22
Oct
Resumen de Las flores del mal
Publicado por 
Verónica Gudiña
Verónica Gudiña.
El 25 de junio de 1857 se pusieron a la venta 1.300 ejemplares de “Las flores del mal”, un poemario creado por el crítico de arte, escritor y traductor francés Charles Baudelaire que, cuatro años más tarde, sería relanzado con algunas modificaciones.
.
A diferencia del primer lanzamiento, la segunda edición de “Las flores del mal” ofreció treinta poemas nuevos en reemplazo de algunos textos que fueron censurados tras haber sido acusados de blasfemos y de atentar contra la moral pública francesa, aunque esa versión tampoco sería la definitiva. La obra tal y como se conoce en la actualidad, apareció en 1868 e incluyó un total de 151 poemas..
No importa si, en algún momento, impulsado por el deseo de provocar y generar reacciones en la sociedad, Baudelaire, quien se ganó el apodo de “poeta maldito” por su estilo de vida y su concepción del mal, quiso bautizar a este trabajo como “Las lesbianas” o “Los limbos”. Bajo el nombre de “Las flores del mal” (título acusado de “efectista, pintoresco y confuso” por parte del crítico literario francés Albert Thibaudet), esta colección que supo generar algunas controversias consiguió ganarse un lugar destacado en el ámbito literario, gracias al cual no sólo fue traducida a una gran cantidad de idiomas sino que, además, hizo que estos poemas se mantuvieran presentes, hasta el día de hoy, en la mente de millones de lectores.
.
Por esa razón, aunque, al terminar de leer este material, uno llegue a la conclusión de que no le ha gustado la propuesta, todo amante de la poesía debería leer “Las flores del mal”, un libro que, valiéndose de referencias basadas en la sensualidad, el romanticismo y el espiritualismo, y una estructura clásica pero, a la vez, audaz e innovadora, consiguió renovar el género que tanto se benefició con el talento de Charles Baudelaire.
.
in Poemas del Alma
.
.
Charles Baudelaire's Fleurs du Mal
Fleursdumal.org is dedicated to the French poet Charles Baudelaire (1821 - 1867)
.
De profundis clamavi
J'implore ta pitié, Toi, l'unique que j'aime,
Du fond du gouffre obscur où mon coeur est tombé.
C'est un univers morne à l'horizon plombé,
Où nagent dans la nuit l'horreur et le blasphème;
Du fond du gouffre obscur où mon coeur est tombé.
C'est un univers morne à l'horizon plombé,
Où nagent dans la nuit l'horreur et le blasphème;
Un soleil sans chaleur plane au-dessus six mois,
Et les six autres mois la nuit couvre la terre;
C'est un pays plus nu que la terre polaire
— Ni bêtes, ni ruisseaux, ni verdure, ni bois!
Et les six autres mois la nuit couvre la terre;
C'est un pays plus nu que la terre polaire
— Ni bêtes, ni ruisseaux, ni verdure, ni bois!
Or il n'est pas d'horreur au monde qui surpasse
La froide cruauté de ce soleil de glace
Et cette immense nuit semblable au vieux Chaos;
La froide cruauté de ce soleil de glace
Et cette immense nuit semblable au vieux Chaos;
Je jalouse le sort des plus vils animaux
Qui peuvent se plonger dans un sommeil stupide,
Tant l'écheveau du temps lentement se dévide!
Qui peuvent se plonger dans un sommeil stupide,
Tant l'écheveau du temps lentement se dévide!
— Charles Baudelaire
.
Out of the Depths Have I Cried
I beg pity of Thee, the only one I love,
From the depths of the dark pit where my heart has fallen,
It's a gloomy world with a leaden horizon,
Where through the night swim horror and blasphemy;
From the depths of the dark pit where my heart has fallen,
It's a gloomy world with a leaden horizon,
Where through the night swim horror and blasphemy;
A frigid sun floats overhead six months,
And the other six months darkness covers the land;
It's a land more bleak than the polar wastes
— Neither beasts, nor streams, nor verdure, nor woods!
And the other six months darkness covers the land;
It's a land more bleak than the polar wastes
— Neither beasts, nor streams, nor verdure, nor woods!
But no horror in the world can surpass
The cold cruelty of that glacial sun
And this vast night which is like old Chaos;
The cold cruelty of that glacial sun
And this vast night which is like old Chaos;
I envy the lot of the lowest animals
Who are able to sink into a stupid sleep,
So slowly does the skein of time unwind!
Who are able to sink into a stupid sleep,
So slowly does the skein of time unwind!
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
.
De Profundis Clamavi
Have pity, my one love and sole delight!
Down to a dark abyss my heart has sounded,
A mournful world, by grey horizons bounded,
Where blasphemy and horror swim by night.
Down to a dark abyss my heart has sounded,
A mournful world, by grey horizons bounded,
Where blasphemy and horror swim by night.
For half the year a heatless sun gives light,
The other half the night obscures the earth.
The arctic regions never knew such dearth.
No woods, nor streams, nor creatures meet the sight.
The other half the night obscures the earth.
The arctic regions never knew such dearth.
No woods, nor streams, nor creatures meet the sight.
No horror in the world could match in dread
The cruelty of that dire sun of frost,
And that huge night like primal chaos spread.
The cruelty of that dire sun of frost,
And that huge night like primal chaos spread.
I envy creatures of the vilest kind
That they in stupid slumber can be lost —
So slowly does the skein of time unwind!
That they in stupid slumber can be lost —
So slowly does the skein of time unwind!
— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)
.
De Profundis Clamavi
I do implore thy pity, Thou whom alone I love,
Deep in this mournful vale wherein my heart is fallen.
It is a world completely sad, where the low sullen
Skies seem about to rain pure horror from above.
Deep in this mournful vale wherein my heart is fallen.
It is a world completely sad, where the low sullen
Skies seem about to rain pure horror from above.
A fireless sun swims over six months of every year;
Six months of every year the earth is lost in shadow.
It is a bleaker land than any Arctic meadow:
Nor streams, nor flowers, nor fruits, nor birds, nor forests here!
Six months of every year the earth is lost in shadow.
It is a bleaker land than any Arctic meadow:
Nor streams, nor flowers, nor fruits, nor birds, nor forests here!
Surely there is no evil imaginable to compare
With the cruelty of that cold sun in the cold air
And that enormous night, like the first chaos of things;
With the cruelty of that cold sun in the cold air
And that enormous night, like the first chaos of things;
I envy the very animals, to whom slumber brings
Over and over the gift of being thoughtless and blind,
So slowly does the thread of these dark years unwind.
Over and over the gift of being thoughtless and blind,
So slowly does the thread of these dark years unwind.
— George Dillon, Flowers of Evil (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)
.
Out of the Depths
Sole Being I love, Your mercy I implore
Out of the bitter pit of my heart's night,
With leaden skyscapes on a dismal shore,
Peopled only by blasphemy and fright;
For six months frigid suns float overhead,
For six months more darkness and solitude.
No polar wastes are bleaker and more dead,
With never beast nor stream nor plant nor wood.
Out of the bitter pit of my heart's night,
With leaden skyscapes on a dismal shore,
Peopled only by blasphemy and fright;
For six months frigid suns float overhead,
For six months more darkness and solitude.
No polar wastes are bleaker and more dead,
With never beast nor stream nor plant nor wood.
No horror in this world but is outdone
By the cold razor of this glacial sun
And this chaotic night's immensities.
I envy the most humble beast that ease
Which brings dull slumber to his brutish soul
So slowly does my skein of time unroll.
By the cold razor of this glacial sun
And this chaotic night's immensities.
I envy the most humble beast that ease
Which brings dull slumber to his brutish soul
So slowly does my skein of time unroll.
— Jacques LeClercq, Flowers of Evil (Mt Vernon, NY: Peter Pauper Press, 1958)
De profundis clamavi
J'implore ta pitié, Toi, l'unique que j'aime,
Du fond du gouffre obscur où mon coeur est tombé.
C'est un univers morne à l'horizon plombé,
Où nagent dans la nuit l'horreur et le blasphème;
Un soleil sans chaleur plane au-dessus six mois,
Et les six autres mois la nuit couvre la terre;
C'est un pays plus nu que la terre polaire
— Ni bêtes, ni ruisseaux, ni verdure, ni bois!
Or il n'est pas d'horreur au monde qui surpasse
La froide cruauté de ce soleil de glace
Et cette immense nuit semblable au vieux Chaos;
Je jalouse le sort des plus vils animaux
Qui peuvent se plonger dans un sommeil stupide,
Tant l'écheveau du temps lentement se dévide!
— Charles Baudelaire
Out of the Depths Have I Cried
I beg pity of Thee, the only one I love,
From the depths of the dark pit where my heart has fallen,
It's a gloomy world with a leaden horizon,
Where through the night swim horror and blasphemy;
A frigid sun floats overhead six months,
And the other six months darkness covers the land;
It's a land more bleak than the polar wastes
— Neither beasts, nor streams, nor verdure, nor woods!
But no horror in the world can surpass
The cold cruelty of that glacial sun
And this vast night which is like old Chaos;
I envy the lot of the lowest animals
Who are able to sink into a stupid sleep,
So slowly does the skein of time unwind!
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
De Profundis Clamavi
Have pity, my one love and sole delight!
Down to a dark abyss my heart has sounded,
A mournful world, by grey horizons bounded,
Where blasphemy and horror swim by night.
For half the year a heatless sun gives light,
The other half the night obscures the earth.
The arctic regions never knew such dearth.
No woods, nor streams, nor creatures meet the sight.
No horror in the world could match in dread
The cruelty of that dire sun of frost,
And that huge night like primal chaos spread.
I envy creatures of the vilest kind
That they in stupid slumber can be lost —
So slowly does the skein of time unwind!
— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)
De Profundis Clamavi
I do implore thy pity, Thou whom alone I love,
Deep in this mournful vale wherein my heart is fallen.
It is a world completely sad, where the low sullen
Skies seem about to rain pure horror from above.
A fireless sun swims over six months of every year;
Six months of every year the earth is lost in shadow.
It is a bleaker land than any Arctic meadow:
Nor streams, nor flowers, nor fruits, nor birds, nor forests here!
Surely there is no evil imaginable to compare
With the cruelty of that cold sun in the cold air
And that enormous night, like the first chaos of things;
I envy the very animals, to whom slumber brings
Over and over the gift of being thoughtless and blind,
So slowly does the thread of these dark years unwind.
— George Dillon, Flowers of Evil (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)
Out of the Depths
Sole Being I love, Your mercy I implore
Out of the bitter pit of my heart's night,
With leaden skyscapes on a dismal shore,
Peopled only by blasphemy and fright;
For six months frigid suns float overhead,
For six months more darkness and solitude.
No polar wastes are bleaker and more dead,
With never beast nor stream nor plant nor wood.
No horror in this world but is outdone
By the cold razor of this glacial sun
And this chaotic night's immensities.
I envy the most humble beast that ease
Which brings dull slumber to his brutish soul
So slowly does my skein of time unroll.
— Jacques LeClercq, Flowers of Evil (Mt Vernon, NY: Peter Pauper Press, 1958)
.
1868 Edition of Charles Baudelaire's Fleurs du mal
J'implore ta pitié, Toi, l'unique que j'aime,
Du fond du gouffre obscur où mon coeur est tombé.
C'est un univers morne à l'horizon plombé,
Où nagent dans la nuit l'horreur et le blasphème;
Un soleil sans chaleur plane au-dessus six mois,
Et les six autres mois la nuit couvre la terre;
C'est un pays plus nu que la terre polaire
— Ni bêtes, ni ruisseaux, ni verdure, ni bois!
Or il n'est pas d'horreur au monde qui surpasse
La froide cruauté de ce soleil de glace
Et cette immense nuit semblable au vieux Chaos;
Je jalouse le sort des plus vils animaux
Qui peuvent se plonger dans un sommeil stupide,
Tant l'écheveau du temps lentement se dévide!
— Charles Baudelaire
Out of the Depths Have I Cried
I beg pity of Thee, the only one I love,
From the depths of the dark pit where my heart has fallen,
It's a gloomy world with a leaden horizon,
Where through the night swim horror and blasphemy;
A frigid sun floats overhead six months,
And the other six months darkness covers the land;
It's a land more bleak than the polar wastes
— Neither beasts, nor streams, nor verdure, nor woods!
But no horror in the world can surpass
The cold cruelty of that glacial sun
And this vast night which is like old Chaos;
I envy the lot of the lowest animals
Who are able to sink into a stupid sleep,
So slowly does the skein of time unwind!
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)
De Profundis Clamavi
Have pity, my one love and sole delight!
Down to a dark abyss my heart has sounded,
A mournful world, by grey horizons bounded,
Where blasphemy and horror swim by night.
For half the year a heatless sun gives light,
The other half the night obscures the earth.
The arctic regions never knew such dearth.
No woods, nor streams, nor creatures meet the sight.
No horror in the world could match in dread
The cruelty of that dire sun of frost,
And that huge night like primal chaos spread.
I envy creatures of the vilest kind
That they in stupid slumber can be lost —
So slowly does the skein of time unwind!
— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)
De Profundis Clamavi
I do implore thy pity, Thou whom alone I love,
Deep in this mournful vale wherein my heart is fallen.
It is a world completely sad, where the low sullen
Skies seem about to rain pure horror from above.
A fireless sun swims over six months of every year;
Six months of every year the earth is lost in shadow.
It is a bleaker land than any Arctic meadow:
Nor streams, nor flowers, nor fruits, nor birds, nor forests here!
Surely there is no evil imaginable to compare
With the cruelty of that cold sun in the cold air
And that enormous night, like the first chaos of things;
I envy the very animals, to whom slumber brings
Over and over the gift of being thoughtless and blind,
So slowly does the thread of these dark years unwind.
— George Dillon, Flowers of Evil (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)
Out of the Depths
Sole Being I love, Your mercy I implore
Out of the bitter pit of my heart's night,
With leaden skyscapes on a dismal shore,
Peopled only by blasphemy and fright;
For six months frigid suns float overhead,
For six months more darkness and solitude.
No polar wastes are bleaker and more dead,
With never beast nor stream nor plant nor wood.
No horror in this world but is outdone
By the cold razor of this glacial sun
And this chaotic night's immensities.
I envy the most humble beast that ease
Which brings dull slumber to his brutish soul
So slowly does my skein of time unroll.
— Jacques LeClercq, Flowers of Evil (Mt Vernon, NY: Peter Pauper Press, 1958)
.
Fleurs du mal / Flowers of Evil 1868 Edition After the death of Baudelaire on August 31, 1867, the rights to the poet's work reverted — ironically enough, given his relationship with her — to his aging mother. His friends, however, were not content to allow Baudelaire to fade into nothingness, and thus induced his mother to allow them to produce a definitive edition of his works. Subsequently, Baudelaire's close friends the poet Théodore de Banville and the bibliophile Charles Asselineau sold the rights to his complete works to the publisher Michel Lévy. The complete works were to include Les Fleurs du mal, Les Paradis artificiels, Baudelaire's translations of Edgar Allan Poe, as well as prose poems, art criticism, and miscellaneous writings. In December 1868 the third edition of Les Fleurs du mal — volume 1 of the poet's complete works — went on sale in Paris. Along with an introduction by the poet Théophile Gautier, this new edition contained all the poems of the 1861 edition, eleven poems from Les Épaves, plus a few others. (It lacked, however, the six poems censored from the first edition, since these were still illegal to print in France.) This 1868 edition was the only one authorized by Baudelaire's estate until his work fell into the public domain in 1917. However, though Banville and Asselineau certainly meant well in assembling and editing the work, scholars today generally disagree with some of the choices made by the two friends, in particular with several of the poems they chose to include and with the way in which these poems altered the "secret architecture" of the 1861 edition. Poems added to the third edition are indicated below by subtle brown guillemets like this ». Table of Contents Dedication To the Reader Spleen et idéal / Spleen and Ideal Benediction The Albatross Elevation Correspondences I love the memory of those naked epochs... The Beacons The Sick Muse The Venal Muse The Bad Monk The Enemy Bad Luck Past Life Traveling Gypsies Man and the Sea Don Juan in Hell To Théodore de Banville Punishment of Pride Beauty The Ideal The Giantess The Mask Hymn to Beauty Exotic Perfume Hair I adore you as much as the nocturnal vault... You would take the entire world to bed with you... Never Satisfied With her pearly undulating dresses... The Dancing Serpent A Carcass From the Depths I Cried The Vampire One night when I lay beside a frightful Jewess... Posthumous Remorse The cat The Duel The Balcony The Possessed A Phantom I give you these verses so if my name... Always the Same All Together What will you say tonight, poor solitary soul... The Living Torch Reversibility Confession Spiritual Dawn Evening Harmony The Perfume Flask Poison Cloudy Sky The Cat The Beautiful Ship Invitation to the Voyage The Irreparable Conversation Autumn Song To a Madonna Afternoon Song Sisina Verses for the Portrait of Honoré Daumier In Praise of My Frances To a Creole Lady Grieving and Wandering The Ghost Autumn Sonnet Sorrows of the Moon The Cats The Owls The Pipe Music Sepulchre A Fantastic Engraving The Grateful Dead The Cask of Hatred The Broken Bell Spleen (Pluvius, irritated...) Spleen (I have more memories...) Spleen (I'm like the king...) Spleen (When the sky low and heavy...) Obsession The Taste for Nothingness The Alchemy of Grief Sympathetic Horror The Peace Pipe, after Longfellow A Pagan's Prayers The Cover The Unforeseen Midnight Examination of Consience Sad Madrigal The Warner To a Lady of Malabar The Voice Hymn The Rebel Berthe's Eyes The Fountain The Ransom Quite Far from Here Sunset of Romanticism On Eugene Delacroix's Tasso in Prison The Abyss The Laments of an Icarus Meditation The Self-Tormenter The Irremediable The Clock Tableaux Parisiens / Parisian Scenes Landscape The Sun Lola de Valence The Moon Offended To a Mendicant Redhead The Swan The Seven Old Men The Little Old Ladies The Blind To a Passerby The Hard-Working Skeleton Evening Crepuscule Gambling Danse Macabre The Love of Lies I have not forgotten, near the city... The kind-hearted servant of whom you were jealous... Mists and Rains Parisian Dream Morning Crepuscule Le Vin / Wine The Soul of Wine The Rag-Picker's Wine The Murderer's Wine The Lonely Man's Wine The Lovers' Wine Fleurs du mal / Flowers of Evil Epigraph for a Condemned Book Destruction A Martyr Women Doomed (Like pensive cattle...) The Two Good Sisters The Fountain of Blood Allegory Beatrice A Voyage to Cythera Love and the Skull Révolte / Revolt The Denial of Saint Peter Abel and Cain The Litanies of Satan La Mort / Death The Death of Lovers The Death of the Poor The Death of Artists End of the Day Dream of a Curious Man The Voyage |  | |||
 | ||||
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário