Read Paris Spleen by Charles Baudelaire Louise Varèse Online


Set in a modern, urban Paris, the prose pieces in this volume constitute a further exploration of the terrain Baudelaire had covered in his verse masterpiece, The Flowers of Evil: the city and its squalor and inequalities, the pressures of time and mortality, and the liberation provided by the sensual delights of intoxication, art, and women. Published posthumously in 1869Set in a modern, urban Paris, the prose pieces in this volume constitute a further exploration of the terrain Baudelaire had covered in his verse masterpiece, The Flowers of Evil: the city and its squalor and inequalities, the pressures of time and mortality, and the liberation provided by the sensual delights of intoxication, art, and women. Published posthumously in 1869, Paris Spleen was a landmark publication in the development of the genre of prose poetry—a format which Baudelaire saw as particularly suited for expressing the feelings of uncertainty, flux, and freedom of his age—and one of the founding texts of literary modernism....

Title : Paris Spleen
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ISBN : 9780811200073
Format Type : Paperback
Number of Pages : 118 Pages
Status : Available For Download
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Paris Spleen Reviews

  • Araz Goran
    2018-10-20 23:23

    كتابات بودلير سوداوية قاتمة غارقة في الكآبة يكتب الرجل بحسايسة شديدة ومعقدة ومفرطة في الوعي والتراشق اللفظي العنيف التي تسود في معظم نثريات هذا الكتاب, هذا الرجل يشع جنوناً وحساسية من كل شيء, كئيب كحشرة, موجع كحافة سكين , ليس لديه غاية فيما يكتب سوى العبث بمزاج القارئ بنصوص أحياناً هي أقرب للهلوسات, سببت لي كتاباته خلال الأيام الماضية عقدة نفسية من القراءة وعجزت عن التوقف عن متابعة مابدأت به..إنه عمل غير صالح , لا أنصح أحداً بالاقتراب من هذا الرجل خصوصاً لو كان يعاني من حساسية مفرطة أو كآبة مزمنة , فلن يزيده هذا الكتاب إلا خبالاً ..الكتاب جيد من الناحية الأدبية لا شك ولكنه قد يروق للكثيرين بقتامته وسوداويته..

  • Tosh
    2018-10-01 01:35

    I have this book by my bed. Before I drop my eyes into deep sleep I like to read a page or two of this book. It gives me a certain sense ..... of dreams. Wonderful dreams.

  • Jonfaith
    2018-10-18 01:16

    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.Contrary to popular belief, I had never read Baudelaire until now. I've trusted Walter Benjamin and lately Calasso to provide me with a well informed ethos about this central figure. There are many concerns that this is the literature of the young, to which I shout, absurd. This is the lettres of the Absolute, the eternally curious. Below the bile, there is a hum of sensitivity. Behind the debris are the tears of the sensitive. Is it forgiving, likely not? There is a buzzing pulse at play, a hum and a forgiving glance.

  • Yann
    2018-09-22 03:18

    J'aurais eu bien du mal à entrer dans l'univers très particulier de ces poèmes en prose de Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867) si je n'avais pas lu au préalable son peintre de la vie moderne, un essai dans lequel il expose son état d'esprit vis à vis de l'art: quelque chose de fugace, de fragile, sans cesse menacé par la lourdeur et la bêtise ambiante, une fleur rare à cueillir non pas seulement sur les monts Ida ou Parnasse, mais aussi et surtout dans l'activité des faubourgs, le fracas et les tracas de la vie moderne, les bras des amantes, les vapeurs des liqueurs, pour qui sait la voir, la saisir et la peindre. Les quelques dizaines de textes courts qui composent cet ouvrage ne forment aucune espèce d'unité, et sont indépendantes les unes des autres. Le plus souvent, l'auteur semble tirer d'anecdotes de sa vie quotidienne un sujet frappant pour l'imagination, le jugement et la sensibilité, qu'il tourne avec un style et un vocabulaire élégant, et serre en la terminant d'une chute cruelle, d'un aphorisme riche ou d'une pensée élevée. Le bonheur n'est jamais complet ou béat, le malheur fracassant et terrible; l'émotion est le fruit d'une dissonance, d'un contraste, d'une opposition: entre le bien et le mal, l'amour et le mépris, le luxe et la pauvreté, l'illusion et le réel, la nature et la civilisation, la violence et la charité, la solitude et l'empathie. Il intéresse et inquiète à la fois, il fascine et dérange en même temps.Mon tempérament est bien éloigné du sien; il aime l'ombre et les contrastes, je préfère la lumière et la clarté; il aime l'ivresse et la douleur, je préfère le calme et la sérénité. Et pourtant, il a réussi à me faire vibrer, à m'envouter, à me transmettre ses émotions. Cette manière d'enchanter le réel dans ce qu'il a de plus sordide ou de plus trivial, m'a agréablement surpris, charmé et conquis. Une très belle collection de textes poétiques en prose.

  • Raul
    2018-10-08 05:15

    I feel odd labeling a book of poetry as 'read'. That's not how a book of poetry is appreciated. It's not the simple act of opening to page one, reading each page in a linear fashion, then putting it back on the shelf (or in this case, closing the Kindle). Poetry is something that one must refer back to again and again. The images sit in the back of the mind waiting to be recalled again. Then, when the mood strikes, you jump to the bookcase and frantically flip the pages to find that image once again, to find that perfect phrase, that lucid expression that just sits there like an enigmatic cat, unmoving with deep-set eyes that flash and hint at some mysterious profundity.This is true at least of the good poetry and Baudelaire gives us bags and bags full of those enigmatic cats (please excuse the cruel metaphor) in this collection. I'm not sure why Le fleurs de mal gets all the attention. These prose poems read so much more pure and uninhibited by the confines of poetic tradition. How can one resist such a beautiful manifesto to life as this:"One must be for ever drunken: that is the sole question of importance. If you would not feel the horrible burden of Time that bruises your shoulders and bends you to the earth, you must be drunken without cease. But how? With wine, with poetry, with virtue, with what you please. But be drunken."Twisting the notion of intoxication and turning the Enlightenment, with its glorious seekers of truth and justice, on its head feels so wonderfully perverse. There is a heavy dose of Romanticism in this phrase as there is at the core of much of Baudelaire's work, but I read it as a more mature Romanticism. Not the naive idealism and ignorant aspirations that killed Madame Bovary, but a Romanticism that's willing to look at life right in the eyes and kick it in the teeth if need be. Baudelaire seems to be someone who was attracted to the exuberance of Romanticism, but who was unwilling the accept the falseness of it.Maybe we could call this a pragmatic Romanticism, or a realistic Romanticism. Hoping for the ideal while accepting the real. One example of this can be seen in Artist's Confiteor (which is "a form of prayer confessing sins, used in the Roman Catholic Mass and some other sacraments"). The poem starts with a romantic description of an autumn day. The sky and the sea. The immensity of Infinity. The Silence. The Solitude. Then, it all becomes too much. "Now the profound depth of the sky dismays me; its purity irritates me." Here we have a more realistic relationship between man and nature, Beauty and the artist, which leads to the final line of the poem: "The study of beauty is a duel in which the artist shrieks with terror before being overcome."

  • StevenGodin
    2018-10-11 06:17

    Tell me, enigmatical man, whom do you love best, your father,your mother, your sister, or your brother?I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother.Your friends?Now you use a word whose meaning I have never known.Your country?I do not know in what latitude it lies.Beauty?I could indeed love her, Goddess and Immortal.Gold?I hate it as you hate God.Then what do you love, extraordinary stranger?I love the clouds...the clouds that pass...up there... up there...the wonderful clouds!

  • ماهرعبد الرحمن
    2018-10-20 02:35

    اسكروالا بد للمرء من أن يكون سكرانا دائما. تلك هي الخلاصة : تلك هي القضية الوحيدة. فلكي لا تشعروا بعبء الزمن الفادح الذي يحطم كواهلكم و يحنيكم إلى التراب ، لا بد لكم من أن تسكروا بلا هوادة.و لكن بماذا ؟ بالخمر أو بالشعر أو بالفضيلة ، بحسب ما تهوون. و لكن اسكروا.و إذا حدث مرة ، على سلالم قصر أو على العشب الأخضر لحفرة أو في الوحدة الكئيبة لغرفتك ، أن أفقت ، لأن السكر قد تراجع أو تبدد بالفعل ، اسأل الريح و الموجة و النجمة و العصفور و الساعة و كل ما يهرب و كل ما يتأوه و كل ما يدور و كل ما يغرد و كل من يتكلم ؛ اسأل عن الوقت ؛ و سوف تجيبك الريح و الموجة و النجمة و العصفور و الساعة : " إنه وقت السكر ! لكي لا تكونوا عبيدا معذبين للزمن ، اسكروا ؛ اسكروا بلا توقف ! بالخمر أو بالشعر أو بالفضيلة ، بحسب ما تهوون "

  • Carla
    2018-10-01 06:20

    Carta a Fernand DesnoyersMeu caro Desnoyers, você pede-me versos para o seu pequeno volume, versos sobre a Natureza, não é? – sobre os bosques, os grandes castanheiros, a verdura, os insectos – o sol, talvez? Mas você sabe bem que eu sou incapaz de me enternecer com os vegetais, e que a minha alma é rebelde a essa singular Religião nova, que terá sempre, parece-me, para todo o ser espiritual não sei o quê de shocking. Eu nunca acreditarei que a alma dos Deuses habita nas plantas, e, mesmo que aí habitasse, eu pouco me importaria com isso, e consideraria a minha como um bem mais precioso que a dos legumes santificados. Sempre pensei, até, que havia na Natureza, florescente e rejuvenescida, qualquer coisa de confrangedor, duro, cruel – um não sei quê que roça a impudência. Na impossibilidade de o satisfazer completamente segundo os estritos termos do programa, envio-lhe dois trechos poéticos que representam quase a suma dos devaneios com que sou assaltado nas horas crepusculares. No fundo dos bosques, encerrado sob essas abóbadas semelhantes às das sacristias e das catedrais, eu penso nas nossas espantosas cidades, e a música prodigiosa que roda sobre os cumes parece-me a tradução das lamentações humanas.C. B.

  • Jimmy
    2018-09-24 04:22

    I never really understood the appeal of Les Fleurs du Mal, but so many people love it that I started to feel bad. What was I missing? Along comes this book, Paris Spleen, which is full of prose poems made of equal parts humor, cynicism, and insight (and often all three within a paragraph). I like these poems because reading it, I feel like I have a sense of who Baudelaire might have been as a person... Plus, his humor is so odd:Soup and CloudsMy adorable little minx was serving me supper; through the dining room's open window I was contemplating the shifting architectures God creates from vapour, those marvellous constructions of the evanescent. As I watched, I thought: "Those apparitions are nearly as beautiful as my sweet lady's eyes, the mad little green-eyed monster."Suddenly a violent fist landed in my back and I heard a charming, raw voice hysterical and brandy-damaged, the voice of my little darling, saying: "Get on with your bloody soup, cloud merchant."

  • Mike Lester
    2018-10-15 22:36

    I once used this book to get into a girl's pants. Ultimately, they did not fit. 5 decadent stars...

  • Catherine
    2018-09-24 04:06

    A Hemisphere in a Head of HairLong let me inhale, the odour of your hair,into it plunge the whole of my face, like a thirsty maninto the waters of a spring and wave it in my fingers like a scented handkerchief,to shake memories into the air.If you could know all that I see! All that I hear in your hair! My soul floats upon perfumes as the souls of other menupon music.Your hair contains an entire dream, full of sails and masts;it contains vast seas whose soft monsoons bear me to delightful climateswhere space is deeper and bluer, wherethe atmosphereis perfumed with fruit, with foliage and with human skin.In the ocean of your hair I am shown brief visions of a portresounding with melancholy songs, of vigorous men of all nationsand ships of all shapes outlining their fine and complicated architecturesagainst an immense sky where eternal heat languidly quivers...In the glowing fire grate of your hair I inhale the odorof opium mingled with sugar; in the night of your hairI see the infinity of tropical azure resplendant;on the downed banks of your hair I inebriate myselfwith the mingled odors of tar, of musk and of coconut oil.Long let me bite your heavy, black tresses.When I gnaw your elastic and rebellious hairit seems to methat I am eating memories.

  • Thomas
    2018-10-07 03:25

    Baudelaire is a lover of dichotomy: rich/poor, solitude/society, excrement/perfume. "She is very ugly. She is nevertheless delectable." ("A Thorough-Bred") The unstated purpose of each poem is to transform degradation and disunity into an unsettled and ironic harmony, or at least to shine a light on the beauty of decay. They are passionate poems; they move with force, but with time it becomes apparent that each of them moves in a familiar pattern, and by the end of the collection it is comforting to find each poem discover its point of balance amidst the contradictions.

  • Guido
    2018-09-21 06:27

    Meraviglioso esempio di poesia come metodo per indagare la verità: il poeta sfiora e rivela col suo linguaggio tutto ciò che parole più concrete e meno ambigue lascerebbero, inevitabilmente, nell'ombra. Probabilmente, neppure Baudelaire avrebbe saputo spiegare come si possa far luce su qui misteri senza nominarli; ci accontentiamo, per così dire, dello spettacolo offerto dalla sua prosa, abbandonando ogni pretesa di comprenderne la meccanica, ed evitando così di soffocarne l'incanto. Ma queste piccole rivelazioni sono incontestabili, e altrettanto inconfutabilmente fuggevoli - si rivelano alla prima lettura di questi brevissimi testi, e ne resta un'impressione indefinita come quelle lasciate dalle immagini di un paesaggio intravisto da un finestrino, o dalla voce di un passante che si perde tra la folla. La rilettura non permette di ritrovare quella sensazione, ma in compenso se ne scopre un'altra - un altro paesaggio che scorre, un'altra voce che si perde. Per questo credo che questo libro sia eterno: imprevedibile a ogni nuovo approccio, come il ritmo ipnotico di una danza antica, come le diverse suggestioni stimolate da una stessa sfumatura di colore.Baudelaire seppe comprendere i vantaggi che avrebbe avuto liberandosi dalle costrizioni dei versi. Il suo unico riferimento dichiarato è Bertrand, del quale ammira senz'altro la libertà espressiva, ma Lo Spleen di Parigi è decisamente più moderno e complesso dell'opera del suo coraggioso predecessore. I primi componimenti sono quasi dei racconti, assomigliano a parabole o favole, di gusto vagamente orientale. Nei successivi, però, la prosa poetica di Baudelaire acquista sicurezza, e il libro assume una forma più precisa e meno sperimentale. Parigi, capitale immensa e custode di infiniti particolari umani, diviene l'ambiente di personaggi reali e fantastici: l'esperienza del reale e quella dei sogni si intersecano inestricabilmente; si avanza per le vie scoprendo angeli morenti nel fango e demoni padroni di ricchi palazzi, oasi di luce divina e tuguri maleodoranti. Il poeta diviene pittore: il suo debito nei confronti delle arti figurative è testimoniato, in maniera simbolica ma molto efficace, dall'ultimo poema. Nelle sue parole non manca mai un pensiero, un'intenzione evidente, che fa di quelle atmosfere così varie uno strumento di conoscenza.Questi poemi in prosa sembrano - non so proprio trovare un altro termine per descriverli - accoglienti: descrivono una situazione precisa, un pensiero, ma nello stesso tempo creano uno spazio per ospitare i pensieri e i sentimenti di chi legge - uno spazio dove ci si può muovere, riflettere, ricordare la propria vita. Siamo ancora molto legati a un ideale di arte che risponde a esigenze antiche: scrittori che propongono con forza i propri tormenti, le proprie vicissitudini, le proprie conquiste, per arricchire con quelle esperienze la vita di chi li leggerà. La Parigi così varia e trascendentale di Baudelaire, spazio illimitato che sembra poter contenere il dolore, la felicità, le conquiste di ogni essere umano, appare tanto più moderna e vivibile.

  • Tedb0t
    2018-10-15 03:36

    Charles says it best himself: "Which ones of us, in his moments of ambition, has not dreamed of the miracle of a poetic prose, musical, without rhythm and without rhyme, supple enough and rugged enough to adapt itself to the lyrical impulses of the soul, the undulations of reverie, the jibes of conscience?" Probably my favorite of his works.

  • Ayah
    2018-10-19 05:16

    بودلير حالة شعرية مضيئة مهولة مخيفة متغطرسة خاطئة متمردة و جميلة ، يمد أصابعه إلى جسدك فيبعث فيه كهرباء تزلزل كيانك ، لأنه يعلم تماما كيف يحول القبح إلى جمال ، كيف يمزج المتناقضات و هل تكمن العذوبة إلا في هذا التجانس الذي يخلقه المرء بين العناصر المتناثرة في الكون ، قدرة التجميع تلك هي ما يميز بودلير و كل شعراء الجمال تتلمذوا على يديه و يستحيل أن يكون أدونيس و درويش العذبان قد أهملاه ، إنهما تلميذاه و لا شك ..

  • Yani
    2018-10-05 02:29

    Me gustaron mucho estos “poemas” y me llevé una sorpresa: no sabía que implicaban sentimentalmente al lector. Tampoco sabía que eran poemas más directos que los deLas flores del mala la hora de hablar de problemas como la pobreza o la ambición, temas muy tratados en la literatura del siglo XIX. Más allá de las complicaciones habituales que presenta Baudelaire, son poemas más accesibles (en entendimiento) que los del libro que mencioné anteriormente. No se privan, eso sí, de las exaltaciones en el ánimo de la voz poética, los lamentos y las palabras oscuras. En muy pocas ocasiones Baudelaire parecería estar ofreciéndole al lector un ambiente cómodo y una anécdota común y corriente… y después lo convierte en una sórdida observación. “Los dones de las hadas” es uno de esos. Hay muchos que están relacionados con la ciudad y su gente, las miserias, la vida nocturna y podría seguir. Baudelaire impregna todo de melancolía (hasta aquello que parece menos melancólico) y la transmite de forma efectiva. Leer es parecido a estar espiando el recorrido o las vivencias de una persona que encuentra un punto que llama su atención y quiere/ tiene la necesidad de compartirlo. Sigo sin saber hablar de Baudelaire. No sé cuántos libros tendré que leer de él para no manejarme sólo con impresiones subjetivas y poder contar más de sus poemas, aunque creo que, como estos no son ni monótonos ni fríos, puede que hablar de mis sensaciones no sea desacertado. A fin de cuentas, es literatura.Nota random:también estuve leyendo algunas notas de Baudelaire sobre Edgar Allan Poe. Muy, muy buenas.

  • Radoslav Gramatikov
    2018-10-21 01:16

    "Влиза някакъв ужасен грозник и се оглежда в огледалото.-Защо се оглеждате, когато това ви е може би неприятно?Ужасният грозник ми отвърна: "Господине, съгласно безсмъртните принципи на 89-а, всички хора имат равни права, тъй че аз имам право да се оглеждам. Приятно ли ми е, или не- това си е моя работа."От гледна точка на здравия разум аз несъмнено бях прав; но по силата на закона-правото беше на негова страна."Не мога да опиша колко обичам това.

  • Andy
    2018-10-08 06:16

    The liner notes in the back call them prose poems but they're more like weird little vignettes. I really like Baudelaire a great deal. Every piece is refreshing: A Hemisphere In Your Hair, The Shooting Gallery and The Cemetery, Loss Of A Halo, and Beat Up The Poor are a good place to start.

  • بثينة العيسى
    2018-10-08 04:10

    أحببت باريس بودلير، شمسها وأرصفتها، تثاؤبات سأمها وكل ما هي عليه. هذا كتاب جميل.

  • César Lasso
    2018-10-04 23:27

    Libro fetiche de mi juventud bohemia, tal como Les fleurs du mal, pero esta vez con los poemas en prosa (su título alternativo es Pequeños poemas en prosa).Esta frase con que termina el poema El mal vidriero fue para mí, por aquel entonces, un grito de guerra:¡qué le importa la condenación eterna a quien halló en un segundo lo infinito del goce! Obviamente, yo mismo, por muy alocado que fuera por aquellos tiempos, me habría pensado dos veces si incurrir en la condenación eterna a cambio de un segundo de placer. Pero la obra de Baudelaire tenía una belleza transgresora que acompañaba muy bien la Movida madrileña de los ’80 que yo, por entonces, vivía.Aquí se lee el texto completo del poema que he citado:

  • Sara
    2018-10-13 01:16

    No matter where! As long as it's out of the world!Baudelaire has a depth that draws me, fascinates me and excites me.This is a part of my favourite one:"Across the ocean of roofs I can see a middle-aged woman, her face already lined, who is forever bending over something and who never goes out. Out of her face, her dress, and her gestures, our of practically nothing at all, I have made up this woman's story, or rather legend, and sometimes I tell it to myself and weep.If it had been an old man I could have made up his just as well.And I go to bed proud to have lived and to have suffered in someone besides myself.Perhaps you will say "Are you sure that your story is the real one?" But what does it matter what reality is outside myself, so long as it has helped me to live, to feel that I am, and what I am?"

  • Ben
    2018-10-21 04:11

    I first became aware of this work about a year and a half ago, when reading something about that great punk poet, Patti Smith (as Baudelaire and Rimbaud were two of her biggest influences). But instead of picking up a copy of this work at that time, I first familiarized myself with Baudelaire's Les Fleurs du mal, as that is his better known work. Time passed and I never got around to Le Spleen de Paris as I had intended. But this year, as I continue with my exploration of French writers, I decided it a good time to first read Rimbaud (the Schmidt translation) and then re-read Les Fleurs du mal before progressing onto this collection, which is considered by Enid Starkie the "more mature" work of the two. When he wrote these prose poems, a then fairly novel poetic form, Baudelaire attached great significance to them, writing: "Which one of us, in his moments of ambition, has not dreamed of the miracle of a poetic prose, musical, without rhythm and without rhyme, supple enough and rugged enough to to adapt itself to the lyrical impulses of the soul, the undulations of reverie, the jibes of conscience?" Whereas Rimbaud, though very much influenced by Baudelaire, criticized him for his allegiance to traditional poetic form, Baudelaire's ambition was too great to be pinned down by the styles of the day, as these poems attest. If one could claim (as many have), based off of his earlier work alone, that Baudelaire was one of the pioneers of modernism and a revolutionary poet, Paris Spleen cements that reputation -- for in this work, Baudelaire not only shows that he is a poet of the city and a poet of the darker and seedier side of human life, but also a poet who rebels against the rules of form. There is much wonderful imagery to be found in these poems, tinged sometimes with humor, sometimes with melancholy, sometimes with a brand of egoism or misanthropism that is uniquely Baudelaire's own (as we find in pieces like "Crowds" or more humorously in "The Dog and the Scent-Bottle," in which he compares the general public's tastes to that of a dog, which prefers the smell of excrement to "delicate perfumes"). There are some wonderful pieces in this work, which stand well alone or read as a collection. Much like Burroughs' Naked Lunch it doesn't so much matter where you begin or end the work, though each part contributes to the whole. As Baudelaire writes in his dedication of the work, "Take away one vertebra and the two ends of this tortuous fantasy come together again without pain. Chop it into numerous pieces and you will see that each one can get along alone."There are many similarities between allusions (many references to Greek mythology and Goethe's Faust in both works) and themes in these prose poems and his Les Fleurs du mal, even if there is a significant difference of form. As for the translation, I've read only one translation by Louis Varèse (of Rimbaud's "A Season in Hell" and "The Drunken Boat"). I would say that I enjoy her interpretations, but I do like the use of parallel text (which this collection does not utilize) and I also enjoy when translators write notes about the translation at the onset -- it gives the reader a bit more of an understanding of how they rendered the original into the translated version.Overall, there is much to enjoy in this tiny collection of very large poems, poems that revolutionized the art and style of poetry, casting down massive shadows on much of the verse that preceded it and the poetry that followed.

  • Travis Fortney
    2018-10-20 00:27

    I don't really understand this book. (it's poetry) But boy is it good.

  • Robert Isenberg
    2018-09-25 02:08

    In many ways, Charles Baudelaire is an adolescent bombast -- he seems to enjoy opium and satanism just a little too much, and his prose-poetry is weighed down by Victorian abstraction (not to mention how much must be lost in translation; Baudelaire's is not the accommodating French of Le Petit Prince). That said, Baudelaire commits to a worthy experiment: to write about his daily life in pensive short prose, bombarding his readers with daring observations, anecdotes and fables. It reminds me a lot of the Arcades Project of Walter Benjamin, the way it devours the sights of Paris and defecates prescient descriptions (I describe it so graphically because, in the cases of both Baudelaire and Benjamin, the writing seems unavoidable, unrestrained, un-self-conscious -- as natural and necessary as gastronomic excretion). About the half of these vignettes are gems in the rough, and the others are dustier stones. Curiously, I'd recommend Paris Spleen to Richard Brautigan fans -- they share a lot of style and sentiments.

  • Scot
    2018-10-12 03:14

    A fantastic collection of poetry by Baudelaire published posthumously. I read this in anticipation of a Coursera class I am taking in February called "The Modern and Postmodern." After having recently diving into modern poetry it was a tad bit easier for me to allow these poems which seem more like mini-essays of observation, to touch me like traditional poetry. This collection seems to inhabit a world both modern and archaic and the observations made are though personal and inwardly reflective quite relevant to the constantly changing nature of the outer world. I especially enjoyed "The Wicked Maker of Window Glass," "Crowds," and "Intoxication" which all called to some part of me and the inner world I inhabit and the outer world I attempt to navigate. Recommended for both all lovers of poetry and those that enjoy reflection of our spiritual life as it relates to the crazy world around us. I look forward to future digging into the work of Baudelaire, most probably starting with "The Flowers of Evil."

  • Valerie
    2018-10-02 06:15

    Ah, Charles... if you had been born in our time, you'd be a blogger extraordinaire! Decadent, passionate, and misogynistic, this poet stole my heart from Edgar Allen Poe and broke it on the cobbled streets of that Eternal City. Don't come looking for a sympathetic heart...Baudelaire is bitter, despondent, and completely adorable. Read this and tell me he's not a man before his time.

  • Andrés
    2018-10-04 03:09

    Melancolías, retratos, proyecciones, pequeños poemas en prosa que vierten sobre el lector la visión de Baudelaire sobre la vida. Un perfecto destello de lucidez sobre los breves fragmentos de la existencia humana que son representados de manera magistral.

  • E
    2018-09-29 06:10

    The best of Baudelaire - something I revisit when I'm in the mood to sigh. Because it is popular both among modern day francophones and students taking introductory courses, literature connoisseurs sometimes dismiss the swooning praise it garners as evidence of generic, unrefined taste. ("Of course you like Baudelaire's LE SPLEEN DE PARIS. I suppose ROMEO AND JULIET is your favorite play, too?") But Baudelaire and Shakespeare deserve their secure places in the foundations of their respective languages' literary canons. Their works prove the universality of human experience through their capturing the attention and breath rate of almost anyone. Bestseller works like THE DAVINCI CODE or THE YA-YA SISTERHOOD often seem mundane or generic because they appeal to wide audiences - but popularity is neutral, not detracting. It is the overwhelmingly acetone aroma of the heavy packaging born out of focus group studies and manufactured according to very basic formulae that repels readers hoping to have been treated more respectfully by Dan Brown or Rebecca Wells. Instead of staring at masses of readers of past best-sellers as he scribbled away, Baudelaire turned inward, glancing outward only to describe the world rather than patronize and placate it.

  • Aliaa Mohamed
    2018-10-21 03:13

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  • محمد الهاشمي
    2018-10-03 00:17

    بودلير يبقى شاعري الفرنسي الأفضل... ويمثل العلامة البارزة لشعر ما قبل الرومانسية الفرنسية التي أسسها فيكتور هوغو..ولا عجب أن المبدع الانجليزي الرائع إدغار ألان بو تأثر به كثيرا وترجم له. أما في "سأم باريس" فيغني بودلير -في قصائده النثرية- للكلاب المشؤومة التي تعج بها مدينته وشوارعها.. والتي تعرف السعداء من التعيسين الذي يشبهون كنه بؤسها مع فارق أنها تريد للتعاسة أن تتغير أما البشر التعساء فقابعون في حضيض السأم الذي تحمله هموم الأمس واليوم والغد ويرفضون الاعتراف أنهم أسوأ حالا وحالة من ذوي القوائم الأربعةفي الكتاب لمن يعرف باريس أكثر من مجرد وصف جميل لسحر هذه المدينة وغموضها وقبحها...