Baudelaire uses rhyme in strikingly different ways. ‘Spleen’ and ‘L’Invitation au voyage’ can illustrate contrasting ends of one kind of spectrum.<\/p>\n
Spleen<\/strong><\/p>\n Pluvi\u00f4se, irrit\u00e9 contre la ville enti\u00e8re, Mon chat sur le carreau cherchant une liti\u00e8re Le bourdon se lamente, et la b\u00fbche enfum\u00e9e H\u00e9ritage fatal d’une vieille hydropique, My French certainly isn\u2019t good enough to know how this poem would read to a native speaker. However, and however na\u00efve my detailed impressions may seem, I find it a miracle of concentrated evocation, both in its images and the texture of its language.<\/p>\n On the level of imagery, what\u2019s so impressive is the abruptness with which pictures are juxtaposed, grand sweeping conceptions and dreamlike or nightmarish fantasy merging with or jostled by mundane realities. The tight grip of rhyme and metre give a feeling of inevitability to its unfolding, and what reason calls its fantastic elements seem as solidly present in the mindscape of the poem as its literal details, exercising as inescapable a force on the poet\u2019s mood. Rhyme and metre also work to fold elements together \u2013 most mordantly in the sequence cimeti\u00e8re, liti\u00e8re, goutti\u00e8re – cemetery, cat\u2019s bed and gutter. This kind of folding together by sound seems to work within the lines as well as at their endings, for example in the ironic jarring of \u2018carreau\u2019 and \u2018repos\u2019, or the way the last syllable of \u2018dans la goutti\u00e8re\u2019 twists the knife of \u2018erre\u2019. Power comes from the way ideas that are brought together in this way conflict with each other or cruelly intensify each other in meaning, sometimes both at once, as \u2018cimeti\u00e8re\u2019 and \u2018liti\u00e8re\u2019 do. This effect depends on the intensity with which the ideas are realised in themselves as well as the way they\u2019re brought into relation with each other. The lines about the cat seem to me to me particularly evocative, brilliantly weaving the sense of the cat\u2019s tense, restless movements and edgy state into their own phonetic texture. But these strongly, independently realised moments are yoked together in a kind of highly frictional harmony by sense as well as sound \u2013 not only by all presenting a mood of gloom tinged with horror but by imaginative parallels of other kinds, like the way the spectral poet\u2019s voice, the lamenting of the bourdon \u2013 here, apparently, a bell ringing for the dead, not a bumble bee \u2013 the falsetto squeal of the smoky log and the wheezing of the clock gather in a cacophonous choir of voices that suddenly drop to the sad, sinister whispering of the Knave of Hearts and the Queen of Spades.<\/p>\n This kind of rhyming is quite opposite to what we find in \u2018L\u2019Invitation au voyage\u2019:<\/p>\n Mon enfant, ma soeur, L\u00e0, tout n’est qu’ordre et beaut\u00e9, Des meubles luisants, L\u00e0, tout n’est qu’ordre et beaut\u00e9, Vois sur ces canaux L\u00e0, tout n’est qu’ordre et beaut\u00e9, <\/p>\n In \u2018Spleen\u2019 images and ideas seem to struggle against the embrace of form, insisting on their gritty, individual reality, wrestling to break free of the poem\u2019s dominion. In \u2018L\u2019Invitation au voyage\u2019, the flow of sound and rhythm almost overwhelms visual and kinetic response. The effect is lovely and gently haunting, but to my mind far less powerful and less satisfying than \u2018Spleen\u2019, which I keep going back to. Every time I do it impresses me in new ways because it seems to give free play to so many divergent forces.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Baudelaire uses rhyme in strikingly different ways. ‘Spleen’ and ‘L’Invitation au voyage’ can illustrate contrasting ends of one kind of spectrum. Spleen Pluvi\u00f4se, irrit\u00e9 contre la ville enti\u00e8re, De son urne \u00e0 grands flots verse un froid t\u00e9n\u00e9breux Aux p\u00e2les habitants du voisin cimeti\u00e8re Et la mortalit\u00e9 sur les faubourgs brumeux. Mon chat sur le […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[46],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2862","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-charles-baudelaire"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2862"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2862"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2862\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2868,"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2862\/revisions\/2868"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2862"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2862"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2862"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nDe son urne \u00e0 grands flots verse un froid t\u00e9n\u00e9breux
\nAux p\u00e2les habitants du voisin cimeti\u00e8re
\nEt la mortalit\u00e9 sur les faubourgs brumeux.<\/p>\n
\nAgite sans repos son corps maigre et galeux;
\nL’\u00e2me d’un vieux po\u00e8te erre dans la goutti\u00e8re
\nAvec la triste voix d’un fant\u00f4me frileux.<\/p>\n
\nAccompagne en fausset la pendule enrhum\u00e9e
\nCependant qu’en un jeu plein de sales parfums,<\/p>\n
\nLe beau valet de coeur et la dame de pique
\nCausent sinistrement de leurs amours d\u00e9funts.<\/p>\n
\nSonge \u00e0 la douceur
\nD’aller l\u00e0-bas vivre ensemble!
\nAimer \u00e0 loisir,
\nAimer et mourir
\nAu pays qui te ressemble!
\nLes soleils mouill\u00e9s
\nDe ces ciels brouill\u00e9s
\nPour mon esprit ont les charmes
\nSi myst\u00e9rieux
\nDe tes tra\u00eetres yeux,
\nBrillant \u00e0 travers leurs larmes.<\/p>\n
\nLuxe, calme et volupt\u00e9.<\/p>\n
\nPolis par les ans,
\nD\u00e9coreraient notre chambre;
\nLes plus rares fleurs
\nM\u00ealant leurs odeurs
\nAux vagues senteurs de l’ambre,
\nLes riches plafonds,
\nLes miroirs profonds,
\nLa splendeur orientale,
\nTout y parlerait
\n\u00c0 l’\u00e2me en secret
\nSa douce langue natale.<\/p>\n
\nLuxe, calme et volupt\u00e9.<\/p>\n
\nDormir ces vaisseaux
\nDont l’humeur est vagabonde;
\nC’est pour assouvir
\nTon moindre d\u00e9sir
\nQu’ils viennent du bout du monde.
\n\u2014 Les soleils couchants
\nRev\u00eatent les champs,
\nLes canaux, la ville enti\u00e8re,
\nD’hyacinthe et d’or;
\nLe monde s’endort
\nDans une chaude lumi\u00e8re.<\/p>\n
\nLuxe, calme et volupt\u00e9.<\/p>\n