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Post by stuart on Feb 6, 2005 12:42:01 GMT
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Post by thebadcowboy on Feb 6, 2005 13:34:44 GMT
i like rimbauds work but am not too sure of wallace fowlie.... i have his translation of baudelaires fleurs de mal and he seems to have butchered the translation in places and put his own meaning to some of rimbauds stuff...
on the other hand i know that translation is not an exact science and some things are better left untranslated......
je veux etre pret......!
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Post by jochen on Feb 6, 2005 17:45:38 GMT
I highly recommend the movie "Total Eclipse" starring Leonardo di Caprio.
It's about the friendship of Rimbaud and his idol Paul Verlaine. Very expressionistic...
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Post by weiland on Jun 24, 2005 22:20:19 GMT
The only great role Leonardo ever did!
"It has been found again. What ? ? Eternity. It is the sea fled away With the sun."
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Post by hungryhippo on Jul 29, 2005 18:33:29 GMT
I was reading Illuminations yesterday and this reminded me of Morrison:
Story
A Prince was tired of merely spending his time perfecting conventially generous impulses. He could foretell amazing revolutions of love, and suspected his wives of being able to give him more than their complacency, enhanced with ideas and wealth. He wanted to see truth and the time of full desire and satisfaction. He wanted this, even if it was a misuse of piety. At least he possessed a large reserve of human power. All of the wives who had known him were murdered. What slaughter in the garden of beauty! They blessed him when the sword came down. He did not order any new wives. The wives reappeared. He killed the men who followed him, after hunting or drinking with them. They all followed him. He took delight in cutting the throats of the pet animals. He set fire to the palaces. He fell on the servants, and hacked them to pieces.-The servants, the gold roofs, the splendid animals were still there. Can man reach ecstasy in destruction and be rejuvenated by cruelty? His people made no complaint and no one offered him any advice. One evening when he was proudly riding his horse, a Genie appeared, of unspeakable, unmentionable beauty. His face and his bearing gave promise of a rich complex love, of an indescribable, unbearable happiness. The Prince and the Genie killed one another probably in the prime of life. How could they have failed to die of it? Together, therefore, they died. But this Prince passed away, in his palace, at a normal age. The Prince was the Genie. The Genie was the Prince. Our desires are depraved of cunning music.
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