Illuminations arthur rimbaud5/3/2023 Founded in 2010 by former BBC journalist Rosie (‘The Riveter’) Goldsmith, ELNet spreads the word about European literature and translation on its website and through the Riveter magazines, Riveting Interviewpodcasts, #RivetingReviews, workshops, events and festivals. Open to writers, translators, publishers, agents, booksellers, festival directors, arts managers and journalists, ELNet is a free, collaborative hub for sharing news and views. The European Literature Network was created with the mission of championing great writing from Europe in the UK – and doing it together. He lived in New York until his death, aged ninety, in 2017. The winner of many prizes and awards both nationally and internationally, including the Griffin and Pulitzer Prizes, in 2011 he received the Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters from the National Book Foundation, and in 2012 he received a National Humanities Medal, presented by President Obama at the White House. John Ashbery was born in Rochester, New York, in 1927. Ill health forced a return to France in 1891 the same year he died in Marseilles, aged thirty seven. After abandoning poetry at the age of twenty one Rimbaud travelled widely, eventually settling in Aden in the Yemen. He spent the first part of his life in Charleville before moving to Paris in 1871 at the invitation of Paul Verlaine, who became his lover. Thank you to Carcanet for allowing us to publish these extracts.Īrthur Rimbaud (1854–1891) is one of France’s most controversial and influential poets, though he gave up his career at a young age. Sont-ce des airs populaires, des bouts de concerts seigneuriaux, des restants d’hymnes publics? L’eau est grise et bleue, large comme un bras de mer.-Un rayon blanc, tombant du haut du ciel, anéantit cette comédie.įrom Illuminations, published by Carcanet, 2018. On distingue une veste rouge, peut-être d’autres costumes et des instruments de musique. Des accords min eurs se croisent, et filent, des cordes montent des berges. D’autres soutiennent des mâts, des signaux, de frêles parapets. Quelques-uns de ces ponts sont encore chargés de masures. Un bizarre dessin de ponts, ceuxci droits, ceux-là bombés, d’autres descendant ou obliquant en angles sur les premiers, et ces figures se renouvelant dans les autres circuits éclairés du canal, mais tous tellement longs et légers que les rives chargées de dômes s’abaissent et s’amoindrissent. Hurtles down the path, trimmed with ribbons.Des ciels gris de cristal. There is a little carriage abandoned in the thicket, or that There is a cathedral that sinks and a lake that rises. There is a pit with a nest of white creatures. In the wood there is a bird, his song stops you and makes you blush. Storm clouds were piling up on the rising sea made of an eternity of hot tears. Beasts of a fabulous elegance were circulating. O the wayside crosses and windmills of the desert, the islands and the haystacks. The meadows climb toward hamlets without roosters, without anvils. The palings are so high that you can glimpse only the rustling treetops. ![]() Around the park, the caretakers' lodges are vacant. The vicar will have gone off with the church key. The château is for sale its shutters are dangling. ![]() ![]() You follow the red highway to arrive at the empty inn. The swarm of golden leaves buzzes around the general's house. The old people buried standing up in the rampart overgrown with wallflowers. The dead young mother descends the front steps - The cousin's open carriage squeaks on the sand - The little brother - (he's in India!) there, in front of the sunset, on the meadow of carnations. That's her, the dead little girl, behind the rosebushes. How dull, the hour of 'dear bodies' and 'dear hearts'. Ladies who twirl on terraces near the sea, little girls and giantesses, superb black women in the grey-green moss, jewels erect on the fat soil of coppices and thawing flower beds - young mothers and older sisters whose eyes speak of pilgrimages, sultanas, princesses of tyrannical gait and costume, little foreign women and sweetly unhappy people. This idol, black eyes and yellow mane, without family or court, nobler than the fable, Mexican and Flemish his domain, insolent azure and verdure, runs along beaches named by waves without ships, names that are ferociously Greek, Slavic, Celtic.Īt the edge of the forest - dream flowers chime, burst, lighten, - the girl with the orange lip, her knees crossed in the clear deluge that wells up from the meadows, nakedness shaded, crossed and clothed by the rainbows, flora and sea.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |