We have faith in the poison. We know how to give our whole life every day. – Morning of Drunkenness

Rimbaud has quickly become a favourite. I’ve re-read this book thrice over the last month, finding new things to delight me each time around.

I’m in love with his words. But I’m also fascinated by him. All of his works were written in his mid to late teens. He gave up writing altogether by the age of 21. One of the French enfant terrible, he caused quite the ruckus during his lifetime (which was, in my opinion, too short).

The work of his I love most would have to be Ophelia. Many know that I’ve got something of an obsession with the Shakespearean character and Rimbaud writes elegantly of my dear Ophelia.

I know that April is Poetry Month and that April is almost over. Rimbaud is worthwhile for any month and any occasion.

Eyes flame, blood sings, bones swell, tears and red filaments stream down. Their mockery or their terror lasts a minute or entire months.

I alone have the key to this savage side-show.

- Sideshow

I wanted to read this after reading the Patti Smith book. Hubby had a 30-40 year old copy of Rimbaud's complete works, translated by a dedicated scholar, and I was able to compare those translations to the ones here by John Ashbery, a very famous and highly regarded poet. Even though sometimes it was only a word or a phrase that changed, the differences that Ashbery's poetic sensibility made to the translations made the difference between ho-hum reading and true poetry that sparkled and sang. Wow! I think he gives those of us who are not proficient in French a very good sense of what reading the original poetry must be like.

This edition puts the original language poems side by side with the translations, so you can see how the translator sometimes chooses certain words in English that are almost exact copies of the French words, not our everyday language, but more fanciful, elevating the mood to something other. And isn't that what poetry does, or can do, use language to illuminate states or ideas that are out of the ordinary?

Qualquer comentário meu a este livro pouco mais será que isso mesmo: um mero comentário. Nem opinião tenho, porque não tenho como ter boa opinião.

Rimbaud em português, não sendo nem português Rimbaud nem Rimbaud em português. Obviamente o que quero apontar é que esse algo que faz de Rimbaud Rimbaud, esse algo estando no francês, perdido no português, perdido fica também o Rimbaud.

Nem sequer posso dizer que been there, done that no que toca a ler este autor. Sei lá onde estive, sei que não estive na casa do autor. E o que fiz? Bem, fiz o que pude, li o que li, mas sei que o autor não li porque mais não pude. Sigam, portanto, os amantes de Rimbaud descansados, que as poucas estrelas da minha avaliação, avaliam não ele, mas minha superficial leitura — apenas e só.

La rebeldía y su irritación para con el mundo en el que vivía se siente en cada poema de este libro. Se le siente incómodo, incomprendido y angustiado al no encontrar razones suficientes para amar la vida y lo humano.

Leer a Arthur Rimbaud es siempre un buen ejercicio para profundizar en palabras que existen en su literatura no por el origen con el que fueron creadas, sino con el sentido que quiso darles para hacernos sentir lo mismo que él.

screaming, crying, throwing up, banging my head against the wall. j'aime tellement son écriture, depuis [b:Une saison en enfer|34639329|Une saison en enfer|Arthur Rimbaud|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1490027563l/34639329._SY75_.jpg|42753720]. ça me fait ressentir des choses que je ne suis pas sûr d'aimer ughhhh