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    The Flowers of Evil
    The Flowers of Evil
    The Flowers of Evil
    Ebook95 pages38 minutes

    The Flowers of Evil

    By Charles Baudelaire and Cyril Scott

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateJan 1, 1936
    Author

    Charles Baudelaire

    Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867) was a French poet. Born in Paris, Baudelaire lost his father at a young age. Raised by his mother, he was sent to boarding school in Lyon and completed his education at the Lycée Louis-le-Grand in Paris, where he gained a reputation for frivolous spending and likely contracted several sexually transmitted diseases through his frequent contact with prostitutes. After journeying by sea to Calcutta, India at the behest of his stepfather, Baudelaire returned to Paris and began working on the lyric poems that would eventually become The Flowers of Evil (1857), his most famous work. Around this time, his family placed a hold on his inheritance, hoping to protect Baudelaire from his worst impulses. His mistress Jeanne Duval, a woman of mixed French and African ancestry, was rejected by the poet’s mother, likely leading to Baudelaire’s first known suicide attempt. During the Revolutions of 1848, Baudelaire worked as a journalist for a revolutionary newspaper, but soon abandoned his political interests to focus on his poetry and translations of the works of Thomas De Quincey and Edgar Allan Poe. As an arts critic, he promoted the works of Romantic painter Eugène Delacroix, composer Richard Wagner, poet Théophile Gautier, and painter Édouard Manet. Recognized for his pioneering philosophical and aesthetic views, Baudelaire has earned praise from such artists as Arthur Rimbaud, Stéphane Mallarmé, Marcel Proust, and T. S. Eliot. An embittered recorder of modern decay, Baudelaire was an essential force in revolutionizing poetry, shaping the outlook that would drive the next generation of artists away from Romanticism towards Symbolism, and beyond. Paris Spleen (1869), a posthumous collection of prose poems, is considered one of the nineteenth century’s greatest works of literature.

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    Reviews for The Flowers of Evil

    4/5

    1,095 ratings18 reviews

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    • 5/5
      Baudelaire's Les Fleurs is a piqued sensorium; it's the silken petal gliding over flesh, guided by fingers that captivate. It's sensual and Baudelaire's emphasis on modern alienation serves to make it even more so. Whether because the theme of modern alienation speaks so loudly to our day to day or because it's laid so bare by Baudelaire's personal context, I'm not sure. I felt pulled by both during the read and this edition has become a favorite as a result.

      Baudelaire speaks to the senses the way Whitman speaks to word lovers, the way a spoken word piece sinks into its audience. His verses have a lasting presence.

      I would definitely recommend this edition to first time readers of Baudelaire. I enjoyed reading in French but it was interesting to have the English versions as well to see if there was a trade-off in meaning or overall feel.
    • 3/5
      Zeer veelvormige stukjes over allerhande thema's, sommige ontluisterend, andere prikkelend, over schoonheid en over de zelfkant van de maatschappij. Po?zie en proza door elkaar. Opvallende rol geuren en zintuiglijke indrukken. Diverse gelijkenissen met Poe.
    • 3/5
      A rather mediocre translation which does not keep the rhyme of the original.
    • 5/5
      This is a completely new translation of this seminal work. Each poem is translated into rhyming verse, preserving both the rhyme scheme and metre of the original. A must-read for all non-francophone poetry lovers.
    • 5/5
      From Paris to the stars to the depths of ones splenetic imagination the reader feels the power of this verse compilation. Whether there has ever been anything like it does not matter as even in our later age the poems strike deep and hard inside our humanity. Love and death and the dregs of desire that cannot be imagined and yet appears here in the verse of the great one - Baudelaire.
    • 1/5
      Not my cup of tea
    • 3/5
      When my eyes, to this cat I love
      Drawn as by a magnet's force,
      Turn tamely back upon that appeal,
      And when I look within myself,

      I notice with astonishment
      The fire of his opal eyes,
      Clear beacons glowing, living jewels,
      Taking my measure, steadily.

      My (initial) amateur assessment is that the translation is to blame for my absence of astonishment. There's no way this could be the same genius who gave us Paris Spleen. Maybe I am but confused. Maybe the threads which shriek decay and ennui were of inadequate weight. Maybe my own disposition suffers from dread and I was left with a meh?

      Perhaps I am inadequate. Perhaps I should pursue other editions and translators. I loved the allusion of street sweeps herding their storms. I love the self-deprecation. I just wanted more. Not the Absolute but more--on which to chew.
    • 3/5
      Zeer veelvormige stukjes over allerhande thema's, sommige ontluisterend, andere prikkelend, over schoonheid en over de zelfkant van de maatschappij. Poëzie en proza door elkaar. Opvallende rol geuren en zintuiglijke indrukken. Diverse gelijkenissen met Poe.
    • 5/5
      I don't speak French and can't read more than a few words here and there, but as I was reading Howard's non-rhyming translation, I felt for the first time I was seeing into the mind of Baudelaire. Surely it couldn't have been the translator's mind. These poems are full of disturbing images and very dark observations, and they aren't completely clear on a first or even second reading, but the experience of reading them is still riveting, and unlike some poetry, it makes you want to re-read them. And read criticism to better understand them. Perhaps like Confucius's Analects, you need to read more than one translation to really gain a better understanding. I may try that. In the meantime, I highly recommend this edition. I should point out, for those who care, that while it has both the French and English versions of the poems, these are in separate sections of the book--not on facing pages. So if you know some French and want to compare side-by-side, you're out of luck and may want to purchase another edition.
    • 3/5
      The poetry does not grip me.
    • 4/5
      I don't know French, so unfortunately am unable to ascertain how true to the original this translation is. Thus, based purely on the English half of this book, I was a bit disappointed that the poetry did not speak to me as much as it once had. The words and messages seem fairly simplistic. Baudelaire has his moments, but they were way too infrequent. His subject matter was also simplistic, which tended to result in rather course poems, instead of uplifting common language to a higher plain. The Parisian Scenes and Death sections were the highlights and do have some interesting ideas worth exploring. Overall, this was a book worth reading (and re-reading), but I don't think the potential of some of Baudelaire's ideas were fully realized.
    • 5/5
      The epitome of decadence and one of the greatest volumes of modern poetry. Dark, sometimes gruesome, images of sex and death are presented in beautiful language completely opposite to its subject. It is no wonder why this volume fought constant censorship in France from its initial publication in 1857 all the way up to sixty years ago. If you enjoy poetry, you have to read this. If you don't enjoy poetry, you have to read this. I read the MacGowan translation, which seems to preserve the cadence very well. Perfect for a cold morning with a cup of hot tea.
    • 4/5
      Simply powerful and moving. Baudelaire really knows how to throw a reader in to an abyss. While the poems have a tendency to be grim, the language that he uses makes them lovely in their very own way. I haven't read all the poems in French but some things get lost in translation in the English versions. I recommend reading them in French as well.
    • 5/5
      Seminal work of poetry by the French symbolist poet inspired by the work of Edgar Allen Poe.
    • 5/5
      One of the few books of poetry that I can stand, and the one I enjoy most.
    • 5/5
      The book that convinced me that there might actually be something to this thing called "poetry" after all. Picked it off the library shelf in spite of my prejudices against the form (probably due to nothing more than its admittedly awesome title) and then sat in my bed that evening, put on some Nick Cave and started reading the book. And man, it moved me! I felt it deep in my blood and it was taking me along with it! Whilst previously poetry had always just sat there on the page as I read it, this poetry brought me down into the page and shook me up before deigning to let me go. Then immediately went back to the library and got out some Rimbaud and didn't like it. But man, Baudelaire! There's a dude if there ever was one!
    • 4/5
      I don't usually read poetry but I found this collection of 'decadent' poems were both beautiful and nightmarish.
    • 5/5
      A beautifully written classic.

    Book preview

    The Flowers of Evil - Charles Baudelaire

    The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Flowers of Evil, by Charles Baudelaire

    This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

    almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

    re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

    with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

    Title: The Flowers of Evil

    Author: Charles Baudelaire

    Translator: Cyril Scott

    Release Date: May 13, 2011 [EBook #36098]

    Language: English

    *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLOWERS OF EVIL ***

    Produced by Andrea Ball and Marc D'Hooghe at

    http://www.freeliterature.org (From images generously made

    available by the Internet Archive)

    THE FLOWERS OF EVIL

    by

    CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

    TRANSLATED INTO

    ENGLISH VERSE

    BY

    CYRIL SCOTT

    LONDON

    ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET

    M CM IX

    DEDICATED TO ARTHUR SYMONS

    CONTENTS

    Benediction

    Echoes

    The Sick Muse

    The Venal Muse

    The Evil Monk

    The Enemy

    Ill Luck

    Interior Life

    Man and the Sea

    Beauty

    The Ideal

    The Giantess

    Hymn to Beauty

    Exotic Perfume

    La Chevelure

    Sonnet XXVIII

    Posthumous Remorse

    The Balcony

    The Possessed One

    Semper Eadem

    All Entire

    Sonnet XLIII

    The Living Torch

    The Spiritual Dawn

    Evening Harmony

    Overcast Sky

    Invitation to a Journey

    Causerie

    Autumn Song

    Sisina

    To a Creolean Lady

    Moesta et Errabunda

    The Ghost

    Autumn Song

    Sadness of the Moon-Goddess

    Cats

    Owls

    Music

    The Joyous Defunct

    The Broken Bell

    Spleen

    Obsession

    Magnetic Horror

    The Lid

    Bertha's Eyes

    The Set of the Romantic Sun

    Meditation

    To a Passer-by

    Illusionary Love

    Mists and Rains

    The Wine of Lovers

    Condemned Women

    The Death of the Lovers

    The Death of the Poor

    Benediction

    When by the changeless Power of a Supreme Decree

    The poet issues forth upon this sorry sphere,

    His mother, horrified, and full of blasphemy,

    Uplifts her voice to God, who takes compassion on her.

    "Ah, why did I not bear a serpent's nest entire,

    Instead of bringing forth this hideous Child of Doom!

    Oh cursèd be that transient night of vain desire

    When I conceived my expiation in my womb!"

    "Yet since among all women thou hast chosen me

    To be the degradation of my jaded mate,

    And since I cannot like a love-leaf wantonly

    Consign this stunted monster to the glowing grate,"

    "I'll cause thine overwhelming hatred to rebound

    Upon the cursèd tool of thy most wicked spite.

    Forsooth, the branches of this wretched tree I'll wound

    And rob its pestilential blossoms of their might!"

    So thus, she giveth vent unto her foaming ire,

    And knowing not the changeless statutes of all times,

    Herself, amid the flames of hell, prepares the pyre;

    The consecrated penance of maternal crimes.

    Yet 'neath th' invisible shelter of an Angel's wing

    This sunlight-loving infant disinherited,

    Exhales from all he eats and drinks, and everything

    The ever sweet ambrosia and the nectar red.

    He trifles with the winds and with the clouds that glide,

    About the way unto the Cross, he loves to sing,

    The spirit on his pilgrimage; that faithful guide,

    Oft weeps to see him joyful like a bird of Spring.

    All those that he would cherish shrink from him with fear,

    And some that waxen bold by his tranquility,

    Endeavour hard some grievance from his heart to tear,

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