Tag Archives: Lyric Poetry

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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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.

“First Fig” by Edna St. Vincent Millay [w/ Audio]

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My candle burns at both ends;
 It will not last the night;
 But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends --
 It gives a lovely light!

“Jerusalem” by William Blake [w/ Audio]

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And did those feet in ancient time
 Walk upon England's mountains green?
 And was the holy Lamb of God
 On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
 Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
 And was Jerusalem builded here
 Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
 Bring me my Arrows of desire:
 Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
 Bring me Chariot of fire.

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
 Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand
 Till we have built Jerusalem
 In England's green and pleasant Land.

“I never saw a moor” (1052) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]

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I never saw a moor;
 I never saw the sea,
 Yet know I how the heather looks
  And what a billow be.

I never spoke with God,
 Nor visited in heaven.
 Yet certain am I of the spot
 As if the checks were given. 

“When You Are Old” by W. B. Yeats [w/ Audio]

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When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
 And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
 And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
 Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
 And loved your beauty with love false or true,
 But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
 And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
 Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
 And paced upon the mountains overhead
 And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Happy Hour [Lyric Poem]

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The valley stretches in such a way
 that it gets sun but one hour a day.
 That Happy Hour when the sun aligns
 upon dewy grass and deep green pines.
 The local villagers, they all know
 when they should come and when they should go.
 But that Happy Hour is not for either.
 It's to face the sun and take a breather.

“Invictus” by William Ernest Henley [w/ Audio]

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Out of the night that covers me,
 Black as the pit from pole to pole,
 I thank whatever gods may be
 For my unconquerable soul. 

In the fell clutch of circumstance
 I have not winced nor cried aloud.
 Under the bludgeonings of chance
 My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
 Looms but the Horror of the shade,
 And yet the menace of the years
 Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
 How charged with punishments the scroll,
 I am the master of my fate,
 I am the captain of my soul.