Next Book Club Text

[JBI]

Does anyone think we should move on - or perhaps punch Leopardi a bit more - any takers?


Edit:

The voted book was the Oxford World Classics translation of Paul Verlaine's selected poems: http://www.amazon.com/Selected-Poems-Oxford-Worlds-Classics/dp/0199554013/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1279067180&sr=8-1

Feel free to join the discussion which begins on page 5.

[Quark]

Are you taking nominations yet, JBI, or are you just testing the waters to see if there's any interest? I'd post to a new Poetry Bookclub, if it got started, but I don't know how others feel.

[quasimodo1]

Leopardi, while not entirely played out, has had enough exposure. I propose we move on to Bishop, Moore or Gertrude Stein since they have not been disucssed much and are, more or less, from the same era. q1

[quasimodo1]

http://i840.photobucket.com/albums/zz321/quasimodo1/GertrudeSteinselections.jpg --- Gertrude Stein "Selections"

[Alexander III]

I would be up for Leopardi, fortunately I speak Italian so I would have the pleasure of reading him as was written.

If we are making nominations I would like to nominate Rimbaud, who has not received much exposure on the forums.

[The Comedian]

I'd be up for a new author to discuss -- I just couldn't get into the Leopardi discussion going on for some reason.

[JBI]

I would be up for Leopardi, fortunately I speak Italian so I would have the pleasure of reading him as was written.

If we are making nominations I would like to nominate Rimbaud, who has not received much exposure on the forums.

That was last times, the thread is still there, feel free to post on it!

Alright, lets say nominations? now? each person give two.

[Alexander III]

Changed

[JBI]

1) Rimbaud
2) Shelley

Not to reject your nomination, but I would just like to remind people the goal is to get exposure to not usually discussed poets, whereas Rimbaud and Shelley already have active threads on them. Still, nominations are welcome.

I'll put mine up now I guess.

http://www.amazon.com/Book-Songs-Ancient-Chinese-Classic/dp/0802134777/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1278000959&sr=8-1


This one is available online and in versions of the collected poems, but I would like to nominate to focus things on the Quartets.
http://www.amazon.com/Four-Quartets-T-S-Eliot/dp/0156332256/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1278001008&sr=1-1

[Alexander III]

I agree with you that Shelley has been frequently discussed on the forums as all english romantics, Rimbaud on the other hand has very little discussion around him, the entire french Symbolist movement is a fascinating one which sets the stage for modernism yet on these forums it seems obscure.

Thus in light of your post I shall change my nominations to

1) Verlaine
2)Baudelaire


They are major components of french symbolism and are worthy of a read, they should also be a nice change of pace from Leopardi's depressive romanticism :D

[JBI]

Alright, though Baudelaire seems just as haunted :p Though there is no reason to change unless you feel these ones will be better for discussion. I don't wish to discourage people from nominating.

[quasimodo1]

Medbh McGuckian, a contemporary Irish poet who writes great poetry both in English and Gaelic is worth consideration, a real sleeper who is extemely accomplished. The collection "On Ballycastle Beech" would be my recommendation.

[mayneverhave]

Yes, sorry for my prolonged absence from the Leopardi poetry thread. I was slightly busy. But now I've graduated so I'll have more free time to indulge.

I'll nominate:

Fernando Pessoa
Wallace Stevens

[stlukesguild]

Well... considering the interest in French poets such as Baudelaire and Rimbaud, why not look to some of their less-well-known (at least among English-speaking readers) peers?

I'll nominate:

Gérard de Nerval
Paul Verlaine
Stéphane Mallarmé

[quasimodo1]

So far JBI, the list... Elizabeth Bishop / Marianne Moore / Gertrude Stein / Rimbaud / Shelly / Paul Verlaine / Baudelaire / Medbh McGuckian / Fernando Pessoa / Wallace Stevens / Gerard de Nerval / Stephen Mallarme' ... --- http://i840.photobucket.com/albums/zz321/quasimodo1/GerarddeNerval.jpg

[Quark]

I like the French poetry suggestions so far, but what about some Deutsche Lyrik? I'd like to read something of Annette von Droste-Hülshoff or Georg Trakl: two names that occasionally (but rarely) come up on LitNet.

[stlukesguild]

I would love to read Annette von Droste-Hülshoff, but I have never come across any translations of her works in English outside of a few poems in an anthology here or there. What of Holderlin?

[mayneverhave]

I would love to read Annette von Droste-Hülshoff, but I have never come across any translations of her works in English outside of a few poems in an anthology here or there. What of Holderlin?

Sounds good to me.

[JBI]

Alright; I guess we should leave this open for another day or two, then we will vote.

[Quark]

I would love to read Annette von Droste-Hülshoff, but I have never come across any translations of her works in English outside of a few poems in an anthology here or there. What of Holderlin?

Translation may be problematic. What I know Annette von Droste-Hülshoff comes from criticism, and the little bit I've read of her poetry came from this site:

http://www.lwl.org/LWL/Kultur/Droste/English/Works

You usually can find a handful of her poems (often the same ones) from sites like this, or, as you point out, anthologies. Really, all we need is four or five poems, anyway. The Book Club conversation usually slows down after the third or fourth poem.

As for Holderlin, why not?


Alright; I guess we should leave this open for another day or two, then we will vote.

I think we reached critical mass a while back. With six or seven posters you can get a pretty good discussion going. Anytime you want to start a vote is fine with me.

[Alexander III]

should we begin votations ?

[JBI]

Need to establish a rule; no voting for your own. Otherwise the thing won't go well. So rule is, you can't vote for your own nomination.

[Quark]

Can we get a full list of the nominations before we start voting?

[JBI]

Gertrude Stein "Selections"
Medbh McGuckian
Verlaine
Baudelaire
Gérard de Nerval
Stéphane Mallarmé
Fernando Pessoa
Wallace Stevens
Chinese Book of Songs (Shi Jing)
T. S. Eliot Four Quartets

And Quark, who exactly did you nominate? Little bit confused.

[LitNetIsGreat]

I'd like to join up if there is time. I'd be happy to go with several on the list so no need to nominate, unless you want some more suggestions.

[stlukesguild]

Elizabeth Bishop
Marianne Moore
Gertrude Stein
Rimbaud
Shelly
Paul Verlaine
Baudelaire
Medbh McGuckian
Fernando Pessoa
Wallace Stevens
Gerard de Nerval
Stephen Mallarme'
Chinese Book of Songs (Shi Jing)
T. S. Eliot Four Quartets
Annette von Droste-Hülshoff
Georg Trakl
Friederich Holderlin

[Quark]

And Quark, who exactly did you nominate? Little bit confused.

Oh, I forgot about the two nomination per person thing. Sorry, let me take down Georg Trakl. I'll just nominate Annette von Droste-Hülshoff and Friederich Holderlin.

[JBI]

Oh, I forgot about the two nomination per person thing. Sorry, let me take down Georg Trakl. I'll just nominate Annette von Droste-Hülshoff and Friederich Holderlin.

I have no problem, but you must show that you can come up with an accessible volume of Droste-Hulshoff in English - I don't think many of us want to hop from anthology to anthology looking for scattered poems.

[Quark]

If it's going to cause problems, I'll stick to two poets I know we can all find: Holderlin and Trakl. If I may, then, let me post the nomination list (an edited version of stlukes):

Elizabeth Bishop
Marianne Moore
Gertrude Stein
Rimbaud
Shelly
Paul Verlaine
Baudelaire
Medbh McGuckian
Fernando Pessoa
Wallace Stevens
Gerard de Nerval
Stephen Mallarme'
Chinese Book of Songs (Shi Jing)
T. S. Eliot Four Quartets
Georg Trakl
Friederich Holderlin

Any objections?

[JBI]

Alright, put your top 5 in the order as # 1 = 5 points, #2 = 4 points, etc. No voting for your own nominations, that way everyone will have a better chance of reading something that interests them.

[The Comedian]

Sounds good. I'm going along with Neely -- I'd like to participate and I'm happy to go along with whatever is nominated.

I'll put my votes in for what's been nominated. But if this is an issue, the executive committee can ignore my ballot. And I'll play along with whatever gets the eventual nod.

Rimbaud = #1
T. S. Eliot Four Quartets =#2
Fernando Pessoa = #3
Chinese Book of Songs (Shi Jing) = #4
Baudelaire = #5

[LitNetIsGreat]

OK, I'll go for these:

Paul Verlaine 1st
Stephen Mallarme 2nd
Gerard de Nerval 3rd
Rimbaud 4th
T. S. Eliot Four Quartets 5th

Thanks.

[Alexander III]

Elizabeth Bishop
Marianne Moore
Gertrude Stein
Rimbaud
Shelly
Paul Verlaine
Baudelaire
Medbh McGuckian
Fernando Pessoa
Wallace Stevens
Gerard de Nerval
Stephen Mallarme'
Chinese Book of Songs (Shi Jing)
T. S. Eliot Four Quartets
Georg Trakl
Friederich Holderlin


1)Stephen Mallarme
2)Gerard de Nerva
3)T. S. Eliot Four Quartets
4)Fernando Pessoa
5)Georg Trakl

[Virgil]

So the deal is I pick five poets? If so here are my firve:

Bishop
Moore
Baudelaire
T. S. Eliot Four Quartets
Mallarme

[stlukesguild]

Elizabeth Bishop
Marianne Moore
Gertrude Stein
Rimbaud
Shelly
Paul Verlaine
Baudelaire
Medbh McGuckian
Fernando Pessoa
Wallace Stevens
Gerard de Nerval
Stephen Mallarme'
Chinese Book of Songs (Shi Jing)
T. S. Eliot Four Quartets
Georg Trakl
Friederich Holderlin


1. Friederich Holderlin
2. Paul Verlaine
3. Fernado Pessoa
4. Arthur Rimbaud
5. Georg Trakl

Should we set a deadline for voting... and insist JBI cast his lot and quit holding out and trying to throw the vote?:hand:

C'mon Quasi and Quark.:skep:

[Quark]

1. Paul Verlaine
2. Elizabeth Bishop
3. Chinese Book of Songs (Shi Jing)
4. Fernando Pessoa
5. Baudelaire

[quasimodo1]

1. Friederich Holderlin
2. Paul Verlaine
3. Fernado Pessoa

[JBI]

Should we set a deadline for voting... and insist JBI cast his lot and quit holding out and trying to throw the vote?:hand:

C'mon Quasi and Quark.:skep:

Oh come on, you know how popular I am, if I voted first who is to say it wouldn't throw the vote by causing others to follow suit? As it is, I am just trying to figure out the best way to make Baudelaire and Rimbaud not win - other than that the other likely ones seem all nice picks for me. It's not as if I can vote for my own...

Paul Verlaine
Friederich Holderlin
Gerard de Nerval
Stephen Mallarme'
Georg Trakl

[stlukesguild]

How many are left to vote... and do we have a deadline?

[Quark]

How many are left to vote...

Not many. I think mayneverhave may-actually-vote, but other than that no one seems to have expressed interest. It shouldn't make too much difference one way or another, though, as Verlaine is leading by a large margin.

[shortstoryfan]

Hmm. I really don't have an interest in the vote, but would enjoy participating. Do you generally pick a certain translation and try to all get that? Just want to make sure I have plenty of time to get the text.

[Alexander III]

I think Verlaine won this one, unless others want to join in and vote

[stlukesguild]

Verlaine? Fine with me. I have three different volumes I can pull from.

[mayneverhave]

Waiting on me? or does it not even matter?
Either way:

1. T. S. Eliot Four Quartets
2. Baudelaire
3. Shi Jing
4. Hölderlin
5. Mallarme

[Quark]

So far I have:

Elizabeth Bishop 5 4 = 9
Marianne Moore 4 = 4
Gertrude Stein
Rimbaud 5 2 2 = 9
Shelly
Paul Verlaine 5 4 5 4 5 = 23
Baudelaire 1 3 1 4 = 9
Medbh McGuckian
Fernando Pessoa 3 2 3 2 3 = 13
Wallace Stevens
Gerard de Nerval 3 4 3 = 10
Stephen Mallarme' 4 5 1 2 1 = 11
Chinese Book of Songs (Shi Jing)2 3 3 = 8
T. S. Eliot Four Quartets 4 1 3 2 5 = 10
Georg Trakl 1 1 1 = 3
Friederich Holderlin 5 5 4 2 = 16

Verlaine is winning by at least two strong votes. Is that the end of voting?

[stlukesguild]

It appears that all who have participated in this discussion as of now have voted. It would seem that Verlaine is our man. The goal now, presumably, is to select a text by Verlaine... or does everyone already have such? As I noted earlier, I have three different collections/translations and would be open to employing any of them or all of them.

So...


1. What text are we using?

2. When should we begin posting poems and beginning the discussion?

[JBI]

I'm fine with any common volume, as I will grab it from the library along with a French copy.

[mayneverhave]

We should agree on a translation, correct?

I know nothing of Verlaine, so perhaps someone could recommend a volume?

[Virgil]

We should agree on a translation, correct?

I know nothing of Verlaine, so perhaps someone could recommend a volume?

I don't either. I will need some guidence as well.

[stlukesguild]

I have the Selected Poems by C.F. MacIntyre, the Oxford World Classic's edition translated by Martin Sorrell, and One Hundred and One Poems translated by Norman R. Shapiro. All three volumes have their strengths and weaknesses... as with any translation. The Oxford version seems to be currently the most highly thought of. The Shapiro volume is notable for brief introductions to each of Verlaine's books. I also have any number of poems translated by various other writers within anthologies of French poetry. I would make the suggestion that Verlaine's strongest works are from early in his career, from the volumes Poèmes saturniens, Fêtes galantes, La bonne chanson, Romances sans paroles, Sagesse, and Parallèlement.

[Alexander III]

I have no idea about which translations are best either, however If I may I suggest we steer away from the Oxford edition as they always print in such small writing that it is fastidious to read and bugs the hell out of me.

[stlukesguild]

If I may I suggest we steer away from the Oxford edition as they always print in such small writing that it is fastidious to read and bugs the hell out of me.

Ummm... maybe its time to see the optometrist? Choosing a translation based upon the size of the font? From a quick glance I'll point out that the print size in all three translations appears pretty much the same size and standard for most books.

[Alexander III]

Ahh maybe it was just the Byron collection of the Oxford edition then

[stlukesguild]

One of those Complete Works of Byron or Wordsworth or Shakespeare in one slim volume and microprint? Rather like trying to read some of the print included in CD booklets.:crazy:

[JBI]

One of those Complete Works of Byron or Wordsworth or Shakespeare in one slim volume and microprint? Rather like trying to read some of the print included in CD booklets.:crazy:

I had a Byron including long works (Don Juan, Manfred, etc) in one volume. IT had if I remember 4 columns a page (an Iambic Pentameter line would take one column, or one and a half columns without needing to break lines), and went on and on.

[stlukesguild]

My volume of Spenser is like that... although I think its two columns per page. It has the complete Fairie Queene, the Amoretti, Epithalimion, Muiopotmos, and all the minor poems... as well as a long introduction... all in a single volume. One the other hand... it is a rather nice leather-bound volume so I'll put up with having to wear the reading glasses.:lol:

Don't even get me started on my volume of Shakespeare which must be 12x18" or larger and nearly 4" thick and weighing in at ten pounds. You need a podium to even read it. I've been picking up some nice volumes of the separate plays whenever I get about to reading them simply to avoid this behemoth.:ack2:

[JBI]

My volume of Spenser is like that... although I think its two columns per page. It has the complete Fairie Queene, the Amoretti, Epithalimion, Muiopotmos, and all the minor poems... as well as a long introduction... all in a single volume. One the other hand... it is a rather nice leather-bound volume so I'll put up with having to wear the reading glasses.:lol:

Don't even get me started on my volume of Shakespeare which must be 12x18" or larger and nearly 4" thick and weighing in at ten pounds. You need a podium to even read it. I've been picking up some nice volumes of the separate plays whenever I get about to reading them simply to avoid this behemoth.:ack2:

Meh, to me, Hamilton's Faerie Queene is the only Faerie Queene. Though that isn't exactly the most convenient book to shlep around, it certainly is the best for reading though.

Have we decided on a volume?

[Alexander III]

I suggest St.lukesguild decides on the volume, seems to be the most experienced in regards to Verlaine.

[stlukesguild]

I would probably go with Martin Sorrell's translation in the Oxford World's Classics edition which can be easily enough and inexpensively enough found... and features the original French on the facing page. I can always offer alternative translations.

[JBI]

I would probably go with Martin Sorrell's translation in the Oxford World's Classics edition which can be easily enough and inexpensively enough found... and features the original French on the facing page. I can always offer alternative translations.

If it's agreed upon - I'll have my copy in 20 minutes.

[mayneverhave]

If it's agreed upon - I'll have my copy in 20 minutes.

Hah, I'll need a little more time than that. I'll have to order it.

[Alexander III]

Sounds good to me

[LitNetIsGreat]

Ordered. Just have to wait for the Amazon fairies to come now.

[JBI]

Alright, got my copy at the ready whenever someone wants to start.

[Virgil]

I would probably go with Martin Sorrell's translation in the Oxford World's Classics edition which can be easily enough and inexpensively enough found... and features the original French on the facing page. I can always offer alternative translations.

I'll order mine tonight. :)

[Virgil]

Is this the one we are ordering?
http://www.amazon.com/Selected-Poems-Oxford-Worlds-Classics/dp/0199554013/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1278983772&sr=1-1

[The Comedian]

Is this the one we are ordering?
http://www.amazon.com/Selected-Poems-Oxford-Worlds-Classics/dp/0199554013/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1278983772&sr=1-1

That's the one I ordered.

[mayneverhave]

Should be in my possession by the 19th.

[Alexander III]

I should have mine by tomorrow night

[Quark]

I suppose we should wait until everyone has their books, but will the discussion be in this thread or do you want to start another one, JBI?

[JBI]

Might as well be in this one. Just so you know guys, if anybody wishes to discuss any other number of the poets, I would more than welcome another thread.

I will post something on the original post to make this more accessible to newcomers.

[Virgil]

I suppose we should wait until everyone has their books, but will the discussion be in this thread or do you want to start another one, JBI?

Really a thread with the poet's name in the title should be started for future searches by people interested in his work.

[JBI]

Really a thread with the poet's name in the title should be started for future searches by people interested in his work.

I would ask you then to PM a moderator to get them to change the name of the thread.

[mayneverhave]

Might as well be in this one. Just so you know guys, if anybody wishes to discuss any other number of the poets, I would more than welcome another thread.

I will post something on the original post to make this more accessible to newcomers.

That's refreshing. I would be more than interested in still discussing Fernando Pessoa. I only picked him up a couple months ago and he could already very well be one of my favorite poets.

[LitNetIsGreat]

Hey mine has come today, let's just start without everyone else.:devil:

[Alexander III]

I got mine :)

[Alexander III]

Might I suggest we start ?

[LitNetIsGreat]

Can for me. Why not pick out a shorter poem and then we can pm anybody who is still waiting for the book to be delivered if necessary?

Shoot, choose a poem.

[stlukesguild]

Fantoches

Scaramouche and Pulchinella
Making evil plans together
Wave their arms, moon-silhouettes.

But the excellent Bolognese
Doctor's picking some of these
Special herbs among the grass.

His daughter with the pretty eyes,
In the arbour, on the sly's
Looking- semi-naked -for

Her handsome Spanish buccaneer...

Excerpt tr. Martin Sorrell
from the collection: Fêtes galante- Paul Verlaine


Fantoches

Scaramouche et Pulcinella,
Qu'un mauvais dessein rassembla,
Gesticulent noirs sous la lune,

Cependant l'excellent docteur Bolonais
Cueille avec lenteur des simples
Parmi l'herbe brune.

Lors sa fille, piquant minois,
Sous la charmille, en tapinois,
Se glisse demi-nue,

En quête de son beau pirate espagnol,
Dont un langoureux rossignol
Clame la détresse à tue-tête.


On the Fête galante:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/F%C3%AAte_galante

Fête galante- a French term referring to some of the celebrated pursuits of the idle, rich aristocrats in the 18th century—from 1715 until the 1770s. After the death of Louis XIV in 1715, the aristocrats of the French court abandoned the grandeur of Versailles for the more intimate townhouses of Paris where, elegantly attired, they could play and flirt and put on scenes from the Italian commedia dell'arte. The term translates from French literally as "gallant party". It is closely related to, and may be considered a type of, fête champêtre.

The Fêtes galantes were most famously illuminated in the paintings of Antoine Watteau, who served as a major source of inspiration for Verlaine:

http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4074/4803683240_79a40028ef_b.jpg

http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4117/4803683310_975b41616b_b.jpg

http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4102/4803683082_94af5dfa53.jpg

http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4095/4803052469_daf172f3ef_b.jpg

The themes of Watteau and Verlaine's Fêtes galante were that of the elegant games and flirtations of youth... always with a tinge of melancholy... a recognition that these moments were ever fleeting.

Verlaine's poems in this collection were the most elegant and delicate... and yet the same poet could churn out the most vulgar and pornographic scribbles. This collection was especially spoken of when Verlaine was acclaimed as the most "musical" of poets. It's not surprising that his poems were a favorite of the French Impressionist composers:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GgxaKTNw0hI

[Quark]

Fantoches

Scaramouche and Pulchinella
Making evil plans together
Wave their arms, moon-silhouettes.

But the excellent Bolognese
Doctor's picking some of these
Special herbs among the grass.

His daughter with the pretty eyes,
In the arbour, on the sly's
Looking- semi-naked -for

Her handsome Spanish buccaneer...

Good starting point, stlukes.

A little bit of context, though, for those with the Oxford editions: the editors cut out a pretty important (but longish) poem that precedes "Fantoches." The previous poem "En Patiant" can be read as a guide to the direction of the collection. It compares the poems progress with that of the seasons. The first two seasons we've already past by the time we get to Fantoches--which is just past midway in the collection. The first two seasons in "En Patiant" are spring and summer: spring is about flirting, summer passionate embrace. Then, moving into the second half of the poem we're warned about autumn:


But autumn came to our relief,
Its light grown cold, its gusts grown rough,
Came to remind us, sharp and brief,
That we had wantoned long enough,

And led us quickly to recover
The elegance demanded of
Every quite irreproachable lover
And every seemly lady-love.

(Translation taken from http://www.archive.org/stream/knaveofhearts00symouoft/knaveofhearts00symouoft_djvu.txt). This is the part of the collection that we're supposedly moving into, and, sure enough, the next poem, "Fantoches," shows a return to seemliness and elegance. The love in "Fantoches" is very practiced and artificial. She eludes her restrictive father in the arbor. He's a Spanish buccaneer. A nightingale sings his pain. This is certainly a step back from the more risque poems from the first half of the collection. Now, we've moved into something a little polished--almost trite. This is part of the progress forecasted by the previous poem, "En Patiant."

Whether we take the poem as a welcome respite from "wanton[ing]" or whether it's interpreted as something else is up for grabs. In any case, I think it's helpful to see the big picture that the collection creates as well as the effect of the individual works. I'll stop by a little later to post more.

[stlukesguild]

Here at Librivox you can listen to any of the poems from Verlaine's collection read in the original French:

http://librivox.org/fetes-galantes-by-paul-verlaine/

Quark... good addition. None of the translations I have at my disposal include En patinant yet it surely heightens the notion of the "fleeting" aspects of young love and spring that will soon melt into autumn and winter.

[OrphanPip]

I kind of like that the poem is called puppets, but the puppet show only takes up 1 stanza and is being completely ignored by the party goers described.

The doctor, obsessed with his work, being easily fooled by his daughter sneaking off with the Spanish buccaneer also seems to imitate the kind of plots that one would expect from the commedia. Seems to me there isn't quite clear a distinction between the puppets, black under the moon (or in silhouette in the translation provided), and the others described.

[Alexander III]

Scaramouche and Pulchinella
Making evil plans together
Wave their arms, moon-silhouettes.

But the excellent Bolognese
Doctor's picking some of these
Special herbs among the grass.

His daughter with the pretty eyes,
In the arbour, on the sly's
Looking- semi-naked -for

Her handsome Spanish buccaneer...



I find this poem to have a beautiful charm to it as most of verlaine's poems, I can see why he is considered frances most musical poet.

This poem also seems to me very satirical, "excellent" Doctor and "making evil plans together", it seems to poke fun at the image which this story would have, in the form of gossip.

Another thing about the poem is the father is a doctor and the lover a buccaneer.
The doctor carries connotations of safety, conservatism, wealth. While the buccaneer is exotic adventure and intrigue. The image of the doctor and buccaneer seem juxtaposed directly, showing how the girls seeks in love all that is different to her father and the oppressive household she lives in. It is almost as if she searches love as a means to escape reality, with the doctor representing logic and reality while the buccaneer is fantasy and impossibility.

Another curious thing is the doctor picking "special herbs" could this have significant meaning, I have a theory here but it is radical and I want to hear your opinions on it first.

These are just my initial impressions, shall try and say more latter.

Oh and Quark I see the utility of using verlaine's other poems to help find significance in this, however the order of composition of the poems is unknown, so this poem may have been created before the others you mentioned.

[OrphanPip]

The French describes the herbs as "simples", so I think the implication is that they are medicinal, not the fun kind. Or, the doctor could be some kind of botanist, it's not clear.

Edit: Checked an online dictionary, simples does mean medicinal plants.

[stlukesguild]

Verlaine undoubtedly refers to the Bolognese doctor in recognition that Bologna had been one of the leading centers of science and medicine where Andreas Versalius, the great anatomist, had lectured. One wonders about the suggestion of the doctor... an expert in the body... who is unaware of the passions of the body taking place under his very nose while he is gathering his medicinal herbs.

[Quark]

I see the utility of using verlaine's other poems to help find significance in this, however the order of composition of the poems is unknown, so this poem may have been created before the others you mentioned.

I'm not entirely sure I understand what you mean, but, yes, it's true that we don't know the order Verlaine composed the poems in. Yet, we do know how they were published in collections. Every edition of these poems I've seen has the poems in the same order, and "Fantoches" follows "En Patiant." The little bit of criticism I've read on the poem points to this order as coming from the author, too. Hallam Walker wrote in PMLA that Verlaine placed the poems in the order we now have them. He said of "Claire de lune": "There is no mistaking the tone or significance of Verlaine placing this poem at the head of the suite" ("Visual and Spatial Imagery in Verlaine's Fetes Galantes"). He goes on to talk about the "significance" also of the position of "En Patiant" and "Fantoches." I suppose the critics could be wrong about the ordering of the poem, and I'm certainly no expert on Verlaine. But, it seems like there's a lot of evidence that the order I referred in my last post is how most people approach the collection.

The reason I bring this up is because I think the order talked about in "En Patiant" underscores something important going on in "Fantoches": the love life of the poem is enticing, but sterile. "En Patiant" talks about receding away from intimacy and moving toward posturing. "Fantoches" shows what that might look like. The situation in the poem is certainly amorous, but it's also based on stock characters, cliches, and distance. Like so many of the poems in the collection, there's something attractive about the situation, but there's also something worrisome. In the case of "Fantoches," the cleverness of the poem and the soothing melody of the first two stanzas show the attractive side of the poem, but the distance and lack of substance shows the poem's worrisome side. "En Patiant" forewarns of this. That's why I think it matters.

[Virgil]

Fantoches

Scaramouche and Pulchinella
Making evil plans together
Wave their arms, moon-silhouettes.

But the excellent Bolognese
Doctor's picking some of these
Special herbs among the grass.

His daughter with the pretty eyes,
In the arbour, on the sly's
Looking- semi-naked -for

Her handsome Spanish buccaneer...

Excerpt tr. Martin Sorrell
from the collection: Fêtes galante- Paul Verlaine


There has to be a greater context to this because in and by itself it doesn't seem like much of a poem. I've seen Lit Net poems better than this.

[stlukesguild]

Of course the context of the poem is within the larger context of the book or collection as a whole. Few of the poems ever exceed 20 lines and are the most delicate of lyrics... song-like. The book reminds me of Robert Herrick's collection, Hesperides, which is a collection of the most delicate and sophisticated of sensual delights. In a like manner they remind me of the shimmer of satin and lace and a little glimpse of leg as might be found in the paintings of the Watteau.

TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME.

GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying :
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may go marry:
For having lost but once your prime
You may for ever tarry.

DELIGHT IN DISORDER.

A SWEET disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness :
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction :
An erring lace which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher :
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbons to flow confusedly :
A winning wave (deserving note)
In the tempestuous petticoat :
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility :
Do more bewitch me than when art
Is too precise in every part.

UPON JULIA’S CLOTHES.

WHENAS in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free ;
O how that glittering taketh me !

Like Verlaine, there is a sense that the pleasures portrayed are something fleeting. There is also the the delicacy of the perfectly chosen word that I somehow doubt is rivaled by Lit Net poets... and this musicality is undoubtedly the reason Verlaine was the most popular poet to set to music by the the contemporary French composers. Of course the individual poems do not bear the complexity of a more lengthy or epic poem and are probably best read as a group.

Having said that... perhaps we should start with the first, and most famous, poem in the collection, Clair de lune:

Clair de lune

Votre âme est un paysage choisi
Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques
Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi
Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.

Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur
L'amour vainqueur et la vie opportune,
Ils n'ont pas l'air de croire à leur bonheur
Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune,

Au calme clair de lune triste et beau,
Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres
Et sangloter d'extase les jets d'eau,
Les grands jets d'eau sveltes parmi les marbres.

From Fêtes galantes (1869)


Moonlight

Your soul is like a landscape fantasy,
Where masks and Bergamasks, in charming wise,
Strum lutes and dance, just a bit sad to be
Hidden beneath their fanciful disguise.

Singing in minor mode of life's largesse
And all victorious Love, the yet seem quite
Reluctant to believe their happiness,
And their song mingles with the pale moonlight.

The calm, pale moonlight, whose sad beauty, beaming,
sets the birds softly dreaming in the trees...

excerpted tr. Norman R. Shapiro
Complete poem found here: http://www.press.uchicago.edu/Misc/Chicago/853446.html

Both Debussy and Faure set this poem to music:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Mjy3Fw5GJY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_zgJRVLIE4o&feature=related

This poem sets up the entire cycle... suggesting that he imagines his lover's soul to be like the landscape ala Watteau... filled with masquerading characters from the Commedia dell'arte that we will come upon repeatedly in the whole of the collection. The poet also suggests that like the paintings of Watteau, their is a sadness or melancholy beneath the fantastic guise of flirtation, seduction, lutes, satins, lace, and love. Their is a recognition that this is but a fleeting moment... soon lost... and the singers sing of love in a minor key while the fountains sob with ecstasy.

[Quark]

I didn't think "Fantoches" was a bad poem. It has a certain smartness about it. It's not going to change your life or anything like that, but it does what it sets out to do. "Claire de lune" is much more representative of the collection, though. Lustful in focus and ambivalent in tone, this is much more of what Fetes Galantes appears to be about.

[Alexander III]

There has to be a greater context to this because in and by itself it doesn't seem like much of a poem. I've seen Lit Net poems better than this.

From a personal context some poems are preferred over others, but we must remember who Verlaine was and how he used his art, the decadent movement, art for art's sake, there is no higher purpose than the creation of beauty. This theory on art is merely a school of thought of a movement, I personally utterly agree but many shall disagree.

Nonetheless in this context Fantoches succeeds, in its shortness, it is immensely beautiful and lyrical. Some poetry seeks to nourish the mind, but the poetry of beauty nourishes the soul. Do you kinda get what im talking about ?


As for the next poem, Il give it a look tonight and share my thoughts.

[LitNetIsGreat]

Yes I've enjoyed the first poem and the thoughts on it very much; a very delicate little piece I think. I love the impression of the girl's wandering eye, the Doctor bending down lost in his collections and the frantic waving of the puppets! As Virgil hints, in his way,;) it is something of a sketch of a sketch, but for me no less enjoyable for the fleeting image it brings (and certainly agree with the point made about Wilde's aesthetics of course).

I certainly go along with the interesting points already made and don't really have anything to add other than it got me thinking of the absence in the poem, the things left unsaid - the people who are obviously present at the puppet show but are not there. The children perhaps for one (I'm not sure of the nature of this particular puppet show). One wonders if there is any significance at all about this? Maybe not. Perhaps Verlaine is just very succinct in the minute detail he pulls out - which certainly gives its own impression of a story regardless - but I always find it interesting to think about what is not said sometimes as well as what is. There's certainly more people present than three!


I've not properly read the other poem yet, I'll make it my bedtime piece if I've time...

[LitNetIsGreat]

In regards to the first poem “Fantoches” I think there is also a case to be made about the fleeting passage of time in relation to the puppets. For me there is something completely mocking about them. Maybe the idea of puppets is a play on the idea of human life, in a similar fashion to Shakespeare’s “life’s a stage” that we are merely players playing out a role in life, as are the puppets?

Their “making evil plans together” and the waving of their arms (“gesticulent” in French, presumably “gesticulating” in English would be more of a direct translation?) seems to me to be similar to the “strutting and fretting upon the stage.” Always such a powerful mocking of life that for me, the “struts and frets” completely reduces the self-importance of the individual as we get wrapped up in our little worlds. Anyway, I see the possibility of a similar thing here which fits well with the readings already given about life’s fleeting nature and the shortness of it, in the greater scheme of things.

Could there not also be something about the shadow of them in regards to Plato’s cave? Where, there too of course, we are made to think about the bigger picture of the world in relation to our own?

[stlukesguild]

In regards to the first poem “Fantoches” I think there is also a case to be made about the fleeting passage of time in relation to the puppets. For me there is something completely mocking about them. Maybe the idea of puppets is a play on the idea of human life, in a similar fashion to Shakespeare’s “life’s a stage” that we are merely players playing out a role in life, as are the puppets?

I like the interpretation... and suspect you would be right in suggesting that Verlaine's human characters are in many ways puppets themselves.


I'm hoping that as the weekend arrives we get some more participation... perhaps someone else posting a preferred poem... but if not... I'll throw something up there Saturday. I can't imagine going into the studio long when it's set to be approaching 100-degrees F.:eek2::prrr::mad5:

Time to break out the beer!
:cheers2:

[OrphanPip]

I don't have the collection that was chosen by the group for discussion.

I have read all of the fetes galantes poems. I actually think "Fantoches" is one of the better poems in the collection, but anyway. The weakest ones for me are those that center around the little conversations.

"Clair de Lune" is a poem I first read back in secondary school, and for the longest time it has been irrevocably linked, in my mind, with Debussy's music.

Throughout the poem, Verlaine seems to introduce happy images before quickly snatching them away. The first line of the poem begins with a basic happy description of a fetes galantes and moves on to establish what is the prevailing mood of the collection, they're just a little bit sad despite the glamour. The sadness seems to move organically from the party goers through to their song, which merges with the moon, to finally make the moonlight itself sad. I think there's a big problem with the translations, because the moonlight is not described as having a "sad beauty," but is described as being "sad and beautiful." Verlaine's word choice seems important here. The moonlight, party, singing, and fountain would usually be associated with joy and beauty, but the mild sadness pervades everything.



I like the interpretation... and suspect you would be right in suggesting that Verlaine's human characters are in many ways puppets themselves.



I think the title alone supports this, the puppets on stage don't seem to be the focus of the poem at all.

[LitNetIsGreat]

Time to break out the beer!
I'll say, it's the end of the year...:cheers2: Cue Alice Cooper...


Throughout the poem, Verlaine seems to introduce happy images before quickly snatching them away


The moonlight, party, singing, and fountain would usually be associated with joy and beauty, but the mild sadness pervades everything.

Yes, I've not got the poem with me so I can't say anything much, but I felt with this one that it reminded me of Philip Sidney, the "How sad steps..." one. I felt that the narrator figure was seeing the external world though his inner sadness; that he was protecting his inner thoughts and feelings on to this external world. I also felt that there was perhaps an element of enjoying the melancholy in the latter part of the poem which is something quite familiar, found in the likes of Keats for example.

Anyway. :party:

[stlukesguild]

The weakest ones for me are those that center around the little conversations.

Yes... the poems that come across as fragments of overheard dialog are perhaps an intriguing idea... and feed into the overall whole cycle... but I agree that on their own they strike me as somewhat weak.

I'll say, it's the end of the year...:cheers2: Cue Alice Cooper...

Don't rush things... I still have 5 weeks 'til its back to teaching.:party:


I never got into Alice... even when I was 18 and school was out for summer. I did get a great shipment of classic blues music this week including Howling Wolf, John Lee Hooker, and Muddy Waters... which will surely get me in the mood:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4t2AVTtPSQ&feature=related

[LitNetIsGreat]

Still got 5 weeks, wow? I've only got less than 6 weeks this year, big rip off, but still...

No I don't like Alice Cooper either, but I take the sentiment of school being "out" all the same...:party:

[Alexander III]

May I suggest the next poem, should lead to some nice discussion, Birds In The Night



You were not over-patient with me, dear;
This want of patience one must rightly rate:
You are so young! Youth ever was severe
And variable and inconsiderate!

You had not all the needful kindness, no;
Nor should one be amazed, unhappily:
You're very young, cold sister mine, and so
'Tis natural you should unfeeling be!

Behold me therefore ready to forgive;
Not gay, of course! but doing what I can
To bear up bravely,—deeply though I grieve
To be, through you, the most unhappy man.


II
But you will own that I was in the right
When in my downcast moods I used to say
That your sweet eyes, my hope, once, and delight!
Were come to look like eyes that will betray.

It was an evil lie, you used to swear,
And your glance, which was lying, dear, would flame,—
Poor fire, near out, one stirs to make it flare!—
And in your soft voice you would say, "Je t'aime!"

Alas! that one should clutch at happiness
In sense's, season's, everything's despite!—
But 'twas an hour of gleeful bitterness
When I became convinced that I was right!



III
And wherefore should I lay my heart-wounds bare?
You love me not,—an end there, lady mine;
And as I do not choose that one shall dare
To pity,—I must suffer without sign.

Yes, suffer! For I loved you well, did I,—
But like a loyal soldier will I stand
Till, hurt to death, he staggers off to die,
Still filled with love for an ungrateful land.

O you that were my Beauty and my Own,
Although from you derive all my mischance,
Are not you still my Home, then, you alone,
As young and mad and beautiful as France?


IV
Now I do not intend—what were the gain?—
To dwell with streaming eyes upon the past;
But yet my love which you may think lies slain,
Perhaps is only wide awake at last.

My love, perhaps,—which now is memory!—
Although beneath your blows it cringe and cry
And bleed to will, and must, as I foresee,
Still suffer long and much before it die,—

Judges you justly when it seems aware
Of some not all banal compunction,
And of your memory in its despair
Reproaching you, "Ah, fi! it was ill done!"


V
I see you still. I softly pushed the door—
As one o'erwhelmed with weariness you lay;
But O light body love should soon restore,
You bounded up, tearful at once and gay.

O what embraces, kisses sweet and wild!
Myself, from brimming eyes I laughed to you
Those moments, among all, O lovely child,
Shall be my saddest, but my sweetest, too.

I will remember your smile, your caress,
Your eyes, so kind that day,—exquisite snare!—
Yourself, in fine, whom else I might not bless,
Only as they appeared, not as they were.


VI
I see you still! Dressed in a summer dress,
Yellow and white, bestrewn with curtain-flowers;
But you had lost the glistening laughingness
Of our delirious former loving hours.

The eldest daughter and the little wife
Spoke plainly in your bearing's least detail,—
Already 'twas, alas! our altered life
That stared me from behind your dotted veil.

Forgiven be! And with no little pride
I treasure up,—and you, no doubt, see why,—
Remembrance of the lightning to one side
That used to flash from your indignant eye!


VII
Some moments, I'm the tempest-driven bark
That runs dismasted mid the hissing spray,
And seeing not Our Lady through the dark
Makes ready to be drowned, and kneels to pray.

Some moments, I'm the sinner at his end,
That knows his doom if he unshriven go,
And losing hope of any ghostly friend,
Sees Hell already gape, and feels it glow.

Oh, but! Some moments, I've the spirit stout
Of early Christians in the lion's care,
That smile to Jesus witnessing, without
A nerve's revolt, the turning of a hair!

[OrphanPip]

Some background information on this poem, Birds in the Night is the original title. Verlaine probably picked an English title because he was traveling in England at the time with Rimbaud. The poem is apparently about his wife. He's pretty self-righteous for a man who left her for a 17 year old boy...

[Virgil]

I finally got the book and now I realize the context.


There has to be a greater context to this because in and by itself it doesn't seem like much of a poem. I've seen Lit Net poems better than this.


From a personal context some poems are preferred over others, but we must remember who Verlaine was and how he used his art, the decadent movement, art for art's sake, there is no higher purpose than the creation of beauty. This theory on art is merely a school of thought of a movement, I personally utterly agree but many shall disagree.

Nonetheless in this context Fantoches succeeds, in its shortness, it is immensely beautiful and lyrical. Some poetry seeks to nourish the mind, but the poetry of beauty nourishes the soul. Do you kinda get what im talking about ?


That poem is part of the Pierre Lunare sequence. I should have realized but my mind is not what it was. :p Of course there is a context to it. I don't think one could really appreciate any single poem from the sequence and really needs to take in the entire sequence. You can read about the stock character here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pierrot

And if you get the chance, Arnold Schonberg put some of the poems (in German translation) to music and you can listen to one of them here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u6LyYdSQQAQ
and here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f0ECHSnzlME&feature=related
and here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aERSzX9W5Qo&feature=related

[stlukesguild]

I never realized that Schoenberg's Pierre Lunaire was a setting of Verlaine. Sopmehow it completely escaped me. Then again... I can't imagine a worse match. Schoenberg strikes me in this work as a cross between German Expressionism and Surrealism... perhaps ideal for George Trakl, Bertolt Brecht, Wedekind... or Kafka... but not Verlaine. Schoenberg is a heavy handed duffer who lacks any of the delicacy and sophistication of Verlaine... but then again... I'm not a big fan of the whole Second Viennese School and their atonal followers... but even so... I find most of these followers (Berg, Webern, etc...) lack Schoenberg's ham-fistedness.

But back to Verlaine...

[OrphanPip]

Pierrot Lunaire is actually a setting of poems by Giraud, a Belgian born contemporary of Schoenberg.

[Virgil]

Pierrot Lunaire is actually a setting of poems by Giraud, a Belgian born contemporary of Schoenberg.

You are correct. I stand corrected. :blush: Sorry about that. But that Verlaine poem was incredibly similar to Lunaire. Then I don't understand the context of that poem.

[JBI]

For Claire de Lune:

The poem functions as an atmosphere of mutability and poetry - what the poem in effect does is paint a picture of the moment as an illusion - the landscape of night is used as the "landscape fantasy" where the setting is but a moment of cloaking, similar in understanding to I would think Keats' night in To a Nightingale. The poem picks up with the symbolic charge of a dinner party, with the music creating an illusion of joviality.

"Strum lutes and dance, just a bit sad to be
Hidden beneath their fanciful disguise. "
The question of music in the poem is one of symbolic infusion as well - music, and the dance marks an opiate, that cloaks everything - the night time is the music, it is the illusion that covers everyone, as they sway to its abandonment - the world of dreams.

The second stanza marks a shift toward introducing a new theme, love - love is part of this realm of night, it is part of the illusion "song mingles with the pale moonlight" meaning it is enveloped in the atmosphere of the illusion.

The last seems to echo the first, finishing the illusion - the world is the world of sleep, where nature itself, for a moment is caught - the world is swallowed by the illusion, part of the music and the party - it is dancing in its sleep if you will - consumed with a temporary sort of illusory quality. The last lines then slams home with the conclusion "Et sangloter d'extase les jets d'eau, /Les grands jets d'eau sveltes parmi les marbres. " The translation reversed the line order, which I think detracts a bit (he did so it would seem for the sake of metre) - the illusion recognizes its mutability - the solid, ever present fountains, which are not an aspect of the night and the natural realize that they are caught in the illusion - their song weeps of the coming morning.

The beauty of the poem, I would argue, functions on what is outside of the poem - we are caught up in the sound and image of the lyric, to the point where we too, briefly, become part of the music - part of the moonlight. It is a brief escape into a world of sensuality that creates a secondary extradiagetic landscape - the world outside the poem is deliberately forced into an illusion, meaning, it's reality is the exact opposite - love is mutable, nature is changing, night is just a brief moment, and its passing sad. The beauty of the poem is Verlaine's ability to sustain the symbol of the moonlight throughout the entire lyric, as both landscape - it's shining over the world, music - it's intoxication, and finally as marker of time, with it's shifting and movement away marking a visual metronome or maestro for the weeping fountains. We as readers are lost within it as much as what is within it - the poem, in effect, has trapped the illusion of moonlight within its verses.


Sorry for the late replies - it was a hectic week, and I didn't have the time to do any of these poems any justice. I will post on the next one later.

[Quark]

For Claire de Lune

Yeah, I'll probably stay on this poem for a little while, too, as I haven't posted much on it yet.

A note on the translation, though. The one posted above is a little loose. For example "et la vie opportune" (English: and the fortunate life) on line 6 isn't even included in the version above. A closer translation can be found here:

http://www.recmusic.org/lieder/get_text.html?TextId=16243


The beauty of the poem, I would argue, functions on what is outside of the poem - we are caught up in the sound and image of the lyric, to the point where we too, briefly, become part of the music - part of the moonlight. It is a brief escape into a world of sensuality that creates a secondary extradiagetic landscape - the world outside the poem is deliberately forced into an illusion, meaning, it's reality is the exact opposite - love is mutable, nature is changing, night is just a brief moment, and its passing sad.

That's a pretty good overall picture of the poem's love/reality conflict. The only thing I might quibble with is the word "brief." You're right that night may give way to morning, but morning isn't exactly some new mode of life. Rather, it's the negation of life through death or the dissolution of relationships. The collection never really gives the idea that there's anything in life beyond loving and illusion. It's not as though a character busts into the poetry and asks the lover to wake up to reality, as might happen in an eighteenth-century work like Mozart's Don Giovanni. Instead, there's only illusion replacing illusion until death. There's no way of repenting of illusion and leading a rational life that accepts death and change.

[JBI]

Hmm, I think we'll have to agree to disagree - I think the briefness of the moment is embedded in the flesh of the poem - the poem is like a song, and everyone knows, all songs end - all poems in effect, die - the effect created cannot be sustained long after the poem has been been complete - the sensual impression of the landscape of moonlight - it is in the world of the sensual, but ultimately, the conclusion, the lines about weeping, referencing back to the lovers falling into the spell of the moonlight to me seems as something transient. To me the moonlight is a moment - a capturing of the essence of a feeling contained within the poem, I can't see that as something sustained - to me the poem gestures toward a loneliness and a sort of deep loss at the fleeting time - the illusion seems dependent on its shattering, if that makes any sense.

The poem ultimately gestures to a sense of loss, of fragility, and also to a sense of pain - I think that is dependent on a sort of unfulfilllment, a rupture in being caught in this emotional ponzi-scheme. In truth it reminds me a lot of Jean Rhys stories above everything, except rather than being ironic, it loses itself in the moment

[Virgil]

Since I've never really read Verlaine before, i've been trying to read in chronological order to absorb his style and themes. I'll get to this poem in a couple of days. I'm enjoying the book so far. :)

[Quark]

Hmm, I think we'll have to agree to disagree - I think the briefness of the moment is embedded in the flesh of the poem - the poem is like a song, and everyone knows, all songs end - all poems in effect, die - the effect created cannot be sustained long after the poem has been been complete

But poem follows poem. This is a collection. The only real conclusion we reach is at the very end when the lovers are ghosts. That's the life represented outside the poem: death, nothingness.


- the sensual impression of the landscape of moonlight - it is in the world of the sensual, but ultimately, the conclusion, the lines about weeping, referencing back to the lovers falling into the spell of the moonlight to me seems as something transient. To me the moonlight is a moment - a capturing of the essence of a feeling contained within the poem,

No, I don't disagree with any of that. As I was saying above, I think you've got exactly the right notion of the tension between illusion and reality. What I'm saying, though, is that there's nothing outside of illusion in the collection. It's not as if the characters are going to wake up to a morning where they accept death and human limitations. Rather, we're just going to get another poem. And that's what happens in the collection until the lovers are ghosts. Even then, they still dream--only retrospectively.

[Alexander III]

Before I comment on the poem I just posted, I want to say something on Moonlight.

Quark and JBI have summed up nicely the poem, however I want to add a small something.

In the first stanza the dancers masked, their masks and ornate costumes are Material which we use to color life so to say, to forget death, yet under the masks, the Material, they are sad, as the concept of death lingers, tainting all else. The scene of the poem, night, darkness reminds, all of death. Then the question of why the fountain sobs with ecstasy ? The fountain like the moon, do not fear death, or more accurately they do not know death. After reading the poem I felt that the concept Verlaine instilled in me was that life and beauty are an illusion, an illusion, a mirage if you will, of death. I may be utterly wrong here, this was just how I felt after having read it.

[Buh4Bee]

I have been following this thread and I ordered the book. I hope to participate more once it arrives.

My reaction toward Verlaine as a “person” is that he was an untter SOB. As a poet, I have no opinion yet.

Given that I have no context and I didn’t pick this up on the thread, who does he write this poem for, Rimbaud? Verlaine sees this love interest/lover as an individual with a sad inner world.

Even while they sing, all in minor key,
of love triumphant and life’s careless boon,
they seem in doubt of their felicity

This love that is between Verlaine and this person seems to be fleeting, brief and beautiful like the melancholic light of the moon. What of the soul and the notion of death?

Your soul is like a painter’s landscape

Is death the end of this night, this love? Is anxiety being expressed over the possible loss of this love? Is it mutual or is Verlaine oberving the state of his love’s soul from a corner? I agree that everything that is in the poem is juxaposed to everything outside the poem. It is like watching a fantastic scene, an illusion, a beautiful night that will soon end.

[Alexander III]

May I suggest the next poem, should lead to some nice discussion, Birds In The Night



You were not over-patient with me, dear;
This want of patience one must rightly rate:
You are so young! Youth ever was severe
And variable and inconsiderate!

You had not all the needful kindness, no;
Nor should one be amazed, unhappily:
You're very young, cold sister mine, and so
'Tis natural you should unfeeling be!

Behold me therefore ready to forgive;
Not gay, of course! but doing what I can
To bear up bravely,—deeply though I grieve
To be, through you, the most unhappy man.


II
But you will own that I was in the right
When in my downcast moods I used to say
That your sweet eyes, my hope, once, and delight!
Were come to look like eyes that will betray.

It was an evil lie, you used to swear,
And your glance, which was lying, dear, would flame,—
Poor fire, near out, one stirs to make it flare!—
And in your soft voice you would say, "Je t'aime!"

Alas! that one should clutch at happiness
In sense's, season's, everything's despite!—
But 'twas an hour of gleeful bitterness
When I became convinced that I was right!



III
And wherefore should I lay my heart-wounds bare?
You love me not,—an end there, lady mine;
And as I do not choose that one shall dare
To pity,—I must suffer without sign.

Yes, suffer! For I loved you well, did I,—
But like a loyal soldier will I stand
Till, hurt to death, he staggers off to die,
Still filled with love for an ungrateful land.

O you that were my Beauty and my Own,
Although from you derive all my mischance,
Are not you still my Home, then, you alone,
As young and mad and beautiful as France?


IV
Now I do not intend—what were the gain?—
To dwell with streaming eyes upon the past;
But yet my love which you may think lies slain,
Perhaps is only wide awake at last.

My love, perhaps,—which now is memory!—
Although beneath your blows it cringe and cry
And bleed to will, and must, as I foresee,
Still suffer long and much before it die,—

Judges you justly when it seems aware
Of some not all banal compunction,
And of your memory in its despair
Reproaching you, "Ah, fi! it was ill done!"


V
I see you still. I softly pushed the door—
As one o'erwhelmed with weariness you lay;
But O light body love should soon restore,
You bounded up, tearful at once and gay.

O what embraces, kisses sweet and wild!
Myself, from brimming eyes I laughed to you
Those moments, among all, O lovely child,
Shall be my saddest, but my sweetest, too.

I will remember your smile, your caress,
Your eyes, so kind that day,—exquisite snare!—
Yourself, in fine, whom else I might not bless,
Only as they appeared, not as they were.


VI
I see you still! Dressed in a summer dress,
Yellow and white, bestrewn with curtain-flowers;
But you had lost the glistening laughingness
Of our delirious former loving hours.

The eldest daughter and the little wife
Spoke plainly in your bearing's least detail,—
Already 'twas, alas! our altered life
That stared me from behind your dotted veil.

Forgiven be! And with no little pride
I treasure up,—and you, no doubt, see why,—
Remembrance of the lightning to one side
That used to flash from your indignant eye!


VII
Some moments, I'm the tempest-driven bark
That runs dismasted mid the hissing spray,
And seeing not Our Lady through the dark
Makes ready to be drowned, and kneels to pray.

Some moments, I'm the sinner at his end,
That knows his doom if he unshriven go,
And losing hope of any ghostly friend,
Sees Hell already gape, and feels it glow.

Oh, but! Some moments, I've the spirit stout
Of early Christians in the lion's care,
That smile to Jesus witnessing, without
A nerve's revolt, the turning of a hair!



This poem was written while Verlaine was in England with Rimbaud, and the subject matter deals with his wife. Poetically I do not think it one of Verlain's greats, the two poems we have perviously discussed are far more beautiful. However I chose this poem as unlike the other two poems it gives great insight into who Verlaine was and his mind.

The poem starts of immediately establishing that his Wife is the one at fault and yet he forgives her as he knows she bears the stupidity of youth. If we compare this to the historical truth , there is alot of irony. Verlaine was a alcoholic who would frequently get drunk, come home and beat her, or occasionally set her hair on fire. To make matter even worse he abandoned her and their daughter for his romantic relation with Rimbaud. Trough all of this however Verlaine seems convinced that he is an innocent man and it is he who forgives her.

His comparison to her and france is also interesting. It shows how Verlaine felt of his country, he loved her, yet found her stupid and mad. Ironically he would turn mad himself, well more mad, soon after having written this poem.

[Buh4Bee]

My favorite part of this selection is when Verlaine compares Mathilda to France.

Yes, suffer! For I loved you well, did I,—
But like a loyal soldier will I stand
Till, hurt to death, he staggers off to die,
Still filled with love for an ungrateful land.

O you that were my Beauty and my Own,
Although from you derive all my mischance,
Are not you still my Home, then, you alone,
As young and mad and beautiful as France?

He talks about loving her like a patriot soldier “staggering off to die, still filled with love for an ungrateful land.” He has left her as he has literally left France. His love now dead, and it was like a long drawn out lethal wound. Although beautiful, she was young. Does her immaturity add any extra weight to Verlaine’s unhappiness?

[Alexander III]

I think the problem Verlaine had with her is that he was in love with her beauty, not her mind, her mind was rather simple I assume, thus it did not stimulate him or provide that joi de vivre which Rimbaud gave him, she was banality and sanity, something Verlaine did not care much for at that point in his life. To put it bluntly (in my opinion) he would sleep with her, then look over her and think to himself, ok time to get out of here, very far away, with Rimabud, time for life, for fun, must escape.

[Buh4Bee]

A3- It makes sense that Verlaine loved her as a creature of beauty and even for amusement’s sake. Verlaine must have been extremely superficial. Who can say he love Rimbaud solely for his intellect, after all he was, what we consider in the States “jail-bait” at 17?

[OrphanPip]

I don't think you can really say that his feelings for Mathilde were more or less superficial than what he felt for Rimbaud. He seems to have been a person ruled by impetuous decisions. What we can say is that Verlaine probably cared about Rimbaud's poetry, he was primarily responsible for promoting Rimbaud after his death and was responsible for publishing a lot of his work.

Edit: Rimbaud was pretty though ;)

http://blogalternarte.files.wordpress.com/2009/05/arthur-rimbaud.jpg

[stlukesguild]

I think the problem Verlaine had with her is that he was in love with her beauty, not her mind, her mind was rather simple I assume, thus it did not stimulate him or provide that joi de vivre which Rimbaud gave him, she was banality and sanity, something Verlaine did not care much for at that point in his life. To put it bluntly (in my opinion) he would sleep with her, then look over her and think to himself, ok time to get out of here, very far away, with Rimabaud, time for life, for fun, must escape.

Verlaine seems to have been quite complex and conflicted... with opposing desires. On one side he wished for the domestic bliss of a middle class marriage and probably the position in academia. Yet he could not control his wild side... his drinking and endless sexual escapades with women and men. When things would get out of hand, he could turn contrite... even turn to the church and become the most humble of believers... and then run off for wild nights of drink, drugs, and debauchery with Rimbaud across Europe.

It is interesting that the poets largely blamed Rimbaud for debauching Verlaine and leading to his downfall... especially after his thinly veiled criticism of Verlaine in A Season in Hell. But I suspect that had it not been for Rimbaud, Verlaine would have still had plenty of personal demons to assure his downfall.

[Alexander III]

http://www.corona2.altervista.org/images/verlaine.jpg



Here is Verlaine, he had a rather babyish innocent face as well, if he had some hair and less beard, he would have been a very handsome man in my opinion.


Verlaine in my opinion was simply a man who required constant change. He would experience his wife then desperately thirst for something different, where by he would experience Rimbaud and then begin to desperately crave his wife again. The same can be said of his life he would crave an honest bourgeois life and then grow to despise it and crave madness, it was an endless cycle of change, which would rule the course of his life. He constantly required the new new.

[Buh4Bee]

"Rimbaud was pretty though."
Agreed, he was attractive.

I agree that we can't really know at what level Verlaine attached himself to Mathilde or Rimbaud. But to focus on the poetry, he clearly cared for her or he wouldn't have written this piece. He mentions several memories of her "I see you still. I softly pushed the door-" It seems he must have been in great pain and was trying to rid myself of guilt by means of slicing her from his heart.

"But 'twas an hour of gleeful bitterness
When I became convinced that I was right."

Verlaine was suffering, "I must suffer without sign- Yes suffer! For I loved you well, did I". So it may have been a very deep attachment to Mathilda, who can tell?

[mayneverhave]

[COLOR="DarkRed"]

Verlaine seems to have been quite complex and conflicted... with opposing desires. On one side he wished for the domestic bliss of a middle class marriage and probably the position in academia. Yet he could not control his wild side... his drinking and endless sexual escapades with women and men. When things would get out of hand, he could turn contrite... even turn to the church and become the most humble of believers... and then run off for wild nights of drink, drugs, and debauchery with Rimbaud across Europe.

This is apparent when you juxtapose Verlaine's collection, La bonne chanson, with the later Romances sans paroles. The former celebrates the bliss of marriage and home life, while the later, which is considered his most consistent collection (and features the "Birds in the Night" poem we are considering), was written while traveling across Europe with Rimbaud.

Verlaine, as the Oxford translator puts it, was a man driven by contradictory motives. Apparently anytime he took himself to one extreme (either his love for his wife, or his love for a debauched existence), he would swerve to the reverse.

[Buh4Bee]

Thank you, this helps to clarify Verlaine's ambivalence for me.

[Quark]

I haven't gotten to Romances sans paroles, yet, but I enjoyed the poem above--particularly the last three stanzas. Tomorrow I'll read through more of the poems and try to respond to some of the content.

[Quark]

I think the problem Verlaine had with her is that he was in love with her beauty, not her mind

I don't think you can really say that his feelings for Mathilde were more or less superficial than what he felt for Rimbaud. He seems to have been a person ruled by impetuous decisions.

Verlaine seems to have been quite complex and conflicted... with opposing desires. On one side he wished for the domestic bliss of a middle class marriage and probably the position in academia. Yet he could not control his wild side... his drinking and endless sexual escapades with women and men. When things would get out of hand, he could turn contrite... even turn to the church and become the most humble of believers... and then run off for wild nights of drink, drugs, and debauchery with Rimbaud across Europe.

The discussion's taken a pretty biographical turn. I'm curious how people are putting together Verlaine's life. There isn't much in the poem's text that points to his variability--quite the opposite, as he's portrayed as the faithful lover who was betrayed. Is there a biographical introduction to the recent Oxford edition of Verlaine's poems, or is there research afoot?

Without the biographical context I might be at a disadvantage here, but I'll give a reading anyway. When I first read the poem, what jumped out is the sharp opposition drawn between Verlaine and his love. Each mirrors and inverts the other. Verlaine is the picture of steady will with his permanent attachment to his lover, but he's emotionally unstable to the point that he can imagine himself in three completely different roles in the last three stanzas. His lover, however, is the opposite: fickle in her desire and action, but emotionally stable (she doesn't suffer, apparently, as Verlaine does). When I run across oppositions like these I usually draw a diagram like this:


http://i223.photobucket.com/albums/dd300/Quark3/diagram1.jpg
All artwork is perfected in MS Paint

That seems to be how the characters are set up at the moment the poem is being related, but the poem also recounts moment when things were much different for the speaker. Lines like these from the fifth section tell of a past much different from how things end up:


I see you still. I softly pushed the door—
As one o'erwhelmed with weariness you lay;
But O light body love should soon restore,
You bounded up, tearful at once and gay.

O what embraces, kisses sweet and wild!
Myself, from brimming eyes I laughed to you
Those moments, among all, O lovely child,

Here, the speaker finds the emotional certainty and enjoyment lacking in the seventh and final section of the poem. This is the past where the former lover's deceit hasn't been recognized (or "understood" as the translation would have it), and the speaker can enjoy the woman sensuously unimpeded. Maybe a more accurate diagram would have both speakers (past and present):


http://i223.photobucket.com/albums/dd300/Quark3/diagram2.jpg
Seriously, I love Microsoft Paint

The poem seems to be about the progress Verlaine goes through from blissful ignorance and enjoyment to bleak realization and the resulting emotional turmoil. Yet, this isn't just something that happens once. The "understanding" (comprend) in the first section of the poem is not something that comes all at once, but rather it's something that Verlaine or the speaker (whichever you have it) is still doing--even as the poem is written. Despite the fact that he claims to understand (comprend) why his former-lover never cared for him, he never fully does understand. He blames it on her youth, her indifference, her madness, but he's never able to completely believe in any of these reasons. He never comes to a final conclusion about what happened, or where it all leaves him. The final three stanzas show just how unsure about it all he is:


VII
Some moments, I'm the tempest-driven bark
That runs dismasted mid the hissing spray,
And seeing not Our Lady through the dark
Makes ready to be drowned, and kneels to pray.

Some moments, I'm the sinner at his end,
That knows his doom if he unshriven go,
And losing hope of any ghostly friend,
Sees Hell already gape, and feels it glow.

Oh, but! Some moments, I've the spirit stout
Of early Christians in the lion's care,
That smile to Jesus witnessing, without
A nerve's revolt, the turning of a hair!

This is the emotionally unstable speaker, and we see now that his emotional instability is the result of his inability to fashion a full picture of what happened. In one moment, he's elevated by his love to the status of a martyr. In other moments, he feels that none of it meant anything and he's shut off from her forever. I think that's what behind the anaphora of the opening and concluding sections. He's not remembering the relationship once, but instead remembering it again and again in many different ways. It's not just a poem about Verlaine rationalizing his horrible behavior (although there's plenty of that). It also appears to be about the problems he's having putting everything together and knowing where to go from here.

[Alexander III]

Wow thats a great response quark, and yes I have to agree with your diagrams the theory makes sense once pondered.

Oh and by the by guys if you want you should check out the movie Total Eclipse, it deals with Rimbaud and Verlaine's relationship and it portrays them in a very historically accurate way, giving further insight into their lives and by some token their poesy.

[Buh4Bee]

I suppose part of my desire to understand Verlaine as a human being helps to understand his poetry at a deeper contextual level. I find his writing to be very vivid. The images (symbols) communicate his poetic notion.

[stlukesguild]

Returning to an earlier collection, actually Verlaine's first, Poèmes saturniens, published when the author was 22, I have always been fond of this particular poem:

CAPRICES

I. Woman and Cat

She was playing with her cat,
and it was marvelous to see
white hand and white paw, pitty-pat,
spar in the evening sportively.

The little wretch hid in her paws,
those black silk mittens, murderously,
the deadly agate of her claws,
keen as a razor's edge can be.

Her steel drawn in, the other seemed
all sugar, the sly hypocrite,
but the devil didn't lose a bit...

and in the room where, sonorous,
her airy laughter rang, there gleamed
four sharp points of phosphorous.

excerpted from Caprices, tr. C.F. MacIntyre

Elle jouait avec sa chatte,
Et c'était merveille de voir
La main blanche et la blanche patte
S'ébattre dans l'ombre du soir.

Elle cachait - la scélérate ! -
Sous ces mitaines de fil noir
Ses meurtriers ongles d'agate,
Coupants et clairs comme un rasoir.

L'autre aussi faisait la sucrée
Et rentrait sa griffe acérée,
Mais le diable n'y perdait rien...

Et dans le boudoir où, sonore,
Tintait son rire aérien,
Brillaient quatre points de phosphore.


I elected for MacIntyre's translation simply because it was the one on which I first came to know and admire this poem. I had to laugh at the painting chosen to accompany this poem on the site from which I culled the original French:

http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4113/4846787050_7cf279de5f.jpg

A lovely painting, to be sure, but lacking any of the smoldering sense of danger that Verlaine's poem suggests.

Verlaine was a member of a group of poets known as the Parnassians. The name was taken from the Journal, Le Parnasse contemporain which in itself referred, of course, to the Greek Mount Parnassus. The ideals of the Parnassians were rooted in the writings of Theophile Gautier's l'art pour l'art (art for art's sake)... aesthetic ideals echoed in Oscar Wilde, Walter Pater, Baudelaire, etc... The Parnassians strove for artistic perfection and faultless craftsmanship. They commonly employed exotic or classical subjects drawn from the world of art, history, and mythology. They treated these subjects with a certain emotional calm or detachment.

Looking at Verlaine's poem, I do not think of anything so much as Baudelaire:

Come here kitty- Sheath your claws!
Lie on my loving heart
and let me sink into your eyes
of agate fused with steel.

When my fingers freely caress
your head and supple spine
and my hand thrills to the touch
of you electric fur,

My mistress comes to mind- Her gaze-
cold and deep as yours,
my pet- is like a stab of pain,

and from head to heels,
a subtle scent, a dangerous perfume,
rises from her brown flesh.

excerpted from Spleen et Ideal, from Les Fleurs du Mal, Charles Baudelaire, tr. Richard Howard

Verlaine's poem is almost certainly based upon Baudelaire's... employing the same analogy between his lover and his cat and the danger that lies beneath her beauty... but also even employing some of the same choice of words: agate and steel/razor. Like Baudelaire, Verlaine frames the "romantic" subject within the most classical of format... the sonnet... yet Baudelaire's poem... for all the formalistic perfection and limitation of the structure... is far more emotional... suggestive... even erotic. Verlaine's poem compared to Baudelaire's is far closer to the Renoir painting... far more detached. Still, it is a marvelous poem, and I find the closing image of the four glowing points of phosphorous just as powerful and suggestive as Baudelaire's perfume.

[OrphanPip]

It certainly brings to mind Baudelaire's "Cat," but Verlaine's poem seems to me much less sensual, it's almost misogynistic even in its insistence on the hidden dangers of femininity. It's definitely more distant, Baudelaire's cat is being called to the speaker, while Verlaine's seems to be observing as an outsider. There's also a bit of playfulness in Verlaine's language that is absent in Baudelaire.

Verlaine's poem seems to me to be more a complaint about aristocratic women. The woman and cat in the poem begin in innocent play, but the cat is a scoundrel (expressed in a sort of mock surprise by the speaker) and her claws are hidden under fine gloves. The cat is acting as a sort of symbol of feminine deceptiveness, the feminine danger is hidden under fine gloves and in the background of the boudoir. I don't think there's as much misogynistic mistrust of women being expressed in Baudelaire's poem, the lover in that poem seems more of a sensual femme fatalle.

I agree that the image in the final lines is a fine one, the idea of a fine lady sitting in her boudoir laughing while a set of glowing claws looms out from under her chair.

[Quark]

Good poem to read after "Birds in the Night." Female deception runs high here as well. Yet, it's interesting that in "Birds in the Night" deceptiveness signals a lack of substance. The attachment that the speaker intuited dissolves in her deception. The sensual moments do nothing but remind the speaker of her absence. In "Woman and Cat," however, deceptiveness is full of substance. It's what makes her enticing. It's what causes pain. Verlaine seems to believe in deception (if that's possible) in this poem.

[Buh4Bee]

Poem’s imagery:
I found the imagery to be delightful. The images of the lady playing with the cat in the evening light and later the cat attacking her in the bedroom while she laughs is ever so pretty. It is aesthically beautiful.

Poem’s content:
The woman is deceptive:

“She was hiding (sheer wickness)
Under black-threaded mittens
Murderous agate nails
As clear and cutting as razors.”

Verlaine calls the other (the cat) a hypocrite for claws drawn in.

One can compare the lady to the cat. Although the cat is the one with the claws, the lady is the one who can cut deeper. There is a mystery to this, an anxiety if you will, about the unpredictable nature of the appearance of the claws followed by the painful swipe. She is deceptive in her game and quite light-hearted about it. If there is a parallel being drawn between the game between the woman and her cat and the mind games between men and women, then I do not think Verlaine is presenting one side of this woman’s nature.

[Quark]

Although the cat is the one with the claws, the lady is the one who can cut deeper.

I wonder what people think about her cutting, though. "Birds in the Night" referred to the lover's infidelity, but how is the lover in "Woman and Cat" deceptive? How and what does she cut?

[OrphanPip]

I wonder what people think about her cutting, though. "Birds in the Night" referred to the lover's infidelity, but how is the lover in "Woman and Cat" deceptive? How and what does she cut?

I don't think it's particularly addressing a way she is deceptive. Rather, the poem associates the woman with the cat, and the cat in turn is associated with bourgeois trappings.

I'm not a big fan of the translation posted above, I feel it takes away a lot of the playfulness found in the original French. I get a sense from the original that the speaker is amused by the cat's antics, but recognizes that the cat represents hidden danger (looming claws in the boudoir), and the poem deliberately draws attention to the similarities between the cat and the woman.

I feel the four claws at the end are more suggestive of the danger the woman represents, rather than merely being a description of the cat looming to attack her. Likewise, the third stanza isn't clear about whether the talons are the cats, or the woman's. What I find particularly interesting is the description of both the woman and cat maintaining an outward demeanor of "sweetness" despite being in conflict.

It seems more like Verlaine is saying something like, "look at those silly bourgeois women and the games they play, they're such hypocrites."

[Quark]

I don't think it's particularly addressing a way she is deceptive. Rather, the poem associates the woman with the cat, and the cat in turn is associated with bourgeois trappings.

Deceptive may be too strong, but what is it that's hidden beneath the paws or mittens? So many poems we've read bring a plaintive undertone to an amorous topic. What's the sadness here? The woman is obviously desirable in some way, but how is she dangerous? What is the hidden danger here?

[OrphanPip]

Deceptive may be too strong, but what is it that's hidden beneath the paws or mittens? So many poems we've read bring a plaintive undertone to an amorous topic. What's the sadness here? The woman is obviously desirable in some way, but how is she dangerous? What is the hidden danger here?

I think deceptive might be the wrong choice of word, she seems to me now more fickle, or just simply untrustworthy. However, the phosphorous, linking the cat back to the devil, and the claws suggest she has the ability to wound. It's not really clear what it is, but I feel there's a fondness for the woman mixed in with a sense of distrust.

Edit: Back to those mittens too, they're described as being black cloth, but in the previous stanza the cat has white paws. The line between the cat and the woman isn't clear, is it the woman with claws hidden under gloves, or is it just a clever description of a cat's paws. It might also be pertinent that Verlaine uses "ongle" rather than "griffe" in that stanza, which specifically means nails instead of claws.

[Buh4Bee]

Thank you for the clarification between the cat and woman concerning the gloves. I was a bit confused myself, Orphan Pip.

Quark- I believe you are questioning the woman's possibility for deception in the Woman and the Cat. To me the poem was not so much about the woman, but more about Verlaine's amusement or curiosity about this woman and her potential danger toward men. How cruel can this prim lady actually be? What will happen if the gloves are removed? It is like an anxiety or a dislike towards women for baring the ability to act cruelly toward the opposite sex with no concern for apology after the fact. One may see a link between the relationships Verlaine experiences in his biographical life toward women like his mother and his wife when attempting to understand the poem. Mathilda may have like to play games, but could hurt deeply just to maintain the upper hand. This may have been a similar way his mother was and it was hard to deal with from both women

[OrphanPip]

The title of the section this poem appears in seems relevant, caprice implies impulsiveness or fickle observations. I wonder if the speaker is the capricious one, or is it the woman?

I think it might be time to move onto another poem, I don't have the collection and I've been working with original French mostly, with occasional recourse to dictionaries.

[Quark]

I think deceptive might be the wrong choice of word, she seems to me now more fickle, or just simply untrustworthy.

Quark- I believe you are questioning the woman's possibility for deception in the Woman and the Cat. To me the poem was not so much about the woman, but more about Verlaine's amusement or curiosity about this woman and her potential danger toward men.

Phrase it how you will, I was just wondering about what's behind the "danger" or "untrustworthiness." Considering that the last two poems we've looked at showed various different problems with women and love (whether it's the illusory nature of it all in Fetes Gallantes or the infedelity of the lover in "Birds in the Night"), discovering the problems in this poem might be really illuminating as to it's meaning and effect. Is the woman here a particular woman like in "Birds in the Night"? Does her danger or untrustworthiness refer to an actual instance like in the previous poem we looked at? Or, does the woman just represent a class? Is she dangerous because she's going to run off with another man like in the previous poem? Or, is she dangerous because she toys with men's emotions--like so many of the lovers in a Balzac novel? These are some of the questions that I think the poem raises. I haven't had a chance to give the poems or their context much thought yet, so I thought I'd bring it up on the thread. I'd be willing to move on, too, though.

[JBI]

Phrase it how you will, I was just wondering about what's behind the "danger" or "untrustworthiness." Considering that the last two poems we've looked at showed various different problems with women and love (whether it's the illusory nature of it all in Fetes Gallantes or the infedelity of the lover in "Birds in the Night"), discovering the problems in this poem might be really illuminating as to it's meaning and effect. Is the woman here a particular woman like in "Birds in the Night"? Does her danger or untrustworthiness refer to an actual instance like in the previous poem we looked at? Or, does the woman just represent a class? Is she dangerous because she's going to run off with another man like in the previous poem? Or, is she dangerous because she toys with men's emotions--like so many of the lovers in a Balzac novel? These are some of the questions that I think the poem raises. I haven't had a chance to give the poems or their context much thought yet, so I thought I'd bring it up on the thread. I'd be willing to move on, too, though.

I don't know - it seems like she is dangerous because the poem's speaker is visibly vulnerable, and she is apathetic. Ultimately its his own objectification of the woman - as the cat, the object of beauty and ornament, but also the object of striking pain that both empowers her to not toy with his emotions, but strike through her indifference. After all, why should she show affection? Why should she be the soft-mitten-wearing ornament to be stroked by his ego? She is sharp because she is independent, and he needs her, or seems to need her more than she needs him.

The poem is beautiful in that it articulates the main concept of male obsession with the unattainable female, who, being independent of him, and not interested, creates an emotion disturbance and pain for the out-of-luck male. Probably something along the lines of the narrator from Araby, or Heathcliff, or any other number of characters, though the one that best comes to mind is Lensky from Onegin.

The idealized male obsession with the woman is ultimately coupled by the emotional pain of rejection, knowing that she doesn't necessarily feel the same way. The poem feels quite Petrarchan to me, except the cat is a more interesting symbol than the conventional conceits of war and hunting we get in Renaissance writers.

The distance the poet makes, in drawing a portrait rather than articulating an emotion shows a new twist to the world, where the hyper-sensualized landscape of 19th century France seems to carry a beyond-real elliptical reality with it, rather than a conceited convention of dialogue heavy poetry.

[LitNetIsGreat]

Hi, I'm afraid I have lost my way on this thread as I have been away. What poem are we on now and are we likely to be moving to a new poem soon? Thanks.

[stlukesguild]

The poem is beautiful in that it articulates the main concept of male obsession with the unattainable female, who, being independent of him, and not interested, creates an emotion disturbance and pain for the out-of-luck male.

I agree that there is something to this. The entire notion of the femme fatale became a common image during this era in which women were asserting their rights... and independence from men. Of course while he proclaims that the danger lies in her beauty or her sexuality because these leave him vulnerable to desires contrary to his better logical thoughts, in reality the danger lies in himself... in his own passions. In the case of Verlaine... this was not something feigned. His sexual desires... for women or men... led him astray and down dark paths that he repeatedly regretted.

Neely... we're discussing the Woman and Cat poem that I posted back on July 31st.

[JBI]

The poem is beautiful in that it articulates the main concept of male obsession with the unattainable female, who, being independent of him, and not interested, creates an emotion disturbance and pain for the out-of-luck male.

I agree that there is something to this. The entire notion of the femme fatale became a common image during this era in which women were asserting their rights... and independence from men. Of course while he proclaims that the danger lies in her beauty or her sexuality because these leave him vulnerable to desires contrary to his better logical thoughts, in reality the danger lies in himself... in his own passions. In the case of Verlaine... this was not something feigned. His sexual desires... for women or men... led him astray and down dark paths that he repeatedly regretted.

Neely... we're discussing the Woman and Cat poem that I posted back on July 31st.

Of course, though, to be honest, I don't think it has to do with women's rights - to me it smells of urban culture - Petrarch is saying the same thing, only he is making it a literary trope - here the urban culture sets a disturbance, coupled with a semi-understood commercialism - the female aesthetic has changed so significantly that the assertive heart-breaker of a woman has become the idolized female form, her wry laugh rather than taken as a "innocent" charm becomes a demonized taunt.

To me it just shows the shift of landscape toward a highly urbanized industrialized form - to me the woman as cat seems emblematic of a society where money, class, and prestige, coupled by a subclass of struggling artists and scholars echo in the background. Paris is the world turned upside down, and the cat is just the urbanized female. Though ultimately, I guess woman's suffrage does play a minor role, I would argue it comes from the destruction of the good Shepherdess that dominates the shattered pastoral ideal. The solitary reaper, or angelic devout Laura don't seem to hold as models in a world that has become totally sexualized and commercial.

[LitNetIsGreat]

I read the "Woman and Cat" and then looked back over the thread and pretty much came to the same conclusions as the majority, so I've not got much to add apart from a half-forgotten minor points that are not really worth mentioning. So shall we go on with a new poem to freshen things up a bit?

[stlukesguild]

Post away, Neely!:nod:

[Buh4Bee]

Would someone like to pick a poem from Sagesse (1880)? This is the next collection.

[LitNetIsGreat]

Go on then you choose one from Sagesse.

[LitNetIsGreat]

Mr Jersey, if you have not logged-on to pick one before I get up early tomorrow, at around 10am ish, and given me enough time to make a coffee, say 10.45am then I'll pick one. As we can't keep everyone waiting can we? :) If you log on before this time, choose a poem and I'll gladly then read it with my coffee and custard danish, yum, yum!

[Buh4Bee]

Mr. jersey will still be in bed, so I'll leave it up to you, my dear.

[stlukesguild]

Sagesse has never been one of my favorite books of Verlaine's poetry... and it seems I am not alone in this. Norman R. Shapiro in his introduction to the book notes that the question is not or should not be the sincerity of Verlaine's (temporary) longings toward "wisdom" and spirituality. As Oscar Wilde notes, "All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling" (Something our lovers of Bukowski have yet to have learned... but that's neither here nor there). Regardless of the Verlaine's sincerity, if Sagesse had been symptomatic of Verlaine's output, he would most likely have been considered little more than a very competent, second-rate poet.

Instead of drawing something from Sagesse, I thought I'd throw out two different poems from two other books... either/both of which we might discuss... as no one else seems up to the task. The first poem comes from the volume Romances sans Paroles (1874):

Bright in the evening's gray and pinkish blur...


Bright in the evening's gray and pinkish blur,
A piano stands, kissed by a sleight, frail hand,
While, like the whisper of a wing astir,
An air from long ago- faint, obscure, and
Yet fair- haunts the boudoir as if it were
Fearful to tread midst the perfume of Her.

What is this cradle that, now, suddenly,
Rocks my poor body, lulls my being? Why?
What do you want, mischievous Melody?
Sweet muted strain? What would you do with me,
You who will soon be dying, over by
The window open on the greenery.

tr. Norman R. Shapiro from Romances sans Paroles


The piano kissed by slender hand
Has vague sheens in the gray-pink light
Of evening, while on almost silent wings,
A slight and very old and charming air
Roams discreetly, as if scared
Of that inner sanctum full of Her...

tr. Martin Sorrell excerpeted


Le piano que baise une main frêle
Luit dans le soir rose et gris vaguement,
Tandis qu'un très léger bruit d'aile
Un air bien vieux, bien faible et bien charmant
Rôde discret, épeuré quasiment,
Par le boudoir longtemps parfumé d'Elle.

Qu'est-ce que c'est que ce berceau soudain
Qui lentement dorlote mon pauvre être ?
Que voudrais-tu de moi, doux Chant badin ?
Qu'as-tu voulu, fin refrain incertain
Qui vas tantôt mourir vers la fenêtre
Ouverte un peu sur le petit jardin ?


This poem dates from a period in which Verlaine and Mathilde (his wife) have been separated, and he has been denied all permission of visiting her (rightly so) at her apartment.

I quite prefer Shapiro's translation of this poem for the strength of certain images... and looking at a literal translation it seems closer to the original.

Where the poems from Fête galante made much reference to music as the accompaniment of loveplay... here the music is an "ancient" air... something long past... like his and Mathilde's love... and something still mischievous... seductive... but also muted... and soon dying.


The other poem I thought I'd throw out is from Verlaine's last major collection, Parallèlement (1889). Parallèlement rejects the contrite, apologetic air of Sagesse (and the title was intended as a pun on Sagesse: "Parallèlement' à Sagesse, Amour, et aussi à Bonheur qui va suivre et conclure.") and returns to the subject in which Verlaine is at his best: love and eroticism.

Parallèlement is a collection of lusty, earthy, erotic inspiration. There are six Lesbian sonnets which were no longer seen as too scandalous for publication, a grouping entitled Filles, in which the poet sings the physical praises of the female, and several more groupings. One particularly lust poem that stands out to me is entitled Loins:

Last night, in my dreams, two fabulous women
Came to me during a ball (I ask you, a Ball!)
One was rather thin and blonde, with one blue eye,
The other black, She had a haunting pagan look.

The second was dark and sly and promised harm.
Breasts thrilled to be seen, Breasts for a god!
Curving backs- described by hot hands
Under their dresses swish and sweep

Plunged with such beauty and such wild joy,
Song without words, so to speak,
Royal rearguard on the battle field of love.

Ah! These Belles Dames! Study France's coat of arms-
Did what they did to prick me into life,
Astonished that I didn't give a damn.

tr. Martin Sorell, excerpted from Parallèlement

Last night two women came to me, a pair
Fairer than fair. (Imagine! In my dream
My thought was of the ball, strange though it seem!)
One with darkness fraught- menacing glare-

One eye black, one of blue, thin, blonde of hair.
The other with a look that seemed to scheme
And flatter: Hair brown, breasts, divine, supreme!
Both lovelies, rich of loin, with that proud air,

Joyous, that makes the hand hot, tingle at
Those rustling underskirt delights; loins that
(Lustful rear guard!) lacked only speech for battle...

excerpted from Norman R. Shapiro's translation


Lombes

Deux femmes des mieux m’ont apparu cette nuit.
Mon rêve était au bal, je vous demande un peu !
L’une d’entre elles maigre assez, blonde, un œil bleu,
Un noir et ce regard mécréant qui poursuit.

L’autre, brune au regard sournois qui flatte et nuit,
Seins joyeux d’être vus, dignes d’un demi-dieu !
Et toutes deux avaient, pour rappeler le jeu
De la main chaude, sous la traîne qui bruit,

Des bas de dos très beaux et d’une gaîté folle
Auxquels il ne manquait vraiment que la parole,
Royale arrière-garde aux combats du plaisir.

Et ces Dames — scrutez l’armorial de France —
S’efforçaient d’entamer l’orgueil de mon désir,
Et n’en revenaient pas de mon indifférence.

Vouziers (Ardennes), 13 avril — 23 mai 1885.


beyond the humorous... self deprecating eroticism that echoes some of the poems of John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, among others, Verlaine makes continued allusion to Rimbaud through the continued allusion to "beautiful loins" ("reins beaux"/Rimbaud) which he employs elsewhere in the collection. I also found that I was immediately reminded of one of Heinrich Heine's poems:

Yolante and Marie

3.

The bottles are empty, the breakfast was fine,
The ladies are flushed- on the brink,
They pull off their corsets with wanton design-
They're pretty well laced, I think.

Their shoulders, how white! their breast, how pert!
My heart skips a half-dozen beats.
They pull off the slip along with the skirt
And, laughing, jump under the sheets.

They draw down the curtains, without further talk,
And finally sleep like the dead.
And all of the while I stand and I gawk
And stare like an oaf at the bed.

tr. Hal Draper, excerpted from Yolante and Marie

Of course there are great differences in the two poems. Heine's poem is something of a confession of an erotic experience of a comic nature... the naive or inexperienced... or simply shocked poet stands by like a bumpkin not knowing what to do with these two lovelies. Verlaine's narrative, on the other hand, is that of a dream... and one that is surely far more knowing... yet jaded. This is a poet that seems far removed from the man who wrote the playful and flirtatious fantasies of the [I]Fêtes galantes[/I. Where the youthful poet sang of the splendours of young love... the glimpse of an ankle... or the nape of the neck... a secret rendezvous... the shimmer of satin and lace (even though he knew that all this was an illusion)... the poet of this poem is wordly, profane... and disenchanted with love and sex. He can sing the praises of a fine pair of breasts or a plump a**... but his experiences have left him indifferent... if not somewhat callous.

Interestingly enough, the great French art dealer, Pierre Vollard, chose of all people, Pierre Bonnard, to produce the illustrations for Parallèlement. Bonnard, follows in the tradition of Renoir as a painter of the intimate private life with the most delicate touch... the Rococo... Watteau... filtered through Impressionism. There could have been no better choice to of an artist to illustrate Verlaine... although Bonnard's work is far more suggestive of the poet of [I]Fêtes galantes[/I. Bonnard's work on Parallèlement greatly helped to establish his reputation as an artist... and the great edition... published in 1900... some 4 years following Verlaine's death... surely helped to secure his position as well:

http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4117/4884500562_78b39694f3_b.jpg

http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4114/4884500710_8dd801691a_b.jpg

http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4134/4884500814_1d94809321_b.jpg

http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4097/4883898571_2dbae1e5d6_b.jpg

[Jeremydav]

Bright in the evening's gray and pinkish blur...


Bright in the evening's gray and pinkish blur,
A piano stands, kissed by a sleight, frail hand,
While, like the whisper of a wing astir,
An air from long ago- faint, obscure, and
Yet fair- haunts the boudoir as if it were
Fearful to tread midst the perfume of Her.

What is this cradle that, now, suddenly,
Rocks my poor body, lulls my being? Why?
What do you want, mischievous Melody?
Sweet muted strain? What would you do with me,
You who will soon be dying, over by
The window open on the greenery.

Wow. This one is really beautiful and I would love to discuss it. The first thing that catches my eye, besides the outstanding imagery and use of verbs like "stands" and "kissed", was the "air from long ago." It seems as if the narrator is revisiting feeling he had for the woman at the piano, but is cautious to realize them. That caution is skillfully personified, and this poem is so subtly executed; I digress, I know.

In the second stanza, the sickness of love is really apparent, and captured so well by the cradle, rocking his poor body. He is confused by the trance she places upon him, and reassures himself that this feeling will pass. These are aspects of love (or simple infatuation, perhaps) that are rarely so well realized. They are those simplicities in human nature that come through in poetry so very well, especially in the case of such a subtle poet as Verlaine.

[Buh4Bee]

I was struck by the lamenting quality of this poem. Verlaine is lamenting about the end of the relationship with his wife, as has been mentioned. He is still quite wounded over this finality. It seems as if the poem was written in the presence of a solitary piano located by a large garden window with the setting light reflecting off of it. The piano is being played and the window is open, as if these two features were juxtaposed. Perhaps the only "melody" that will float out into the garden is the sound of possible tears of heart ache. The melody is muted "sweet muted strain" but yet the piano is being played in the light of dusk. The pain is hopefully evaporating with the midst of her perfume. It makes one feel the deep pain in a comfortable, almost serene setting.

[LitNetIsGreat]

Yes I like this one. It’s very delicate and sensual and I like the narrative quality, the way we get a mini-story of human interest which was similar to the other poems we looked at. Here the narrator figure is clearly in pain by the memories associated with the music and with her, significantly perhaps “dying” at the window as is their love. This “dying” also gives an impression of the movement of the music, adding to the atmosphere of the piece which is really crammed with sensuality and light – especially in the first stanza (in either translation).

The window, for me, also creates or represents a sort of barrier between them – shutting out her as something now unattainable. She is hardly described - all we get is a slender hand, but even so the use of sensual imagery surrounding her gives a wonderful impression of appearance and character - like an impressionist painting perhaps? The power for me here lies in what is not said, as well as what is. This is of course a skill for most writing in general, though more prominent in poetry perhaps, either way it is employed to good effective in this piece and in the poems we previously looked at, adding to it an air of intrigue and mystery which stays with the reader long after the poem has ended.