Friday Poetry Corner Tribute to Baudelaire

[AlfredJPruffock]

Voici Le Soir Charmant,ami du criminel et prostuite
Il vient comme un complice, pas de loup,Le Ciel
Se ferme comme une grande alcove
Et l'homme impatient se change en homme fauve

Charles Baudelaire 1852



Here comes the enticing evening, friend of the criminal and prostitute
It comes softly like an accomplice
The sky closes slowly, like a great alcove
And the impatient man becomes a wild beast

[AlfredJPruffock]

Macavity: The Mystery Cat



Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw -
For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.

He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,

And when you reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air -
But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!

Mcavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.

His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.

He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.

You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square -
But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!

He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.
And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,

Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair -
Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!

And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty's gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair -
But it's useless to investigate - Mcavity's not there!


And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
It must have been Macavity!' - but he's a mile away.
You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long-division sums.

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spaer:
At whatever time the deed took place - MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!

And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time

Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

TS Elliot

[PRC1964]

AJP is all that cat poetry some kind of veiled reference to George Galloway?

[AlfredJPruffock]

The Cat


Come, superb cat, to my amorous heart;
Hold back the talons of your paws,
Let me gaze into your beautiful eyes
Of metal and agate.


When my fingers leisurely caress you,
Your head and your elastic back,
And when my hand tingles with the pleasure
Of feeling your electric body,


In spirit I see my woman. Her gaze
Like your own, amiable beast,
Profound and cold, cuts and cleaves like a dart,


And, from her head down to her feet,
A subtle air, a dangerous perfume
Floats about her dusky body.


— Charles Baudelaire







Le Chat


Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon coeur amoureux;
Retiens les griffes de ta patte,
Et laisse-moi plonger dans tes beaux yeux,
Mêlés de métal et d'agate.


Lorsque mes doigts caressent à loisir
Ta tête et ton dos élastique,
Et que ma main s'enivre du plaisir
De palper ton corps électrique,


Je vois ma femme en esprit. Son regard,
Comme le tien, aimable bête
Profond et froid, coupe et fend comme un dard,


Et, des pieds jusques à la tête,
Un air subtil, un dangereux parfum
Nagent autour de son corps brun.


— Charles Baudelaire

[sasguru]

AJP

You're far too literate for the likes of us
Still enjoying the cosmic dance, I take it?

[AlfredJPruffock]

The Ghost


Like angels with wild beast's eyes
I shall return to your bedroom

And silently glide toward you
With the shadows of the night;


And, dark beauty, I shall give you
Kisses cold as the moon

And the caresses of a snake
That crawls around a grave.


When the livid morning comes,
You'll find my place empty,
And it will be cold there till night.


I wish to hold sway over
Your life and youth by fear,
As others do by tenderness.



Le Revenant


Comme les anges à l'oeil fauve,
Je reviendrai dans ton alcôve
Et vers toi glisserai sans bruit
Avec les ombres de la nuit;


Et je te donnerai, ma brune,
Des baisers froids comme la lune
Et des caresses de serpent
Autour d'une fosse rampant.


Quand viendra le matin livide,
Tu trouveras ma place vide,
Où jusqu'au soir il fera froid.


Comme d'autres par la tendresse,
Sur ta vie et sur ta jeunesse,
Moi, je veux régner par l'effroi.


— Charles Baudelaire

[Dundeegeorge]

Tore Down a la Rimbaud

Dance of the Hanged Men

On the black gallows, one-armed friend,
The paladins are dancing, dancing
The lean, the devil's paladins
The skeletons of Saladins.

Sir Beelzebub pulls by the scruff
His little black puppets who grin at the sky,
And with a backhander in the head like a kick,
Makes them dance, dance, to an old Carol-tune !

And the puppets, shaken about, entwine their thin arms :
Their breasts pierced with light, like black organ-pipes
Which once gentle ladies pressed to their own,
Jostle together protractedly in hideous love-making.

Hurray ! the gay dancers, you whose bellies are gone !
You can cut capers on such a long stage !
Hop ! never mind whether it's fighting or dancing !
- Beelzebub, maddened, saws on his fiddles !

Oh the hard heels, no one's pumps are wearing out !
And nearly all have taken of their shirts of skin ;
The rest is not embarrassing and can be seen without shame.
On each skull the snow places a white hat :

The crow acts as a plume for these cracked brains,
A scrap of flesh clings to each lean chin :
You would say, to see them turning in their dark combats,
They were stiff knights clashing pasteboard armours.

Hurrah ! the wind whistles at the skeletons' grand ball !
The black gallows moans like an organ of iron !
The wolves howl back from the violet forests :
And on the horizon the sky is hell-red...

Ho there, shake up those funereal braggarts,
Craftily telling with their great broken fingers
The beads of their loves on their pale vertebrae :
Hey the departed, this is no monastery here !

Oh ! but see how from the middle of this Dance of Death
Springs into the red sky a great skeleton, mad,
Carried away by his own impetus, like a rearing horse :
And, feeling the rope tight again round his neck,

Clenches his knuckles on his thighbone with a crack
Uttering cries like mocking laughter,
And then like a mountebank into his booth,
Skips back into the dance to the music of the bones !

On the black gallows, one-armed friend,
The paladins are dancing, dancing
The lean, the devil's paladins
The skeletons of Saladins.

[Francko]

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Monkey See, Monkey Do


Monkey see, monkey do
One day a monkey did a poo
Another monkey saw that poo
Monkey see, monkey do

Elena Sweet

[AlfredJPruffock]

Cats


Both ardent lovers and austere scholars
Love in their mature years
The strong and gentle cats, pride of the house,
Who like them are sedentary and sensitive to cold.


Friends of learning and sensual pleasure,
They seek the silence and the horror of darkness;
Erebus would have used them as his gloomy steeds:
If their pride could let them stoop to bondage.


When they dream, they assume the noble attitudes
Of the mighty sphinxes stretched out in solitude,
Who seem to fall into a sleep of endless dreams;


Their fertile loins are full of magic sparks,
And particles of gold, like fine grains of sand,
Spangle dimly their mystic eyes.






Les Chats


Les amoureux fervents et les savants austères
Aiment également, dans leur mûre saison,
Les chats puissants et doux, orgueil de la maison,
Qui comme eux sont frileux et comme eux sédentaires.


Amis de la science et de la volupté
Ils cherchent le silence et l'horreur des ténèbres;
L'Erèbe les eût pris pour ses coursiers funèbres,
S'ils pouvaient au servage incliner leur fierté.


Ils prennent en songeant les nobles attitudes
Des grands sphinx allongés au fond des solitudes,
Qui semblent s'endormir dans un rêve sans fin;


Leurs reins féconds sont pleins d'étincelles magiques,
Et des parcelles d'or, ainsi qu'un sable fin,
Etoilent vaguement leurs prunelles mystiques.


— Charles Baudelaire