The Gazeebo

A Poet's Place

The Gazeebo: Sharpies and Plaid

Hey again!

Didn’t do a whole heck of a lot today, so this post isn’t gonna be that long 😛 I bought 4 pairs of shoes though so that was cool – 2 plaid designed pairs and 2 white pairs.  However, I colored on one of the white pairs with sharpies which actually doesn’t look half bad.. I just wish the blue didn’t look like purple as much as it does lol.

School starts up at my college again tomorrow so I’m pretty dang excited for that 🙂 I don’t work, but I’m thinking about maybe stopping by anyway just cause I can – it’s such a cool place to hang out at so why not?

Well that’s about all – on to the poem.  Another of Charles Baudelaire’s.. from a suggestion by a friend 🙂 The original version in French was acquired here, while the English translation was acquired here.

Épilogue

Le cœur content, je suis monté sur la montagne
D’où l’on peut contempler la ville en son ampleur,
Hôpital, lupanars, purgatoire, enfer, bagne,

Où toute énormité fleurit comme une fleur.
Tu sais bien, ô Satan, patron de ma détresse,
Que je n’allais pas là pour répandre un vain pleur ;

Mais comme un vieux paillard d’une vieille maîtresse,
Je voulais m’enivrer de l’énorme catin
Dont le charme infernal me rajeunit sans cesse.

Que tu dormes encor dans les draps du matin,
Lourde, obscure, enrhumée, ou que tu te pavanes
Dans les voiles du soir passementés d’or fin,

Je t’aime, ô capitale infâme ! Courtisanes
Et bandits, tels souvent vous offrez des plaisirs
Que ne comprennent pas les vulgaires profanes.

———

English Translation

———

Epilogue

With quiet heart, I climbed the hill,
from which one can see, the city, complete,
hospitals, brothels, purgatory, hell,

prison, where every sin flowers, at our feet.
You know well, Satan, patron of my distress,
I did not trudge up there to vainly weep,

but like an old man with an old mistress,
I longed to intoxicate myself, with the infernal delight
of the vast procuress, who can always make things fresh.

Whether you still sleep in the morning light,
heavy, dark, rheumatic, or whether your hands
flutter, in your pure, goldedged veils of night,

I love you, infamous capital! Courtesans
and pimps, you often offer pleasures
the vulgar mob will never understand.

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August 21, 2011 - Posted by | Your Lungren Originals | , , , , ,

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