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Поль Верлен

Дата рождения: 30. Март 1844
Дата смерти: 8. Январь 1896

Поль Мари́ Верле́н — французский поэт, один из основоположников литературного импрессионизма и символизма.

„Il ne faut jamais juger les gens sur leurs frеquentations. Tenez, Judas, par exemple, il avait des amis irrеprochables. Не суди о человеке по его друзьям. У Иуды они были безупречны.“

„Слушай, мандолине душу открывая“

„Небосвод над этой крышей“

„Всё прочее — литература!“ Из стихотворения «Искусство поэзии»

„Мужчины, женщины, постоянно рождающиеся для любви, в полный голос заявите о своем чувстве, кричите: «Я люблю тебя», вопреки всем страданиям, проклятиям, презрению скотов, хуле моралистов. Кричите это вопреки всяческим превратностям, утратам, вопреки самой смерти... Любить — это единственный смысл жизни. И смысл смыслов, смысл счастья.“

„Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville.

Tears are shed in my heart like the rain on the town.“
One Hundred and One Poems by Paul Verlaine: A Bilingual Edition

„Your soul is a chosen landscape
Where charming masked and costumed figures go
Playing the lute and dancing and almost
Sad beneath their fantastic disguises.

All sing in a minor key
Of all-conquering love and careless fortune
They do not seem to believe in their happiness
And their song mingles with the moonlight.

The still moonlight, sad and beautiful,
Which gives the birds to dream in the trees
And makes the fountain sprays sob in ecstasy,
The tall, slender fountain sprays among the marble statues.“

„Here are fruits, flowers, leaves and branches, and here is my heart which beats only for you.“

„Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville;
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénètre mon coeur?

Ô bruit doux de la pluie
Par terre et sur les toits!
Pour un coeur qui s'ennuie,
Ô le chant de la pluie!

Il pleure sans raison
Dans ce coeur qui s'écoeure.
Quoi! nulle trahison?
Ce deuil est sans raison.

C'est bien la pire peine
De ne savoir pourquoi
Sans amour et sans haine
Mon coeur a tant de peine!“
Romances sans paroles

„Les sanglots longs
Des violons
De l’automne
Blessent mon coeur
D’une langueur

Tout suffocant
Et blême, quand
Sonne l’heure,

Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure;

Et je m’en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m’emporte
Deçà, delà,
Pareil à la
Feuille morte.“
Poèmes Saturniens

„A vast black sleep
falls over my life
sleep, all hope
sleep, all desire.“

„Take eloquence and wring its neck.“

„A poem is really a kind of machine for producing the poetic state by means of words.“

„An infinite
Rains where the white
Mists opalesce
In the moon-shower...“

„I like the word ‘decadent,’ all shimmering with purple and gold … it throws out the brilliance of flames and the gleam of precious stones. It is made up of carnal spirit and unhappy flesh and of all the violent splendors of the Lower Empire; it conjures up the paint of the courtesans, the sports of the circus, the breath of the tamers of animals, the bounding of wild beasts, the collapse among the flames of races exhausted by the power of feeling, to the invading sound of enemy trumpets. The decadence is Sardanapalus lighting the fire in the midst of his women, it is Seneca declaiming poetry as he opens his veins, it is Petronius masking his agony with flowers.“

„The rosy hearth, the lamplight's narrow beam,
The meditation that is rather dream,
With looks that lose themselves in cherished looks;
The hour of steaming tea and banished books;
The sweetness of the evening at an end,
The dear fatigue, and right to rest attained,
And worshipped expectation of the night,—
Oh, all these things, in unrelenting flight,
My dream pursues through all the vain delays,
Impatient of the weeks, mad at the days!“

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