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.
The sky leans on me, me, the one upright among all horizontals.
In this particular tub, two knees jut up like icebergs, while minute brown hairs rise on arms and legs in a fringe of kelp; green soap navigates the tidal slosh of seas breaking on legendary beaches; in faith we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail among sacred islands of the mad till death shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real.
Under your skin the moon is alive.
With a changing key, you unlock the house where the snow of whatβs silenced drifts. Just like the blood that bursts from Your eye or mouth or ear, so your key changes. Changing your key changes the word That may drift with flakes. Just like the wind that rebuffs you, Clenched round your word is the snow.
April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.
And I will find some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,/ Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings.
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