"I am ignorant of the
latitude
in which it is situated.
Baudelaire - Poems and Prose Poems
"
As when of old we parted for Cathay
With wind-blown hair and eyes upon the bay.
We will embark upon the Shadowy Sea,
Like youthful wanderers for the first time free--
Hear you the lovely and funereal voice
That sings: _O come all ye whose wandering joys_
_Are set upon the scented Lotus flower_,
_For here we sell the fruit's miraculous boon_;
_Come ye and drink the sweet and sleepy power_
_Of the enchanted, endless afternoon_.
VIII.
O Death, old Captain, it is time, put forth!
We have grown weary of the gloomy north;
Though sea and sky are black as ink, lift sail!
Our hearts are full of light and will not fail.
O pour thy sleepy poison in the cup!
The fire within the heart so burns us up
That we would wander Hell and Heaven through,
Deep in the Unknown seeking something _new_!
* * * * *
LITTLE POEMS IN PROSE
THE STRANGER.
Tell me, enigmatic 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, then?
"You use a word that until now has had no meaning for me. "
Your country?
"I am ignorant of the latitude in which it is situated. "
Then Beauty?
"Her I would love willingly, goddess and immortal. "
Gold?
"I hate it as you hate your God. "
What, then, extraordinary stranger, do you love?
"I love the clouds--the clouds that pass--yonder--the marvellous
clouds. "
EVERY MAN HIS CHIMAERA.
Beneath a broad grey sky, upon a vast and dusty plain devoid of grass,
and where not even a nettle or a thistle was to be seen, I met several
men who walked bowed down to the ground.
Each one carried upon his back an enormous Chimaera as heavy as a sack of
flour or coal, or as the equipment of a Roman foot-soldier.
But the monstrous beast was not a dead weight, rather she enveloped and
oppressed the men with her powerful and elastic muscles, and clawed with
her two vast talons at the breast of her mount. Her fabulous head
reposed upon the brow of the man like one of those horrible casques by
which ancient warriors hoped to add to the terrors of the enemy.
I questioned one of the men, asking him why they went so. He replied
that he knew nothing, neither he nor the others, but that evidently they
went somewhere, since they were urged on by an unconquerable desire to
walk.
Very curiously, none of the wayfarers seemed to be irritated by the
ferocious beast hanging at his neck and cleaving to his back: one had
said that he considered it as a part of himself. These grave and weary
faces bore witness to no despair.
As when of old we parted for Cathay
With wind-blown hair and eyes upon the bay.
We will embark upon the Shadowy Sea,
Like youthful wanderers for the first time free--
Hear you the lovely and funereal voice
That sings: _O come all ye whose wandering joys_
_Are set upon the scented Lotus flower_,
_For here we sell the fruit's miraculous boon_;
_Come ye and drink the sweet and sleepy power_
_Of the enchanted, endless afternoon_.
VIII.
O Death, old Captain, it is time, put forth!
We have grown weary of the gloomy north;
Though sea and sky are black as ink, lift sail!
Our hearts are full of light and will not fail.
O pour thy sleepy poison in the cup!
The fire within the heart so burns us up
That we would wander Hell and Heaven through,
Deep in the Unknown seeking something _new_!
* * * * *
LITTLE POEMS IN PROSE
THE STRANGER.
Tell me, enigmatic 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, then?
"You use a word that until now has had no meaning for me. "
Your country?
"I am ignorant of the latitude in which it is situated. "
Then Beauty?
"Her I would love willingly, goddess and immortal. "
Gold?
"I hate it as you hate your God. "
What, then, extraordinary stranger, do you love?
"I love the clouds--the clouds that pass--yonder--the marvellous
clouds. "
EVERY MAN HIS CHIMAERA.
Beneath a broad grey sky, upon a vast and dusty plain devoid of grass,
and where not even a nettle or a thistle was to be seen, I met several
men who walked bowed down to the ground.
Each one carried upon his back an enormous Chimaera as heavy as a sack of
flour or coal, or as the equipment of a Roman foot-soldier.
But the monstrous beast was not a dead weight, rather she enveloped and
oppressed the men with her powerful and elastic muscles, and clawed with
her two vast talons at the breast of her mount. Her fabulous head
reposed upon the brow of the man like one of those horrible casques by
which ancient warriors hoped to add to the terrors of the enemy.
I questioned one of the men, asking him why they went so. He replied
that he knew nothing, neither he nor the others, but that evidently they
went somewhere, since they were urged on by an unconquerable desire to
walk.
Very curiously, none of the wayfarers seemed to be irritated by the
ferocious beast hanging at his neck and cleaving to his back: one had
said that he considered it as a part of himself. These grave and weary
faces bore witness to no despair.
