Charles Baudelaire :: svět prokletého básníka :: Poezie a próza
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české překlady

Květy zla

Malé básně v próze

Báseň o hašiši


Důvěrný deník

originale française

Les fleurs du mal

Petits poemes en prose

La Fanfarlo

Baudelaire in English

» The Flowers of Evil «

To the Reader

Spleen and the Ideal
The Albatross
The Elevation
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
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
Beside a monstrous Jewish whore...
Remorse after Death
The Cat
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
The Spiritual Dawn
The Harmony of Evening
The Flask
Misty Sky
The Cat
The Splendid Ship
Invitation to the Voyage
The Irreparable
Autumn Song
To a Madonna
Song of the Afternoon
Praises for My Francisca
For a Creole Lady
Moesta et errabunda
The Ghost
Autumn Sonnet
Sorrows of the Moon
The Pipe
A Fantastical Engraving
The Happy Corpse
The Cask of Hate
The Cracked Bell
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
The Irremediable
The Clock

Parisian Scenes
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
Danse macabre
The Love of Illusion
I have not forgotten...
That kind heart you were jealous of...
Mists and Rains
Parisian Dream

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
A Martyr
Condemned Women: Delphine and Hippolyta
Condemned Women
The Two Good Sisters
The Fountain of Blood
A Beatrice
The Metamorphoses of the Vampire
A Voyage to Cythera
Passion and the Skull

St Peter's Denial
Abel and Cain
Litanies of Satan

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

To Theodore de Banville

The Waifs
The Setting of the Romantic Sun

The Fountain
Bertha's Eyes
A Face Makes Promises
» The Monster «

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

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

Prose Poems



Malý koutek poezie

Malý koutek poezie


The Flowers of Evil

Previous    Next

The Monster

or The Praise of a Macabre Nymph


Dearest, you certainly are not
What Veuillot calls a tender shoot.
Gambling, lust and gluttony,
Old cauldron, boil away in you.
You are no longer fresh, my dear,

My old infanta! None the less
Your antics, your mad caravans
Have cast the lustre over you
Of things that have been often used
But which seduce us none the less.

I do not find monotonous
The acids of your forty years;
I favour the autumnal fruits
Over the banal blooms of Spring!
No! you are not monotonous!

Your carcass has its ornaments
And some particulars of grace;
I find strange spices flourishing
In hollows of your collar-bones;
Your carcass has its ornaments!

A fig for foolish lovers, who
Dote on the melon's juicy flesh!
I much prefer your clavicles
To those of old King Solomon,
And pity all those doting fools!

Your head of hair, a blue-black casque,
Shadows your Amazonish brow
That hardly blushes, hardly thinks,
And then, behind, it flows away -
A mane, from under a blue casque.

Your eyes, the colour of the mud,
Where signal-lights are glimmering,
Revived in rouging of your cheek,
Cast an infemallightning-flash!
Your eyes are black as any mud!

By luxury and by disdain
Your bitter lip arouses us;
An Eden is this very lip,
Offending as it captivates.
What luxury! and what disdain!

Your leg, both muscular and lean,
Knows how to climb volcanoes' heights,
And will, in snow or poverty,
Perform the cancan wickedly.
Your leg is muscular and lean;

Your torrid skin, no longer sweet
And like an old policeman's hide,
Seems not to be aware of sweat
As your eye never knows a tear.
(It has its sweetness, though, for me!)


Fool, you are headed straight for Hell!
I willingly would tag along
Were I not put in such a state
By this intimidating speed.
Go to the Devil, then, alone!

My kidneys, lungs, my aching shanks
No longer let me celebrate
That great Lord as one ought to do.
'Alas, it truly is a shame!'
So say my kidneys and my shanks.

Oh! I'm sincerely suffering
To miss the sabbaths, not to see
When he lets his sulphurous blasts
You bend to kiss his filthy ass!
Oh! I'm sincerely suffering!

I am afflicted hellishly,
Not being fit to hold your lamp,
Having to beg my leave of you,
Infernal torch! Please judge, my dear,
How sore afflicted I must be,

Since I, so logically, have loved
You years and years! Wishing, that is,
To skim the cream of Sin, to love
Only a pure monstrosity,
Oh yes! old monster, I love you!

Přeložil James McGowan

originale française: Le Monstre

český překlad: Šereda

It is not clear who inspired this poem, but Jeanne Duval certainly seems a possibility. Felix Feneon, Baudelaire's acquaintance, quoted from this poem in commenting on Manet's portrait of Jeanne.
Veuillot: Louis Veuillot, Catholic writer and journalist, contemporary of Baudelaire.
I much prefer ... of old King Solomon: the reference is to a book of magic, The Clavicles of Solomon, attributed to the biblical King Solomon.
kiss his filthy ass: part of the ritual of the Black Mass, the celebration of Satan. :: Since 2002 :: Based On Layout Designed By Danny Is On Fire Productions © 2006