Category Archives: Lyric

BOOKS: “The Flowers of Evil” by Charles Baudelaire

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Les Fleurs du MalLes Fleurs du Mal by Charles Baudelaire
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

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I read the 1909 Cyril Scott translation of Baudelaire’s poetry collection. It consists of 54 poems, including “Condemned Women” but not including others of the six poems that were banned in early editions and which only came to be included in later editions. (I did look up and read a couple translations each for the six poems — because censorship can’t be allowed to prevail. Not surprisingly, they are calm by today’s standards. It should be noted that Baudelaire played in symbolism, and so his poems – while ahead of their time in subject matter – didn’t tend toward explicit vulgarity in the first place.)

The Scott translation is all in rhymed verse, the largest share of it presented as sonnets — though there are some longer pieces (longer, but not long. It’s a quick read.) “The Broken Bell” and “Spleen” were highlights for me, but the whole collection is intriguing, evocative, and readable.

I enjoyed this collection tremendously, even with such an old translation. The hedonism, eroticism, and macabre of Baudelaire’s work creates an intense tone.

I’d highly recommend this collection for all poetry readers.



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“Suicide in the Trenches” by Siegfried Sassoon [w/ Audio]

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Photo by Ernest Brooks (Imperial War Museum)
I knew a simple soldier boy
 Who grinned at life in empty joy,
 Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
 And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
 With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
 He put a bullet through his brain.
 No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
 Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
 Sneak home and pray you'll never know
 The hell where youth and laughter go.

Psychedelia at First Light [Lyric Poem]

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When early morning sunlight warms
     The vibrant lakeside greenery,
 All of those cave-like lakeside trails
    turn psychedelic scenery. 

 The leaves become so translucent
    Butterfly and bee silhouettes 
 Stretch out at distorted angles --
    Beasts beyond being caught with nets.

  Despite being sober and fresh 
    The mind reels or seeks to reset.

“The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [w/ Audio]

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The tide rises, the tide falls,
 The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
 Along the sea-sands damp and brown
 The traveller hastens toward the town,
          And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
 But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
 The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
 Efface the footprints in the sands,
          And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
 Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
 The day returns, but nevermore
 Returns the traveller to the shore,
          And the tide rises, the tide falls.

“Barter” by Sara Teasdale [w/ Audio]

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Life has loveliness to sell,
     All beautiful and splendid things,
 Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
     Soaring fire that sways and sings,
 And children's faces looking up
 Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell,
     Music like a curve of gold,
 Scent of pine trees in the rain,
     Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
 And for your spirit's still delight,
 Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,
     Buy it and never count the cost;
 For one white singing hour of peace
     Count many a year of strife well lost,
 And for a breath of ecstasy
 Give all you have been, or could be.

“Why Fades a Dream?” by Paul Laurence Dunbar [w/ Audio]

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Why fades a dream?
   An iridescent ray
 Flecked in between the tryst
   Of night and day.
   Why fades a dream? --
 Of consciousness the shade
 Wrought out by lack of light and made
   Upon life's stream.
   Why fades a dream?
That thought may thrive,
   So fades the fleshless dream;
 Lest men should learn to trust
   The things that seem.
   So fades a dream,
 That living thought may grow
 And like a waxing star-beam glow
   Upon life's stream --
   So fades a dream.

“The Splendour Falls” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson [w/ Audio]

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The splendour falls on castle walls
          And snowy summits in old story:
     The long light shakes across the lakes,
          And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
 Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
          And thinner, clearer, farther going!
     O sweet and far from cliff and scar
          The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
 Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
 Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,
          They faint on hill or field or river:
     Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
           And grow for ever and for ever.
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
 And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying,

Pleasant Valley [Lyric Poem]

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In the narrow valley
   Traversed by a cool stream,
 Life is but a pleasant,
   And ever shady, dream.

Feet within the waters,
   But mind up in the sky,
 Nothing can upend one,
   Nor kill what cannot die.

“Treading on Grass” by He Zhu [w/ Audio]

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On winding pool with willows dim,
   At narrow strait the lovebirds swim.
 Green duckweeds float,
   Barring the lotus-picking boat.
 Nor butterflies nor bees
   Love fragrance from the withered trees.
 When her red petals fall apart,
   The lotus bloom 's bitter at heart.

 The setting sun greets rising tide,
   The floating clouds bring rain.
 The swaying lotus seems to confide,
    Her sorrow to the poet in vain.

Then she would not be wed to vernal breeze.
   What could she do now autumn drives away wild geese?

Translation: Xu Yuanchong [translator]. 2021. Deep, Deep the Courtyard. [庭院深深.] Cite Publishing: Kuala Lumpur, p.226.

“A Shropshire Lad XXXVI” by A. E. Housman [w/ Audio]

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White in the moon the long road lies,
   The moon stands blank above;
 White in the moon the long road lies
   That leads me from my love.

Still hangs the hedge without a gust,
   Still, still the shadows stay:
 My feet upon the moonlit dust
   Pursue the ceaseless way.

The world is round, so travellers tell,
   And straight though reach the track,
 Trudge on, trudge on, 'twill all be well,
   The way will guide one back.

But ere the circle homeward hies,
   Far, far must it remove:
 White in the moon the long road lies
   That leads me from my love.

NOTE: This poem is sometimes titled by its first line or an abbreviated form, thereof. So, it’s sometimes called: “White in the Moon the Long Road Lies.”