My interest in French poetry has waned as time goes one its steady beat and I simply think more and more than it is not the  language for poetry

  in spite of,

____________Maybe so and so was right and 

to be continued,

Next episode


WHo decided which language was preferable? and how and under what circumstances had the Latin getaway gotten into the English gotten?


Illuminations _ 'After the Flood'

____int his translation the writer tries to keep ______closer to Rimbaud's form ____of the prose poem.___________
After the Flood
Just as the idea of the Flood went subsiding,
A hare stopped in the swaying clover and flower bells, and said its prayer to the rainbow, through the spider’s web.
Oh! The precious stones that hid themselves, —the flowers that already were watching.
In the dirty main street, the stal
ls rose, and some hauled the boats to the sea piled up as on engravings,
Blood flowed, at Blue Beard’s, —in the slaughterhouses, in circuses, and where the seal of God white-washed the windows. Blood and milk flowed.
The beavers built. “Mazagrans” smoked in the coffee bars.
In the big house of glass still dripping, the mourning children looked on the wondrous pictures.
A door slammed; and, on the square of the hamlet, the child waved his arms, understood by the wind vanes and the cocks on steeples everywhere, in the bursting shower.
Madame *** set up a piano in the Alps. Mass and first communions were celebrated at the hundred thousand altars of the cathedral.
The caravans took off. And Hotel Splendor was built in the chaos of ices and polar night.
And from then on, the moon heard jackals howling through the deserts of thyme, —and the sabot-clad eclogues growling in the orchard. And, in the violet woods, Eucharis told me it was Spring.
Gush, pond; —Foam, roll on the bridge and over the woods; —black palls and organs, lightning and thunder, rise and roll; —waters and sorrows, rise and unleash the Floods.
For since they’ve gone, —oh, the burrowing stones, and the blooming flowers!—the boredom! And the Queen, the Witch who lights her blaze in the earthen pot, won’t ever want to tell us what she knows, that which we do not.
Arthur Rimbaud,
tr. Alex Rodallec


Another translation.

Après le Déluge ___

Après le Déluge
Aussitôt que l’idée du Déluge se fut rassise,
Un lièvre s’arrêta dans les sainfoins et les clochettes mouvantes et dit sa prière à l’arc-en-ciel à travers la toile de l’araignée.
Oh ! les pierres précieuses qui se cachaient, − les fleurs qui regardaient déjà.
Dans la grande rue sale les étals se dressèrent, et l’on tira les barques vers la mer étagée là-haut comme sur les gravures.
e sang coula, chez Barbe-Bleue, − aux abattoirs, − dans les cirques, où le sceau de Dieu blêmit les fenêtres. Le sang et le lait coulèrent.
Les castors bâtirent. Les “mazagrans” fumèrent dans les estaminets.
Dans la grande maison de vitres encore ruisselante les enfants en deuil regardèrent les merveilleuses images.
Une porte claqua, et sur la place du hameau, l’enfant tourna ses bras, compris des girouettes et des coqs des clochers de partout, sous l’éclatante giboulée.
Madame*** établit un piano dans les Alpes. La messe et les premières communions se célébrèrent aux cent mille autels de la cathédrale.
Les caravanes partirent. Et le Splendide-Hôtel fut bâti dans le chaos de glaces et de nuit du pôle.
Depuis lors, la Lune entendit les chacals piaulant par les déserts de thym,  − et les églogues en sabots grognant dans le verger.
Puis, dans la futaie violette, bourgeonnante, Eucharis me dit que c’était le printemps.
Sourds, étang, − Écume, roule sur le pont, et par dessus les bois; − draps noirs et orgues, − éclairs et tonnerres − montez et roulez; − Eaux et tristesses, montez et relevez les Déluges.
Car depuis qu’ils se sont dissipés, − oh les pierres précieuses s’enfouissant, et les fleurs ouvertes ! − c’est un ennui ! et la Reine, la Sorcière qui allume sa braise dans le pot de terre, ne voudra jamais nous raconter ce qu’elle sait, et que nous ignorons.
  Arthur Rimbaud wrote this when he was somewhere between 17 and 18 .. It was the first prose poem of Les Illuminations which is either the last or second last book of poems that he wrote. Rimbaud won no prizes, nor received no grants for his life or work. He gave up writing poetry at 18 for good. He died at the age of 37.
   First poem of Illuminations Arthur Rimbaud

After the idea of the Flood.


_____________ Ashbery's trans has some interesting things that it does and like most translations it gives us   a  'take' on a poem in another language which is virtually impossible.     One thing I was surprised to see was Asbery's changing Rimbaud's prose poem format into more of a verse arrangment. Perhaps he did so he could see it better? I am not sure..
   In any event


No sooner had the notion of the Flood regained its composure, 

(Asbery abtracts the idea of the 'Flood/ and turns into an idea or a notion as he fancies it)

(this opening sentence  translation slows down the Rimbaud poem and  makes the poem 'drier' than it otherwise also connoting a 18th c. flavor to it?is that what I sense? Ashbery confronted by Rimbaud's indomitable 18 year old self and his poem's genius and vitality feels compelled to 'tame' into a recognizable form that takes on the taste of a dryness rather like Beckett's earlier trans. of Le Bateau Ivre.

Than a hare paused amid the gorse and trembling bellflowers and said its prayer to the rainbow through the spider’s web.  (none of this is special)
Oh the precious stones that were hiding,—the flowers that were already peeking out. (hiding and peeking would make me yawn were it not I know it was 18 yr Rimbaud who wrote those words but in French ! not English!)
Stalls were erected in the dirty main street, and boats were towed toward the sea, which rose in layers above as in old engravings.
Blood flowed in Bluebeard’s house,—in the slaughterhouses,—in the amphitheaters, where God’s seal turned the windows livid. Blood and milk flowed.
The beavers built. Tumblers of coffee steamed in the public houses.
In the vast, still-streaming house of windows, children in mourning looked at marvelous pictures.
A door slammed, and on the village square, the child waved his arms, understood by vanes and weathercocks everywhere, in the dazzling shower.
Madame xxx established a piano in the Alps. Mass and first communions were celebrated at the cathedral’s hundred thousand altars.
The caravans left. And the Splendide Hotel was built amid the tangled heap of ice floes and the polar night.
Since then the Moon has heard jackals cheeping in thyme deserts,—and eclogues in wooden shoes grumbling in the orchard. Then, in the budding purple forest, Eucharis told me that spring had come.
—Well up, pond,—Foam, roll on the bridge and above the woods;—black cloths and organs,—lightning and thunder,—rise and roll;—Waters and sorrows, rise and revive the Floods.
For since they subsided,—oh the precious stones shoveled under, and the full-blown flowers!—so boring! and the Queen, the Witch who lights her coals in the clay pot, will never want to tell us what she knows, and which we do not know.
_______________________________________  the remainder of it is nothing special and really reflects Asbery's concerns more than Rimbaud's it hardly matters because no more than perhaps a handful at most have read it._________

  this was translated by an American poet John Ashbery
Rimbaud’s Illuminations

__its Charpentier : Sonate à huit. #1/3

dada if I say it is _______________the Calm serene one preceding the quivering wild one!

: Sonate à huit. Orchestre des Folies Françoises - Patrick
Cohen-Akenine. Violons : Patrick Cohen-Akenine, Léonor de Recondo ;
Flutes : Jocelyn Daubigney, Stéfane Troffaes ; Viole : Christine
Plubeau ; Basse de violon : François Poly ; Théorbe : Pascal Monteilhet ;
Clavecin : Isabelle Sauveur (not Béatrice Martin !). Réalisation :
Olivier Simonnet. A l'Opéra Royal du Château de Versailles.

Re: Re: is it a bird plane a lover? this is getting a bit ...


this is getting a bit  ...

         yes it is  so

                                 what herald holds her hat

                  if she thinks making love to someone'll help she's wrong

                         she's in the long arms

                      of another woman

                                whose loving sighs

                                        and that extra moment of opening world

                                               space categorized by the tip of her finger

                                                         your mouth makes for  a same lover's kiss

                                                              a kiss you never had except from another woman

                                                                            whose loving arms your wondered for all night

                                                                                            tonight each night holding

                                                                                                           round the wondering

                                                                                                              of cheap rent

                                                                                                                because three was one

                                                                                                                                     was two

                                                                                                                            because it was

                                                                                                                   you and me



Re: Re: Re: is it a bird plane a lover?

the Prophetic Books.. On Homer's Poetry... William Blake ...

William Blake (1757–1827).  The Poetical Works.  1908.

Appendix to the Prophetic Books
On Homer’s Poetry
A poem must necessarily be a perfect Unity, but why Homer’s is peculiarly so I cannot tell: he has told the story of Bellerophon, and omitted the Judgement of Paris, which is not only a part but a principal part of Homer’s subject.

  But when a work has Unity, it is as much in a part as in the whole. The Torso is as much a Unity as the Laocoon.
  As Unity is the cloak of Folly, so Goodness is the cloak of Knavery. Those who will have Unity 

exclusively in Homer come out with a Moral like a sting in the tail. Aristotle says Characters are

either good or bad; now Goodness or Badness has nothing to do with Character. An apple tree, a pear tree, a horse, a lion are Characters; but a good apple tree or a bad is an apple tree still: a horse is not

more a lion for being a bad horse; that is its Character: its Goodness or Badness is another consideration.

  It is the same with the Moral of a whole poem as with the Moral Goodness of its parts. Unity and

Morality are secondary considerations, and belong to Philosophy and not to poetry, to Exception and

not to Rule, to Accident and not to Substance. The Ancients called it eating of the Tree of Good and Evil.
  The Classics! it is the Classics, and not Goths nor Monks, that desolate Europe with wars.

Note 1. This and the following piece are engraved on a single plate, in Blake’s Illuminated Printing, circa 1817. [back]

Hans Richter 1928 Dadaist Film

this film is dedicated to Columbus Ohio Street Performer Th' Rocknroll Reverend, who on the night

of March 1st 2011 during a performance on the corners of 5th and High Streets, was beaten by two

unknown assailants who were instructed by a young man and his overweight "Trick" to beat him. Th'

Rev then made his way to a local tobacco store                                                                                                        where he was molested by an elderly hippie with a

                                                                                           blonde fright wig. Th' Reverend was last seen wearing an Elephant Trunk, Red,White and Blue Top

Hat. White Hooded Terry Cloth Robe and Indian Moccasins. Anyone with any information to this

Crime please Contact the Columbus Ohio Police. And the next time you see Th' Rev, Don't take his 

                                                               coffee...Just give him a cigarette!






Artist who works in several mediums 


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