Charles Baudelaire :: svět prokletého básníka :: Poezie a próza
Úvodní stránka  |  Poezie a próza  |  Život v datech  |  Galerie  |  Citáty a glosy  |  Téma Baudelaire  |  Odkazy
English version  |  Version Française

české překlady

Květy zla

Malé básně v próze

Báseň o hašiši

Fanfarlo

Důvěrný deník


originale française

Les fleurs du mal

Petits poemes en prose

La Fanfarlo


Baudelaire in English

» The Flowers of Evil «

Inscription
To the Reader

Spleen and the Ideal
Benediction
The Albatross
The Elevation
Correspondences
I love the thought...
The Beacons
The Sicks Muse
The Venal Muse
The Wretched Monk
The Enemy
Ill Fortune
A Former Life
Gypsies Travelling
Man and the Sea
Don Juan in Hell
Punishment for Pride
Beauty
The Ideal
The Giantess
The Mask
Hymn to Beauty
The Jewels
Exotic Parfume
Head of Hair
I love you as I love...
You'd entertain the universe...
Sed non satiata
The way her silky garments...
The Dancing Serpent
A Carcass
De profundis clamavi
The Vampyre
Lethe
Beside a monstrous Jewish whore...
Remorse after Death
The Cat
Duellum
The Balcony
The Possessed
A Phantom
I give to you these verses...
Semper Eadem
Completely One
What will you say tonight...
The Living Torch
To One Who Is Too Cheerful
Reversibility
Confession
The Spiritual Dawn
The Harmony of Evening
The Flask
Poison
Misty Sky
The Cat
The Splendid Ship
Invitation to the Voyage
The Irreparable
Conversation
Autumn Song
To a Madonna
Song of the Afternoon
Sisina
Praises for My Francisca
For a Creole Lady
Moesta et errabunda
The Ghost
Autumn Sonnet
Sorrows of the Moon
Cats
Owls
The Pipe
Music
Burial
A Fantastical Engraving
The Happy Corpse
The Cask of Hate
The Cracked Bell
Spleen
Spleen
Spleen
Spleen
Obsession
The Taste for Nothingness
Alchemy of Suffering
Congenial Horror
Prayer of a Pagan
The Pot Lid
Midnight Examination
Sad Madrigal
The Cautioner
The Rebel
Very Far From France
The Gulf
Lament of an Icarus
Meditation
Heautontimoroumenos
The Irremediable
The Clock

Parisian Scenes
Landscape
The Sun
The Insulted Moon
To a Red-Haired Beggar Girl
The Swan
The Seven Old Man
The Little Old Women
The Blind
To a Woman Passing By
Skeletons Digging
Dusk
Gaming
Danse macabre
The Love of Illusion
I have not forgotten...
That kind heart you were jealous of...
Mists and Rains
Parisian Dream
» Dawn «

Wine
The Soul of Wine
The Ragman's Wine
The Murderer's Wine
The Solitary's Wine
The Lovers' Wine

Flowers of Evil
Epigraph for a Condemned Book
Destruction
A Martyr
Lesbos
Condemned Women: Delphine and Hippolyta
Condemned Women
The Two Good Sisters
The Fountain of Blood
Allegory
A Beatrice
The Metamorphoses of the Vampire
A Voyage to Cythera
Passion and the Skull

Revolt
St Peter's Denial
Abel and Cain
Litanies of Satan

Death
The Death of Lovers
The Death of the Poor
The Death of Artists
Day's End
Dream of a Curious Man
Voyaging

Accessories
To Theodore de Banville

The Waifs
The Setting of the Romantic Sun

Gallantries
The Fountain
Bertha's Eyes
Hymn
A Face Makes Promises
The Monster

Epigraphs
Poem on the Portrait of Honoré Daumier
Lola de Valence
On Tasso in Prison

Diverse Pieces
The Voice
The Unforeseen
The Ransom
To a Girl of Malabar

Buffioneries
On the Debut of Amina Boschetti
To M. Eugene Fromentin
A Jolly Tavern

Prose Poems

Fanfarlo




Navštivte

Malý koutek poezie

Malý koutek poezie


Baudelaire


The Flowers of Evil

Previous    Next


Dawn

Reveille sang its call among the barracks' paths,
And moving air disturbed the tall, commanding lamps.

It was the time when dreams of lust and swarming heat
Set brown young adolescents twisting in their sheets;
When, like a bloody eye that pulses as it stares,
The lamp will cast a stain of red throughout the air;
When spirits, in the burden of the body's sway,
Mimic the struggles of the lamplight and the day.
The air, a face in tears that breeezes will wipe dry,
Is full of tremors of escaping things that fly,
And he is tired of writing, she of making love.

This house and that began to send their smoke above.
With ghastly painted eyes, the women of the streets,
Mouths gaping open, lay within their stupid sleep.
Poor women, slack breasts dangling, cold and lean as rails,
Blew on their smouldering logs, or on their purple nails.
It was the hour when, among the bare and poor,
Unfortunates in childbed suffered all the more;
Like a wild sob cut short by foaming blood, somewhere
A distant rooster's cry tore through the misty air,
A sea of fogs that bathed the buildings and the streets,
And dying poorhouse wretches from their sad retreats
Rattled away their lives in strangulated coughs.
Love's veterans came home, broken by labours lost.

Aurora, trembling in her gown of rose and green,
Made her way slowly on the still-deserted Seine.
Old Paris rubbed his eyes, woke to the day again,
And gathered up his tools, that honest working man.


Přeložil James McGowan


originale française: CIII. Le Crépuscule du matin

český překlad: Svítání



Vysvětlivky:
Aurora: the goddess of the dawn (Roman).






www.baudelaire.cz :: Since 2002 :: Based On Layout Designed By Danny Is On Fire Productions © 2006