les fleurs du mal

May 18, 2016

I studied a lot of French literature, but didn't immerse myself too much in poetry. One notable exception to this was Baudelaire, a 19th-century poet who lived hard and died young, and who had an interesting perspective on life and humanity. His most well-known collection is Les Fleurs du Mal (The flowers of evil). The title speaks eloquently to the poet's outlook: he saw the world as fundamentally evil, and attempted to find beauty therein.

Yesterday, I walked along a path through the woods. There were a few red trillums poking through the leaf litter, showing up as bright splashes of dark scarlet. They were so pretty that once I had put the dogs back in the house, I took my camera and photographed them:

Today, going through the woods, this is what I saw:

Somebody had ripped them up and scattered them on the path.

Perhaps it seems ridiculous to get upset about a couple of dead flowers, but whether it is through ignorance, selfishness or outright malice, human beings suck.

I'm sure Baudelaire would agree.

Here's a translation of one of his poems, L'Albatros, my favourite.

The Albatross, By Charles Baudelaire
Translation by Eli Siegel

Often, to amuse themselves the men of the crew
Lay hold of the albatross, vast birds of the seas-
Who follow, sluggish companions of the voyage,
The ship gliding on the bitter gulfs.

Hardly have they placed them on the planks,
Than these kings of the azure, clumsy and shameful,
Let, piteously, their great wings in white,
Like oars, drag at their sides.

This winged traveler, how he is awkward and weak!
He, lately so handsome, how comic he is and uncomely!
Someone bothers his beak with a short pipe,
Another imitates, limping, the ill thing that flew!

The poet resembles the prince of the clouds
Who is friendly to the tempest and laughs at the bowman;
Banished to ground in the midst of hootings,
His wings, those of a giant, hinder him from walking.