9 April 1821 – 31 August 1867
Anywhere Out Of The World
What is exhilarating in bad taste is the aristocratic pleasure of giving offense.
Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet. Squibs, Intimate Journals, sct. 18 (1887), trans. by Christopher Isherwood (1930), rev. Don Bachardy (1989).
Hugo, like a priest, always has his head bowedbowed so low that he can see nothing except his own navel.
Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet. "Squibs," sect. 22, Intimate Journals (1887), trans. by Christopher Isherwood (1930), revised by Don Bachardy (1989). Of Victor Hugo.
It is the hour to be drunken! To escape being the martyred slaves of time, be ceaselessly drunk. On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish.
Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867), French poet. Complete Works, vol. 1, "Shorter Prose Poems," ed. Yves-Gérard le Dantec; rev. Claude Pichois (1953). Enivrez-vous, Figaro (Paris, Feb. 7, 1864).
02 May 09:22
Dear poem hunter creators. My long overdue message to you. Wow. Great gaudy generous gratitude. Finding Baudelaire reminded me of all the thanks you deserve for this website. Bless you all. I turn to you so often for Respite and hope.
A disinterested bystander
24 Nov 2017 01:15
Baudelaire's great talent I suppose was distilling sour grapes into eloquence.
09 Jun 2016 01:03
'' Who among us has not dreamt, in moments of ambition, of the miracle of a poetic prose, musical without rhythm and rhyme, supple and staccato enough to adapt to the lyrical stirrings of the soul, the undulations of dreams, and sudden leaps of consciousness. This obsessive idea is above all a child of giant cities, of the intersecting of their myriad relations. '' (from: Dedication of 'Le Spleen de Paris' * * also known as 'Paris Spleen' or 'Petits Poèmes en prose'