Daniel Warner (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} danielwarner) wrote,@ 2008-12-15 21:18:00 |
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I Believe in that Poison
By 2004 I had read a little Rimbaud but never fell for it. It felt like something that belonged to the baby boom generation. At best it was what the people whose work I liked to read liked to read. That year a friend of mine gave me a coverless copy of Rimbaud's complete works and letters. His brother had given it to him. Something about that book sparked my appreciation. Maybe it was because the translations were better than the other versions I had read. Maybe it was because the book itself reminded me of my good friend. Maybe the work of a young poet took on new meaning for me as I crossed over into my thirtieth year. I don't know.
MORNING OF DRUNKENNESS
My story of the good and the beautiful! Terrible fanfare of music where I never lose step! Magical rack! Hurrah for the miraculous work and for the marvelous body, for the first time! It all began with the laughter of children and it will end there. This poison will still be in my veins even when the fanfare dies away and I return to the earlier discord. And now that i am so worthy of this torture, let me fervently gather in the superhuman promise made to my created body and soul. This promise, this madness! Elegance, science, violence! They promised me they would bury in the darkness the tree of good and evil, and deport tyrannical codes of honesty so that I may bring forward my very pure love. It all began with feelings of disgust and it ended—since I could not seize its eternity on the spot—it ended with a riot of perfumes.
Laughter of children, discretion of slaves, coldness of virgins, horror of figures and objects from here, be consecrated by the memory o that night. It began in slyness and it came to an end with angels of fire and ice.
Brief night of intoxication, holy night! even if it was only for the mask you bequeathed to us. We assert you, method! I am not forgetting that yesterday you glorified each of our ages. I believe in that poison. I can give all of my existence each day.
Behold the age of Murderers.
By 2004 I had read a little Rimbaud but never fell for it. It felt like something that belonged to the baby boom generation. At best it was what the people whose work I liked to read liked to read. That year a friend of mine gave me a coverless copy of Rimbaud's complete works and letters. His brother had given it to him. Something about that book sparked my appreciation. Maybe it was because the translations were better than the other versions I had read. Maybe it was because the book itself reminded me of my good friend. Maybe the work of a young poet took on new meaning for me as I crossed over into my thirtieth year. I don't know.
MORNING OF DRUNKENNESS
My story of the good and the beautiful! Terrible fanfare of music where I never lose step! Magical rack! Hurrah for the miraculous work and for the marvelous body, for the first time! It all began with the laughter of children and it will end there. This poison will still be in my veins even when the fanfare dies away and I return to the earlier discord. And now that i am so worthy of this torture, let me fervently gather in the superhuman promise made to my created body and soul. This promise, this madness! Elegance, science, violence! They promised me they would bury in the darkness the tree of good and evil, and deport tyrannical codes of honesty so that I may bring forward my very pure love. It all began with feelings of disgust and it ended—since I could not seize its eternity on the spot—it ended with a riot of perfumes.
Laughter of children, discretion of slaves, coldness of virgins, horror of figures and objects from here, be consecrated by the memory o that night. It began in slyness and it came to an end with angels of fire and ice.
Brief night of intoxication, holy night! even if it was only for the mask you bequeathed to us. We assert you, method! I am not forgetting that yesterday you glorified each of our ages. I believe in that poison. I can give all of my existence each day.
Behold the age of Murderers.
