Menier, – O Chirsts! – Leperdriel!
Kinck, Jacob, Bonbonnel!
Veuillot, Tropmann, Augier!
Gill, Mendes, Manuel, Guido Gonin! –
Basket of the Graces! L’Herisse!
Unctuous waxes!
Old loaves, spirits!
Blind men! –
but then who knows? –
Beadles, Enghien. –
In one’s own home!
Let’s be Christian!
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When you are seventeen you aren’t really serious.
And the rowdy cafes with their dazzling lights!– You go walking beneath the green lime trees of the promenade.The lime trees smell good on fine evenings in June!The air is so soft sometimes, you close your eyelids;The wind, full of sounds, – the town’s not far away –Carries odours of vines, and odours of beer…II–…
A tearful tincture washes
Beneath the dribbling bushesYour raincoats lie;Pale white in private moonlight,Like round-eyed sores,Flap your scabby kneecaps apart,My ugly whores!We loved each other in those days,Ugly blue whore!We ate boiled eggsAnd weed.One night you made me a poet,Ugly blond whore.Get between my legs,I’ll whip you.I puked up your greasy hair,Ugly black whore;You tried to unstringMy guitar.Blah! Some…
Come, the Wines are off to the seaside,
Look at wild Bitter rolling from the mountain tops!Let us reach, like good pilgrims, green-pillared Absinthe…Myself: No more of these landscapes.What is drunkenness, friends?I had soon – rather, even – rot in the pond,beneath the horrible scum, near the floating driftwood.
That bright-eyed and brown-skinned youth,
That, brow circled with copper, under the moon,An unknown Persian Genie would have worshipped;Impetuous with virginal sweetnesses,And dark, proud of his first obstinacies,Like tears of the summer night’s distresses,That turn on beds of diamond, young seas;The youth, faced with this world’s ugliness,Shudders in his heart, wounded deeply,And, full of profound eternal emptiness,Begins to long for…
Dark with knobbed growths,
their eyes ringed with green,their swollen fingers clenched on their thigh-bones,their skulls caked with indeterminate crustslike the leprous growths on old walls;in amorous seizures they have graftedtheir weird bone structuresto the great dark skeletons of their chairs;their feet are entwined, morning and evening,on the rickety rails!These old men have always been one flesh with their…
On the black gallows, one-armed friend,
The lean, the devil’s paladinsThe skeletons of Saladins.Sir Beelzebub pulls by the scruffHis 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-pipesWhich once gentle ladies…