems to me, swaying to these shocks, that someone
Is nailing down a coffin in a hurry somewhere.
For whom? -- It was summer yesterday; now it's autumn.
Echoes of departure keep resounding in the air.

Comments about Autumn by Charles Baudelaire

  • Nadeem Ishaque 11/5/2018 11:09:00 PM

    This is an excellent translation. Quite rare. So difficult to capture the essence of a poet like Baudelaire in a translation. Reply

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  • Dr Tony Brahmin 5/2/2018 3:33:00 AM

    All of winter will return to me:
    derision, Hate, shuddering, horror, drudgery and vice,
    And exiled, like the sun, to a polar prison,
    My soul will harden into a block of red ice.. Echoes of departure........ very nice poem. tony
    Reply

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  • Fabrizio Frosini 6/17/2015 11:22:00 AM

    Chant d’automne

    I

    Bientôt nous plongerons dans les froides ténèbres;
    Adieu, vive clarté de nos étés trop courts!
    J’entends déjà tomber avec des chocs funèbres
    Le bois retentissant sur le pavé des cours.

    Tout l’hiver va rentrer dans mon être: colère,
    Haine, frissons, horreur, labeur dur et forcé,
    Et, comme le soleil dans son enfer polaire,
    Mon coeur ne sera plus qu’un bloc rouge et glacé.

    J’écoute en frémissant chaque bûche qui tombe
    L’échafaud qu’on bâtit n’a pas d’écho plus sourd.
    Mon esprit est pareil à la tour qui succombe
    Sous les coups du bélier infatigable et lourd.

    II me semble, bercé par ce choc monotone,
    Qu’on cloue en grande hâte un cercueil quelque part.
    Pour qui? - C’était hier l’été; voici l’automne!
    Ce bruit mystérieux sonne comme un départ.



    II

    J’aime de vos longs yeux la lumière verdâtre,
    Douce beauté, mais tout aujourd’hui m’est amer,
    Et rien, ni votre amour, ni le boudoir, ni l’âtre,
    Ne me vaut le soleil rayonnant sur la mer.

    Et pourtant aimez-moi, tendre coeur! soyez mère,
    Même pour un ingrat, même pour un méchant;
    Amante ou soeur, soyez la douceur éphémère
    D’un glorieux automne ou d’un soleil couchant.

    Courte tâche! La tombe attend - elle est avide!
    Ah! laissez-moi, mon front posé sur vos genoux,
    Goûter, en regrettant l’été blanc et torride,
    De l’arrière-saison le rayon jaune et doux!



    Mi piace dei tuoi lunghi occhi la luce verdastra,
    dolce beltà, ma oggi tutto per me è amaro,
    e niente, nè il tuo amore, nè il fuoco, nè il tuo boudoir
    mi compensa del sole che fiammeggia sul mare.

    ma tu, tenero cuore, amami ugualmente!
    Sii madre anche a un ingrato, anche a un perfido;
    sorella o amante, sii la dolcezza effimera
    di un autunno glorioso o d’un sole un tramonto.

    Compito breve! La tomba aspetta: è avida!
    Ah! lasciami, la fronte sulle tue ginocchia, gustare,
    rimpiangendo l’estate bianca e torrida,
    il giallo, dolce, ultimo raggio autunnale!
    Presto c’immergeremo nelle fredde tenebre;
    addio, vivida luce di estati troppo corte!
    Sento già cadere con un battito funebre
    la legna che rintrona sul selciato delle corti.

    Tutto l’inverno in me s’appresta a rientrare;
    ira, odio, brividi, orrore duro e forzato
    lavoro e, come il sole nel suo inferno polare
    il cuore non sarà più che un blocco rosso e ghiacciato.

    Rabbrividendo ascolto ogni ceppo che crolla;
    non ha echi più sordi l’alzarsi di un patibolo.
    Il mio spirito è simile alla torre che barcolla
    ai colpi dell’ariete instancabile e massiccio.

    Mi pare, cos’ cullato da questo tonfo monotono,
    che una bara qui accanto si stia inchiodando d’urgenza.
    Per chi? - E’ autunno: soltanto ieri era estate!
    Questo suono misterioso sa di partenza.


    (Traduzione di Luciana Frezza)

    Les Fleurs du mal - Spleen et Idéal - Charles Baudelaire
    Reply

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  • Ms Acras 8/11/2009 2:46:00 AM

    I think Autumn must have been on of my ex-boyfriends. Reply

    4 person liked.
    6 person did not like.
  • Megan Fabry 10/20/2004 2:13:00 AM

    Charles is an amazing poet...he brings you to the place where you fear the most..truth Reply

    9 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
Autumn Poems
  1. 1. Ode To Autumn
    John Keats
  2. 2. Autumn
    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
  3. 3. Autumn Song
    Sarojini Naidu
  4. 4. Autumn River Song
    Li Po
  5. 5. Autumn Day
    Rainer Maria Rilke
  6. 6. Autumn Song
    Dante Gabriel Rossetti
  7. 7. Autumn
    Rainer Maria Rilke
  8. 8. Autumn Moonlight
    Matsuo Basho
  9. 9. Autumn Within
    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
  10. 10. Autumn Movement
    Carl Sandburg
  11. 11. Autumn Valentine
    Dorothy Parker
  12. 12. Autumn Daybreak
    Edna St. Vincent Millay
  13. 13. Autumn
    Charles Baudelaire
  14. 14. AUTUMN (November)
    Walter de la Mare
  15. 15. Autumn
    John Clare
  16. 16. Autumn Birds
    John Clare
  17. 17. Autumn: A Dirge
    Percy Bysshe Shelley
  18. 18. Autumn Fires
    Robert Louis Stevenson
  19. 19. Once Upon An Autumn Day
    Joseph T. Renaldi
  20. 20. Autumn
    Thomas Hood
  21. 21. To Autumn
    William Blake
  22. 22. Autumn Song
    Katherine Mansfield
  23. 23. Autumn Feelings
    Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
  24. 24. Autumn Begins In Martins Ferry, Ohio
    James Arlington Wright
  25. 25. When Autumn Came
    Faiz Ahmed Faiz
  26. 26. Autumn - By Amy Boothby - Age 10
    Ernestine Northover
  27. 27. Autumn
    Siegfried Sassoon
  28. 28. The Death Of Autumn
    Edna St. Vincent Millay
  29. 29. Autumn
    Stevie Smith
  30. 30. A Day In Autumn
    Ronald Stuart Thomas
  31. 31. Autumn Flower
    Hebert Logerie
  32. 32. An Autumn Rain-Scene
    Thomas Hardy
  33. 33. An Autumn Evening
    Lucy Maud Montgomery
  34. 34. Autumn In The Garden
    Henry Van Dyke
  35. 35. Autumn&Mdash;Overlooked My Knitting
    Emily Dickinson
  36. 36. Autumn
    William Morris
  37. 37. Besides The Autumn Poets Sing
    Emily Dickinson
  38. 38. The Autumn
    Elizabeth Barrett Browning
  39. 39. Autumn Dreams
    Mary Naylor
  40. 40. Seasonal Cycle - Chapter 03 - Pre Autumn
    Kalidasa
  41. 41. Love In Autumn
    Sara Teasdale
  42. 42. Winds Of Autumn
    Saigyo
  43. 43. Autumn Gust
    s./j. goldner
  44. 44. A Song Of Autumn
    Adam Lindsay Gordon
  45. 45. Autumn Perspective
    Erica Jong
  46. 46. Autumn Bound
    Sandra Fowler
  47. 47. Autumn
    Walter Savage Landor
  48. 48. Autumn
    Amy Lowell
  49. 49. Autumn Poems
    Alison Cassidy
  50. 50. Autumn Is A State Of Mind
    Sandra Fowler

New Autumn Poems

  1. "The Last Leaf", Eden Trinidad
  2. Mr. Autumn, Curtisj Johnson
  3. Ancient Haiku Translations, Michael Burch
  4. Live Life Asahap, SY Wong ...
  5. Zen Death Haiku, Michael Burch
  6. Life-Giving Autumn, Varghese Kuncheria
  7. Autumn, Jon Yttri
  8. The Red Autumn., SY Wong ...
  9. 1342 Poem Autumnal Fever In Canada, me poet yeps poet
  10. Basho Translations, Michael Burch

Autumn Poems

  1. Autumn River Song

    The moon shimmers in green water. White herons fly through the moonlight. The young man hears a girl gathering water-chestnuts: into the night, singing, they paddle home together. Li T'ai-po tr. Hamil

  2. Autumn

    Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by the rain, With banners, by great gales incessant fanned, Brighter than brightest silks of Samarcand, And stately oxen harnessed to thy wain! Thou standest, like imperial Charlemagne, Upon thy bridge of gold; thy royal hand Outstretched with benedictions o'er the land, Blessing the farms through all thy vast domain! Thy shield is the red harvest moon, suspended So long beneath the heaven's o'er-hanging eaves; Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers attended; Like flames upon an altar shine the sheaves; And, following thee, in thy ovation splendid, Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the golden leaves!

  3. Ode To Autumn

    Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cell. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers; And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--- While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

  4. Autumn Song

    Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow,    The sunset hangs on a cloud; A golden storm of glittering sheaves, Of fair and frail and fluttering leaves,    The wild wind blows in a cloud. Hark to a voice that is calling    To my heart in the voice of the wind: My heart is weary and sad and alone, For its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone,    And why should I stay behind?

  5. Autumn Day

    Lord: it is time. The summer was immense. Lay your shadow on the sundials and let loose the wind in the fields. Bid the last fruits to be full; give them another two more southerly days, press them to ripeness, and chase the last sweetness into the heavy wine. Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore. Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time, will stay up, read, write long letters, and wander the avenues, up and down, restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.