Un Fantôme: Les Ténèbres, Le Parfum

I found it quite funny that she too started a blog, just in time for me to stop caring about the one thing that we had in common. This also came right on the heels of a rather unsettling piece of news from one G. who said that someone was reading this site and making comments about it on porches. I find this more amusing than anything else, mostly because this blog was originally for the sake of indulging my own rather stupid melodrama in the hopes that I could purge it from my soul. It's done the trick more or less, and since I never really intended for any of the interested parties to see it then I daresay that this turn of events is probably not in my favor. But I think it shouldn't matter to me. I have no reputation to shatter. If G. knows then so does P. and then W. and then probably A. Oh, we are all connected to each other. Ha ha ha.

The next poem I split up since it is effectively four poems in one.

A Phantom

I. The Darkness
In the cave of unfathomable sadness
Where Destiny has already relegated me;
Where never enters a rose and happy ray;
Where, alone with the Night, sullen hostess,

I am like a painter that a scoffing God
Condemns to paint, alas! On the darkness;
Where, cooking for the ghastly appetites
I boil and eat my own heart,

For moments that shone, that lengthened, that spread
A ghost made of grace and splendor.
By its dreamy, oriental appearance,
When it reaches its absolute grandeur,
I recognize my beautiful visitor:

It is She! Black and yet luminous.

II. The Perfume
Reader, have you sometimes breathed
With exhilaration and slow-moving greed
That grain of incense that refills a church,
Or from a sachet the inveterate musk?

Deep charm, magic, by which we grow tipsy,
In the present the past restored!
So the lover on a worshipped body
Picks from memory the exquisite bloom.

From her weighty and elastic hair,
Living sachet, censer of the alcove,
A scent went up, savage and brown,

And from her clothes, muslin or velvet,
Completely imbued with her flawless youth,
She released a perfume of fur.

Un Fantôme

I. Les Ténèbres

Dans les caveaux d'insondable tristesse
Où le Destin m'a déjà relégué;
Où jamais n'entre un rayon rose et gai;
Où, seul avec la Nuit, maussade hôtesse,

Je suis comme un peintre qu'un Dieu moqueur
Condamne à peindre, hélas! sur les ténèbres;
Où, cuisinier aux appétits funèbres,
Je fais bouillir et je mange mon coeur,

Par instants brille, et s'allonge, et s'étale
Un spectre fait de grâce et de splendeur.
À sa rêveuse allure orientale,
Quand il atteint sa totale grandeur,
Je reconnais ma belle visiteuse:

C'est Elle! noire et pourtant lumineuse.

II. Le Parfum
Lecteur, as-tu quelquefois respiré
Avec ivresse et lente gourmandise
Ce grain d'encens qui remplit une église,
Ou d'un sachet le musc invétéré?

Charme profond, magique, dont nous grise
Dans le présent le passé restauré!
Ainsi l'amant sur un corps adoré
Du souvenir cueille la fleur exquise.

De ses cheveux élastiques et lourds,
Vivant sachet, encensoir de l'alcôve,
Une senteur montait, sauvage et fauve,

Et des habits, mousseline ou velours,
Tout imprégnés de sa jeunesse pure,
Se dégageait un parfum de fourrure.

Le Possédé

I feel stupid and useless today. On these days I find myself staring at poems full of words that I know I know but for some reason cannot immediately recognize. Maybe I am just hungry or something.

The Possessed
The sun is covered with crepe. Like him,
Oh moon of my life! Swaddle yourself with shadow
Sleep or smoke to your will; be silent, be somber,
And plunge your whole entirety into the abyss of Ennui.

I love you so! Yet, if you wished today,
Like an eclipsed star that draws out from the half-light,
To strut yourself about in the places which Folly obstructs
That is fine! Charming dagger, spring from your pouch!

Light your pupils with the flame of the chandeliers!
Light the desire in the looks of the louts!
All of you to me is pleasure, morbid or exuberant;

Be that which you want, black night, red daybreak;
There is not one fiber in my whole trembling body
That does not cry: Oh my dear Beelzebub, I adore you!

Le Possédé
Le soleil s'est couvert d'un crêpe. Comme lui,
Ô Lune de ma vie! emmitoufle-toi d'ombre
Dors ou fume à ton gré; sois muette, sois sombre,
Et plonge tout entière au gouffre de l'Ennui;

Je t'aime ainsi! Pourtant, si tu veux aujourd'hui,
Comme un astre éclipsé qui sort de la pénombre,
Te pavaner aux lieux que la Folie encombre
C'est bien! Charmant poignard, jaillis de ton étui!

Allume ta prunelle à la flamme des lustres!
Allume le désir dans les regards des rustres!
Tout de toi m'est plaisir, morbide ou pétulant;

Sois ce que tu voudras, nuit noire, rouge aurore;
II n'est pas une fibre en tout mon corps tremblant
Qui ne crie: Ô mon cher Belzébuth, je t'adore!

----
Oh, more melodrama.

Le Balcon

I am seriously thinking about boycotting facebook, simply because it reminds me of people and places that I would do well never to think of again. Not just because of him either. Right now he is the least of my worries.

Right now my room is a chaotic orgy of heavy books, piles of clothing, and tons of sacred little knick-knacks which could be destroyed with a touch. Not a terribly good combination I think. I will be settled for good in about two weeks. Until then I am sleeping inches above the floor and waking up to the sound of obnoxious passersby in the street.

The boy's departure has stuffed me full of ennui, sure, but it's beginning to die. I have much more important things to be upset about. Like the fact that I have fallen behind on posting. Here goes!

The Balcony
Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses,
Oh you, all my pleasures! Oh you, all my duties!
You will bring back to me the beauty of caresses,
The sweetness of home and the charm of evenings,
Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses!

The evenings illuminated by the fire of charcoal,
And the evenings on the balcony, veiled with rosy vapors.
How your breast was sweet to me! How your heart was good to me!
You have often told of imperishable things
The evenings illuminated by the fire of charcoal.

How lovely are the suns in the warm evenings!
How the space is deep! How the heart is strong!
In my tilting towards you, queen of the beloved,
I believe to breathe the perfume of your blood.
How lovely are the suns in the warm evenings!

The night deepened itself as a dividing wall,
And my eyes in the dark discerned your eyes,
And I drank your breathing, sweetness! Poison!
And your feet went to sleep in my brotherly hands.
The night deepened itself as a dividing wall.

I know the art of evoking happy moments,
And I see my past again huddled in your knees.
For what good is it to search for languid beauties
Elsewhere than in your dear body and your heart so sweet?
I know the art of evoking happy moments!

These promises, these perfumes, these unending kisses,
Are they reborn from a chasm forbidding of our sounds,
Like the rejuvenated suns go up to the heavens
After being washed in the depths of the deep seas?
—Oh promises, oh perfumes, oh unending kisses!

Le Balcon
Mère des souvenirs, maîtresse des maîtresses,
Ô toi, tous mes plaisirs! ô toi, tous mes devoirs!
Tu te rappelleras la beauté des caresses,
La douceur du foyer et le charme des soirs,
Mère des souvenirs, maîtresse des maîtresses!

Les soirs illuminés par l'ardeur du charbon,
Et les soirs au balcon, voilés de vapeurs roses.
Que ton sein m'était doux! que ton coeur m'était bon!
Nous avons dit souvent d'impérissables choses
Les soirs illuminés par l'ardeur du charbon.

Que les soleils sont beaux dans les chaudes soirées!
Que l'espace est profond! que le coeur est puissant!
En me penchant vers toi, reine des adorées,
Je croyais respirer le parfum de ton sang.
Que les soleils sont beaux dans les chaudes soirées!

La nuit s'épaississait ainsi qu'une cloison,
Et mes yeux dans le noir devinaient tes prunelles,
Et je buvais ton souffle, ô douceur! ô poison!
Et tes pieds s'endormaient dans mes mains fraternelles.
La nuit s'épaississait ainsi qu'une cloison.

Je sais l'art d'évoquer les minutes heureuses,
Et revis mon passé blotti dans tes genoux.
Car à quoi bon chercher tes beautés langoureuses
Ailleurs qu'en ton cher corps et qu'en ton coeur si doux?
Je sais l'art d'évoquer les minutes heureuses!

Ces serments, ces parfums, ces baisers infinis,
Renaîtront-ils d'un gouffre interdit à nos sondes,
Comme montent au ciel les soleils rajeunis
Après s'être lavés au fond des mers profondes?
— Ô serments! ô parfums! ô baisers infinis!

-------
M. says I have become increasingly melodramatic since summer began. This is probably true.

Le Chat/Duellum

I am tired. I am heartbroken. Jesus, I just don't care.

The Cat
Come, my beautiful cat, over my amorous heart,
Hold back the talons of your paw,
And let me plunge into your beautiful eyes,
Mixed of metal and agate.

When my fingers caress with leisure
Your head and your elastic back,
And so my hand is drunk with pleasure
From feeling your electric body,

I see my women in spirit. Her look,
Like that of yours, agreeable beauty
Profound and cold, cut and cleaves like a spear,

And, from the feet up to the head,
A subtle air, a dangerous perfume,
Swims around her brown body.

Le Chat
Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon coeur amoureux;
Retiens les griffes de ta patte,
Et laisse-moi plonger dans tes beaux yeux,
Mêlés de métal et d'agate.

Lorsque mes doigts caressent à loisir
Ta tête et ton dos élastique,
Et que ma main s'enivre du plaisir
De palper ton corps électrique,

Je vois ma femme en esprit. Son regard,
Comme le tien, aimable bête
Profond et froid, coupe et fend comme un dard,

Et, des pieds jusques à la tête,
Un air subtil, un dangereux parfum
Nagent autour de son corps brun.

Duel
Two warriors have run, the one over the other, their weapons
Have spattered the air with gleams and with blood.
These games, these rattles of iron are the rackets
Of a youth prey to crying love.

The blades are broken! Like your youth,
My dear! But the teeth, the blistering nails,
They soon avenge the sword and the traitorous spike.
—Oh frenzy of mature hearts ulcerated by love!

In the ravine haunted by mountain lions and leopards
Our heroes, spitefully grasping each other, have rolled,
And their skin will flower the dryness of the rocks.

—This abyss, it is the hell, peopled with our friends!
Let us roll in remorse, cold-blooded amazon,
So to perpetuate the fire of our hate!

Duellum

Deux guerriers ont couru l'un sur l'autre, leurs armes
Ont éclaboussé l'air de lueurs et de sang.
Ces jeux, ces cliquetis du fer sont les vacarmes
D'une jeunesse en proie à l'amour vagissant.

Les glaives sont brisés! comme notre jeunesse,
Ma chère! Mais les dents, les ongles acérés,
Vengent bientôt l'épée et la dague traîtresse.
— Ô fureur des coeurs mûrs par l'amour ulcérés!

Dans le ravin hanté des chats-pards et des onces
Nos héros, s'étreignant méchamment, ont roulé,
Et leur peau fleurira l'aridité des ronces.

— Ce gouffre, c'est l'enfer, de nos amis peuplé!
Roulons-y sans remords, amazone inhumaine,
Afin d'éterniser l'ardeur de notre haine!
---

I want those autumn nights back, right.

Une nuit que j'étais près d'une affreuse Juive/Remords posthume

I want to say that things are slightly better this morning. I managed to wake up without wanting anyone in particular to die. Things are better, I guess. I am forgetting more and more things and that is quite alright with me.

Last night we sat in N's room and watched the smoke drift up to the ceiling. I spend most of my time in their rooms, mine are too large and echoing. He and I used to sit there, overcrowded, breathing the same smoke and avoiding each others' eyes. He is gone for real, forever and it would not be so bad if I were not reminded of him at every turn. He is a part of everything and as such I can only work to hasten my own departure. I cannot stay here. I simply cannot.

I am also grateful that Mon. Baudelaire has finally written a poem that I am unable to mold and stretch to fit my own self-imposed drama.

One night I was close to a dreadful Jewess
One night I was close to a dreadful Jewess,
Like a cadaver stretched along a cadaver,
I took myself to dreaming by that sold body
Of the sad beauty which my desire denies itself.

To myself I imagined her native majesty,
Her gaze armed with vigor and with grace,
Her hair which makes her a perfumed helmet,
And whose memory rekindles me for love.

Because I would have kissed your noble body with fervor,
And from your cold feet up to your black tresses
Unrolled the treasure of deep caresses,

If, some evening, with a tear effortlessly evoked
You could only, oh queen of cruelties!
Obscure the splendor of your cold pupils.

Une nuit que j'étais près d'une affreuse Juive
Une nuit que j'étais près d'une affreuse Juive,
Comme au long d'un cadavre un cadavre étendu,
Je me pris à songer près de ce corps vendu
À la triste beauté dont mon désir se prive.

Je me représentai sa majesté native,
Son regard de vigueur et de grâces armé,
Ses cheveux qui lui font un casque parfumé,
Et dont le souvenir pour l'amour me ravive.

Car j'eusse avec ferveur baisé ton noble corps,
Et depuis tes pieds frais jusqu'à tes noires tresses
Déroulé le trésor des profondes caresses,

Si, quelque soir, d'un pleur obtenu sans effort
Tu pouvais seulement, ô reine des cruelles!
Obscurcir la splendeur de tes froides prunelles.

Posthumous Remorse
When you will sleep, my dark beauty,
In the depths of a monument built of black marble,
When you will have for alcove and mansion
Only a rainy vault and a shallow grave,

When the stone, oppressing your cowardly breast
And your flanks that softened a charming nonchalance,
You will stop your heart from beating and from wanting,
And your feet from running their daring course,

The tomb, confident in my infinite dream
(Because the tomb will always understand the poet),
During these great nights where sleep is banished,

Will say to you: “What does it help you, imperfect concubine,
To not have known why these dead ones cry?”
—And like remorse the worms will gnaw your skin.

Remords posthume
Lorsque tu dormiras, ma belle ténébreuse,
Au fond d'un monument construit en marbre noir,
Et lorsque tu n'auras pour alcôve et manoir
Qu'un caveau pluvieux et qu'une fosse creuse;

Quand la pierre, opprimant ta poitrine peureuse
Et tes flancs qu'assouplit un charmant nonchaloir,
Empêchera ton coeur de battre et de vouloir,
Et tes pieds de courir leur course aventureuse,

Le tombeau, confident de mon rêve infini
(Car le tombeau toujours comprendra le poète),
Durant ces grandes nuits d'où le somme est banni,

Te dira: «Que vous sert, courtisane imparfaite,
De n'avoir pas connu ce que pleurent les morts?»
— Et le vers rongera ta peau comme un remords.

Le Vampire

Not really that sad anymore, just kind of miffed. I appreciate that he has not tried to contact me since arriving on his distant shore. Ah rage to love and right back again .

Everyone here is full of shit in the morning. I am thoroughly convinced that no one should be allowed to interact with me between the hours of 5 a.m. and noon. Argh.

I hate everyone today. Here we go! More Ennui!

The Vampire
You who, like a stroke of a knife,
Entered into my mournful heart,
You who, strong as a herd
Of demons, came, crazy and arrayed,

From my humbled spirit
To make your bed and your estate;
Infamous one, to whom I am bound
Like the convict to the chain,

Like the game to the stubborn gambler,
Like the bottle to the drunkard,
Like the vermin to the carcass,
—Cursed, damned, be you!

I have prayed the rapid blade
To capture my liberty,
And I have told the treacherous poison
To rescue my cowardice.

Alas! The poison and the blade
Have taken me in disdain and have said to me:
“You are not worthy for one to remove you
From your cursed slavery,

Idiot!—from her empire
If our efforts delivered you,
Your kisses would resuscitate
The corpse of your vampire!”

Le Vampire
Toi qui, comme un coup de couteau,
Dans mon coeur plaintif es entrée;
Toi qui, forte comme un troupeau
De démons, vins, folle et parée,

De mon esprit humilié
Faire ton lit et ton domaine;
— Infâme à qui je suis lié
Comme le forçat à la chaîne,

Comme au jeu le joueur têtu,
Comme à la bouteille l'ivrogne,
Comme aux vermines la charogne
— Maudite, maudite sois-tu!

J'ai prié le glaive rapide
De conquérir ma liberté,
Et j'ai dit au poison perfide
De secourir ma lâcheté.

Hélas! le poison et le glaive
M'ont pris en dédain et m'ont dit:
«Tu n'es pas digne qu'on t'enlève
À ton esclavage maudit,

Imbécile! — de son empire
Si nos efforts te délivraient,
Tes baisers ressusciteraient
Le cadavre de ton vampire!»

------
If he refuses to accept my friend request I will completely lose it.

De profundis clamavi

True to form, Baudelaire's ennui seems to match mine. The past few days have been hard: mostly listless with the occasional acute crying jag, which normally takes place at the most inappropriate time and location. I haven't cried like this since La Jolla, around this time last year. I cry all the time, sure, but mostly over stupid shit. And it's mostly out of rage. This time it was just from helplessness and the knowledge that things will never, ever be the way I want them to be. Stupid. Stupid.

But he held time still for me, for a little while. The day before he left R. and I were fretting and discussing, chewing on our cigarettes and ruing his evasiveness. He would not say goodbye, we thought. But he did. To both of us. It was literally hours and I had given up hope. But he made it beautiful before he crushed my dreams by walking away. We talked for hours, muttering and hypothesizing. What if, what if. What if nothing, it's all over now.

No buildings fell down, though.

Sometimes I wonder if Baudelaire is reading my mind or if I am simply molding my despair to fit his. Who knows.

From the Depths I Cried
I implore your mercy, You, the only one that I love,
From the lowly chasm where my heart has fallen,
It is a dreary universe sealed by the horizon,
Where horror and blasphemy swim in the night;

A sun without warmth glides above six months,
And the other six months night covers the earth;
It is a country more bare than the artic land
—Neither beasts, nor brooks, nor greens, nor woods!

Yet it is not the horror in the world that transcends
The cold cruelty of that icy sun
And that immense night like the old Chaos;

I envy the lot of the loathsome animals
Who can plunge themselves into a stupid sleep,
So long the web of time unwinds!

De profundis clamavi
J'implore ta pitié, Toi, l'unique que j'aime,
Du fond du gouffre obscur où mon coeur est tombé.
C'est un univers morne à l'horizon plombé,
Où nagent dans la nuit l'horreur et le blasphème;

Un soleil sans chaleur plane au-dessus six mois,
Et les six autres mois la nuit couvre la terre;
C'est un pays plus nu que la terre polaire
— Ni bêtes, ni ruisseaux, ni verdure, ni bois!

Or il n'est pas d'horreur au monde qui surpasse
La froide cruauté de ce soleil de glace
Et cette immense nuit semblable au vieux Chaos;

Je jalouse le sort des plus vils animaux
Qui peuvent se plonger dans un sommeil stupide,
Tant l'écheveau du temps lentement se dévide!