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BAUDELAIRE " GET DRUNK "
THE DEAD TRYING TO GET WARM PAINTING BY JAMES ENSOR
Posted by Hello
Surfing the net:
While searching for a couple of poems by Robert Burns & Robert Lowell I came across PoemHunter.com a great site which
has a good collection of poetry EBOOKS
with Adobe reader & a fair number on the web page itself.
here's the link: http://www.poemhunter.com
Here are a few more words about Charles Baudelaire & the poem GET DRUNK. I hope you find them as entertaining as I do.
Anywhere out of the World
by Charles Baudelaire
"This life is a hospital, in which the sick are all obsessed
with the desire for a change of bed.
One would like to suffer in front of the stove;
another imagines he would recover, were he near the window.
It seems to me that I would always feel well wherever I don't happen to be,
and this question of a change of domicile
is one which Iam forever discussing with my soul."
and further:
"It was Baudelaire who found himself in Bohemia against his will who lurked behind the modernist avant-garde's later discovery
that the boundary between art and the life of art could no longer be maintained."
Get Drunk!
One should always be drunk. That's all that matters;
that's our one imperative need. So as not to feel Time's
horrible burden one which breaks your shoulders and bows
you down, you must get drunk without cease.
But with what?
With wine, poetry, or virtue
as you choose.
But get drunk.
And if, at some time, on steps of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the bleak solitude of your room,
you are waking and the drunkeness has already abated,
ask the wind, the wave, the stars, the clock,
all that which flees,
all that which groans,
all that which rolls,
all that which sings,
all that which speaks,
ask them, what time it is;
and the wind, the wave, the stars, the birds, and the clock,
they will all reply:
"It is time toget drunk!
So that you may not be the martyred slaves of Time,
get drunk, get drunk,
and never pause for rest!
With wine, poetry, or vitrtue,
as you choose!"
web site: http://www.bohemiabooks.com.au/eblinks/spirboho/index.html
And here is the sequel to the poem in the last post-
WORLDS WITHIN WORLDS
HAIKU, APHORISMS, MUSINGS & AFTER THOUGHTS
OF THE ANCIENT SAGE, Part II
at night
the blue glow of TV screens
alive in empty houses-
computers full of life
order servants about-
a continuous humming
the computer dreams
mumbles to itself half-awake-
waves of words
bits & pieces of ourselves
sent over the internet
falling on deaf ears-
our cries of despair & hope
scattered shattered into fragmented
binary codes-
these poems
the Great Master says
are just a distraction-
the Great Master says
the essence of Zen
is poetry-
one hand clapping
silence answers
the Great Master rises at dawn-
Amazed by tiny green emeralds glowing
in darkness droplets of bile
running through dying fingers-
lacking skillful means
lacking patience
east & west collide-
sad to say sad to see
transplanted Lotus dying
the Buddha waits patiently-
the teacher dies of loneliness
waiting for students
who have gone back to sleep-
the student wastes away waiting
returns to his world of delusions
no sign of a compassionate teacher-
no sign of a compassionate teacher
the student returns to a world
of vague shadows & hazy dreams-
II
In this run-down rooming-house
of the soul all these worlds whirling about
fearing standing still fearing it will
all come crashing down fearing it will
all be blown to pieces in a moment
of distraction letting the reins go too slack-
Having created having built our own
pleasure dome protected from the world
of madness & suffering out there
by sky-high impenetrable walls
in this run-down rooming-house
of the soul-
Sometimes punching a hole
through the plastic skin
separating these two worlds
having wondrous visions
of vast glittering space-
III
Sometimes fearing letting creatures
monstrous indescribable into this realm
leaping out of solid walls
turned into thin sheets of cellophane
fearing only you & I see them the others
oblivious to psychic- vampires attracted
to our fears & nightmares insect-like legs
wrapped about our necks
latched onto us piggyback style
its long sharp-edged tongue dipped into our skulls
suckling stealing our visions dreams & fantasies
leaving us drained returning us to this colourless
black & white existence of this bleak run-down
rooming-house of the soul -
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