"When the rain stretching out its endless train
one vast prison bars mimics
And the dumb throngs of infamous spiders
Their meshes deep in our brains " (Spleen)
How to capture, volatile and valuable this" queen of the faculties " that restores to man the meaning of sounds, colors and fragrances? The poet attempts the impossible in two simultaneous tendencies: the human physical and spiritual man.
Baudelaire says perceive reality in all its intensity. "I prefer the monsters of my fancy at the triviality positive." That's the creative imagination that the poet stands in the name of truth. Poetry is what is most real. Grasp eternity in the transient is also s'inpirer of ugliness itself, or, to state it differently, make beauty with what "is" ugly.
Passionate about pictures since childhood, Charles is not as iconoclastic to better expose the limits of fantasy. Beginning of Naturalism peculiar to his time the poet comes to praising the On-Naturalism (Edgar Allan Poe's spirit-brother, Nerval ...), leaving the point already Surrealism Perfume exotic Breton. A painter of modern life, Charles scatters his verses in the arcana of the city and children. He digs the unpredictable fantasies, dating back to the source of a childish perception, ingenuous. The poet turns to reinvent the beauty remains, exhumed from childhood genius found.
" Time that Nature in its verve powerful
Conceived each day monstrous children
I would have liked to live with a young giant
As the feet of a queen a voluptuous cat " (The giant)
swollen like a huge wave, moving swell of the crowd just feed the games imagination: "The deafening street around me screaming ... " Enjoying the crowd is an art. Agoraphobia, the poet wants to restore this theater aesthetics. Passion pictures, " primitive passion ", the imaginary our customers taste intensity: rise without leakage, escape the daily oversight of the real, recovered full consciousness of the child always drunk. Childhood, found that genius: a small old are the divine eyes of a little girl. "But the green paradise of childish loves ..."
Under the air of nostalgia that is forgotten, sorry Baudelaire gives the form of attendance: "I know the art of evoking happy moments ". And imagination is tender and sad, evoking a heartbeat sepulchral
"Far from home. See the dead years look
the balconies of heaven in robes obsolete
Out of the depths of the waters smiling Regret " (Meditation)
singular nobility in pain.
Baudelaire says perceive reality in all its intensity. "I prefer the monsters of my fancy at the triviality positive." That's the creative imagination that the poet stands in the name of truth. Poetry is what is most real. Grasp eternity in the transient is also s'inpirer of ugliness itself, or, to state it differently, make beauty with what "is" ugly.
Passionate about pictures since childhood, Charles is not as iconoclastic to better expose the limits of fantasy. Beginning of Naturalism peculiar to his time the poet comes to praising the On-Naturalism (Edgar Allan Poe's spirit-brother, Nerval ...), leaving the point already Surrealism Perfume exotic Breton. A painter of modern life, Charles scatters his verses in the arcana of the city and children. He digs the unpredictable fantasies, dating back to the source of a childish perception, ingenuous. The poet turns to reinvent the beauty remains, exhumed from childhood genius found.
" Time that Nature in its verve powerful
Conceived each day monstrous children
I would have liked to live with a young giant
As the feet of a queen a voluptuous cat " (The giant)
swollen like a huge wave, moving swell of the crowd just feed the games imagination: "The deafening street around me screaming ... " Enjoying the crowd is an art. Agoraphobia, the poet wants to restore this theater aesthetics. Passion pictures, " primitive passion ", the imaginary our customers taste intensity: rise without leakage, escape the daily oversight of the real, recovered full consciousness of the child always drunk. Childhood, found that genius: a small old are the divine eyes of a little girl. "But the green paradise of childish loves ..."
Under the air of nostalgia that is forgotten, sorry Baudelaire gives the form of attendance: "I know the art of evoking happy moments ". And imagination is tender and sad, evoking a heartbeat sepulchral
"Far from home. See the dead years look
the balconies of heaven in robes obsolete
Out of the depths of the waters smiling Regret " (Meditation)
singular nobility in pain.
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