I thought I'd post my favorite Baudelaire poem, which many of you probably already know, for Poetry Thursday (though I didn't link to the PT site)-- you inspired me, bug! This translation is by George Dillard, and is in my opinion the best I've read:
The Voice
My bassinet against the wall of books was thrust:
A gloomy Babel, where fiction, science, fabliau,
Everything, Latin ashes and Hellenic dust,
Mingled in chaos. When I was high as a folio,
Two voices spoke to me. The one, insidious, firm,
Was saying: “Earth is a most delicious cake. Be wise.
I can (and then your joy would have an endless term)
Give you an appetite of corresponding size.”
The other voice said, “Come! Come travel into dreams,
Far out, beyond the possible, beyond the known.”
That voice was like the wind along the shore, that seems
A music out of nowhere, into nowhere blown-
A crying phantom, to frighten yet to captivate.
And I replied: “I will, delightful voice!” Then fell
What one may call, alas, the special curse, the fate
That still pursues me. Always, behind the spectacle
Of this immense existence, in the unstarred abyss
I see, distinctly, extraordinary world on world,
And, ravished victim of my own clear-sightedness,
I go with stinging serpents round my ankles curled.
Since then, like the old prophets waiting for a sign,
I love most tenderly the desert and the sea;
I find a curious suavity in bitter wine,
I smile at the saddest moments, I weep amid gaiety;
I take facts for illusions—and often as not, with eyes
Fixed confidently on heaven, I fall into holes.
But the Voice speaks to me: “Guard, fool, thy dreams!
The wise
Have none so splendid as thou hast.” And the Voice
consoles.
The Voice
My bassinet against the wall of books was thrust:
A gloomy Babel, where fiction, science, fabliau,
Everything, Latin ashes and Hellenic dust,
Mingled in chaos. When I was high as a folio,
Two voices spoke to me. The one, insidious, firm,
Was saying: “Earth is a most delicious cake. Be wise.
I can (and then your joy would have an endless term)
Give you an appetite of corresponding size.”
The other voice said, “Come! Come travel into dreams,
Far out, beyond the possible, beyond the known.”
That voice was like the wind along the shore, that seems
A music out of nowhere, into nowhere blown-
A crying phantom, to frighten yet to captivate.
And I replied: “I will, delightful voice!” Then fell
What one may call, alas, the special curse, the fate
That still pursues me. Always, behind the spectacle
Of this immense existence, in the unstarred abyss
I see, distinctly, extraordinary world on world,
And, ravished victim of my own clear-sightedness,
I go with stinging serpents round my ankles curled.
Since then, like the old prophets waiting for a sign,
I love most tenderly the desert and the sea;
I find a curious suavity in bitter wine,
I smile at the saddest moments, I weep amid gaiety;
I take facts for illusions—and often as not, with eyes
Fixed confidently on heaven, I fall into holes.
But the Voice speaks to me: “Guard, fool, thy dreams!
The wise
Have none so splendid as thou hast.” And the Voice
consoles.