And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures; where, entranced in pallid flotsam, A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down.
Arthur RimbaudRead
The wolf howled under the leaves And spit out the prettiest feathers Of his meal of fowl: Like him I consume myself.
Interpretation
This quote reflects the self-destructive nature of consumption and the beauty that can arise from it.
In this quote, Rimbaud uses the imagery of a wolf howling and consuming its meal to illustrate the intense and sometimes destructive process of self-examination and creativity. The wolf represents an internal struggle, where the act of consumption symbolizes a deeper engagement with one's own experiences and emotions, suggesting that in this struggle, beauty can emerge even from darker aspects of life.
In practice
In a poetry reading, to illustrate the complexities of creation and self-reflection.
And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures; where, entranced in pallid flotsam, A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down.
My wisdom is as spurned as chaos. What is my nothingness, compared to the amazement that awaits you?
In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.
I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still.
Idle youth, enslaved to everything; by being too sensitive I have wasted my life.
What a life! True life is elsewhere. We are not in the world.
Fly not yet; 't is just the hour When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night And maids who love the moon.
America is a poem in our eyes; its ample geography dazzles the imagination, and it will not wait long for metres.
The unpurged images of day recede; The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed; Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' song After great cathedral gong.
The sky leans on me, me, the one upright among all horizontals.
And I will find some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,/ Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings.
n OthI n g can s urPas s the m y SteR y of s tilLnes s
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