Rimbaud

Alchemy of the Word (i)

To me. The story of one of my eccentricities.

For a long time I boasted that I possessed all the possible landscapes, and I thought celebrities of painting and modern poetry were derisory.

I liked idiot paintings, doorways, decorations, travelling acrobats canvas, signs, popular illuminations; antiquated literature, church Latin, erotic books full of misspellings, our grandmothers novels, fairy tales, childhood little books, old operas, silly chorus, naive rhythms.

I dreamed of crusades, discovery travels without any attachment, republics without histories, stifled religious wars, revolutions of moral, movements of races and continents: I believed in all wonders.

I invented the colors of vowels! — A black, E white, I red, O blue, U green. — I made rules for the form and movement of every consonant, and I flattered myself to invent a poetic verb with instinctive rhythms that would be accessible sooner or later, to all senses. I reserved the translation.

It began as a consideration. I wrote silences, nights, I noted down what was inexpressible. I set vertigoes.

Alchemy of the Word (ii)

Away from birds, herds, and village girls,
What did I drink, kneeled in this heather
Surrounded by tender hazelnut trees,
In the warm green mist of afternoon?

What could I drink from this young Oise,
— Voiceless elms, flowerless grass, dark cloudy sky! —
Drink from these yellow gourds, far from the hut
Darling? Some golden liqueur that makes one sweat.

I would have made a suspicious sign for an inn.
— A storm came to hunt the sky. At the evening,
Water from the woods vanished on virgin sands,
God winds threw icicles on ponds;

Crying, I saw gold — and could not drink. —

Alchemy of the Word (iii)

At four o'clock in the morning, in summertime,
Love's sleep still lasts.
Under the groves, is evaporating
The scent of the celebrated evening.

There, in their vast site
Under the Hesperides' sun,
Already moving about — in shirtsleeves —
The Carpenters.

Quiet, in their Deserts of moss,
They prepare their precious paneling
Where the city
Will paint fake heavens.

O! For these charming Workers
Subjects of a Babylon's king,
Venus! Leave for a moment Lovers
With crowned soul.

O! Queen of Shepherds,
Bring eau-de-vie to workers,
May their forces be in peace
Until the bath in the sea, at midday.

The Alchemy of the Word appears in 2nd chapter first place (Deliriums) of A Season in Hell (1873). After a violent argument with his friend Verlaine, Rimbaud went back home in Ardennes. Slightly wounded and, above all, deeply tormented, his youth and frivolity vanished brutally while facing existential struggles.

In the Alchemy of the Word, Rimbaud gives an account of his interests and desires:

“For a long time I boasted that I was possessing...”
“I liked idiot paintings...”
“I dreamed of Crusades, voyages of discoveries...”

[of his achievements:]

“I invented the color of vowels! ...”
“I made rules for the form and movement of...”

[of his progress:]

“It began as a consideration. ...”

He then looked back at his own work and rewrote it with a new freshness, inspired by a face-to-face with himself revealed by the last days tragic circumstances. He was gently coming back to life after a terrible nightmare.

Locate Arthur Rimbaud in history.

This poem is a rewriting of Tear (May 1872), published in the poems collection entitled New Verses:

Away from birds, herds, and village girls,
Crouched, I drank among some heather
Surrounded by soft wooden hazel trees,
In a warm, green mist of afternoon.

What could I drink from this young Oise?
Voiceless elms, flowerless grass, dark cloudy sky.
What could I draw from the colocasia gourd?
Some pale and golden liqueur that makes one sweat

Like that, I would have made a bad sign for an inn.
Then a storm transformed the sky, until eventide.
They were black countries, lakes, poles,
Colonnades beneath the blue night, railway stations.

Water from the woods vanished on virgin sands
Heaven winds threw icicles on ponds...
Gold! As a gold or shells fisherman,
To think that I didn't bother to drink!

The following extracts from both versions of this poem deserve special attention:

1872: “Heaven winds threw icicles on ponds...”
1873: “God winds threw icicles on ponds;”

Rimbaud “has faith... and I have even never seen a faith of this quality!” said the priest to Rimbaud's sister Isabelle, after having heard his last confession. Nevertheless, many Rimbaud relatives, starting with Verlaine, were unaware of this. In our opinion, this is due to the fact that Rimbaud distinguished God and religion.

Locate Arthur Rimbaud in history.

This poem is a rewriting of Good Thought of the Morning (May 1872), published in the poems collection entitled New Verses:

At four o'clock in the morning, in summertime,
Love's sleep still lasts.
Under the groves, dawn dispels
The scent of the celebrated evening.

But there in the vast site
Towards the Hesperides sun,
The shirtsleeves carpenters
Are already moving about.

Quiet, in their desert of moss,
They prepare the precious paneling
Where the city's wealth
Will laugh beneath fake heavens.

Ah! For these charming Workers
Subjects of a king of Babylon,
Venus! Let for a while the Lovers
With crowned soul.

O! Queen of Shepherds!
Bring eau-de-vie to workers,
For their forces to be in peace,
Until the bath in the sea at midday.

The following extracts from both versions of this poem deserve special attention:

(1872): “Where the city's wealth will laugh beneath fake heavens.”
(1873): “Where the city will paint fake heavens.”

Rimbaud doesn't talk anymore about city's wealth but about an entity that falsifies the real thing... Soon, the poet will leave further away than all the cities he has visited so far...

Locate Arthur Rimbaud in history.