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Heres a virtual movie of the legendary French poet Charles Baudelaire (1821 - 1867) reading his poem "Une Charogne" (The Carcass or Carrion).The superb reading is by Pierre VialaCharles Baudelaire was a 19th century French poet, translator, and literary and art critic whose reputation rests primarily on Les Fleurs du mal; (1857;The Flowers of Evil) which was perhaps the most important and influential poetry collection published in Europe in the 19th century. Similarly, his Petits poèmes en prose (1868; "Little Prose Poems") was the most successful and innovative early experiment in prose poetry of the time.Known for his highly contraversial, and often dark poetry, as well as his translation of the tales of Edgar Allan Poe, Baudelaire's life was filled with drama and strife, from financial disaster to being prosecuted for obscenity and blasphemy. Long after his death many look upon his name as representing depravity and vice: Others see him as being the poet of modern civilization, seeming to speak directly to the 20th century.Kind RegardsJim ClarkAll rights are reserved on this video recording copyright Jim Clark 2008Heres one of several translations into English of this wonderful poem...A CarcassMy love, do you recall the object which we saw,That fair, sweet, summer morn!At a turn in the path a foul carcassOn a gravel strewn bed,Its legs raised in the air, like a lustful woman,Burning and dripping with poisons,Displayed in a shameless, nonchalant wayIts belly, swollen with gases.The sun shone down upon that putrescence,As if to roast it to a turn,And to give back a hundredfold to great NatureThe elements she had combined;And the sky was watching that superb cadaverBlossom like a flower.So frightful was the stench that you believedYou'd faint away upon the grass.The blow-flies were buzzing round that putrid belly,From which came forth black battalionsOf maggots, which oozed out like a heavy liquidAll along those living tatters.All this was descending and rising like a wave,Or poured out with a crackling sound;One would have said the body, swollen with a vague breath,Lived by multiplication.And this world gave forth singular music,Like running water or the wind,Or the grain that winnowers with a rhythmic motionShake in their winnowing baskets.The forms disappeared and were no more than a dream,A sketch that slowly fallsUpon the forgotten canvas, that the artistCompletes from memory alone.Crouched behind the boulders, an anxious dogWatched us with angry eye,Waiting for the moment to take back from the carcassThe morsel he had left.— And yet you will be like this corruption,Like this horrible infection,Star of my eyes, sunlight of my being,You, my angel and my passion!Yes! thus will you be, queen of the Graces,After the last sacraments,When you go beneath grass and luxuriant flowers,To molder among the bones of the dead.Then, O my beauty! say to the worms who willDevour you with kisses,That I have kept the form and the divine essenceOf my decomposed love!— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)

Author: poetryanimations
Keywords: poem animation baudalaire rimbaud verlaine hugo voltaire Réversibilité le balcon L'Ennemi french poetry Poesie Les Fleurs Poem manley poe rossetti
Added: December 21, 2008