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.
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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.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Alexander III
Quote:
Originally Posted by OrphanPip
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?Quote:
Originally Posted by stlukesguild
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/d...3/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:
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):Quote:
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,
http://i223.photobucket.com/albums/d...3/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:
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.Quote:
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!
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.
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.
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/...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.
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.
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.
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.
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?Quote:
Originally Posted by jersea
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.Quote:
Originally Posted by Quark
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."
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?Quote:
Originally Posted by OrphanPip
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.Quote:
Originally Posted by Quark
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.
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
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.
Quote:
Originally Posted by OrphanPip
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.Quote:
Originally Posted by jersea
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.Quote:
Originally Posted by Quark
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.
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.
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.Quote:
Originally Posted by stlukesguild
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.
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?
Post away, Neely!:nod:
Would someone like to pick a poem from Sagesse (1880)? This is the next collection.
Go on then you choose one from Sagesse.
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!
Mr. jersey will still be in bed, so I'll leave it up to you, my dear.
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/...b39694f3_b.jpg
http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4114/...d801691a_b.jpg
http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4134/...94809321_b.jpg
http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4097/...bae1e5d6_b.jpg
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.
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.
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.