Archive for arthur rimbaud

Rimbaud a Georges Izambard

Posted in Rimbaud with tags , , on April 15, 2013 by chjoan

Charleville, 2 novembre  1870

[…] Muoio, mi decompongo nella mediocrità, nella meschinità, nel grigiastro. Che  vuole, mi sono tremendamente incaponito a voler adorare la libertà libera, e… un mucchio di cose, da ‘fare pietà’, vero? – Avrei dovuto ripartire oggi stesso; potevo farlo: ero vestito a nuovo, bastava vendere l’orologio, e viva la libertà! – Dunque, sono rimasto. Sono rimasto! – e molte altre volte avrò voglia di ripartire. – Su, cappello, cappotto, i pugni nelle tasche, e via! – Ma resterò, resterò. Questo non l’ho promesso. Ma lo faccio per meritarmi il suo affetto: me l’ha detto lei. Lo meriterò.

       La riconoscenza che sento, non gliela saprei esprimere oggi meglio dell’altro ieri. Gliela proverò. Se si trattasse di fare qualcosa per lei, morirei pur di farlo, – ha la mia parola. – Mi rimane un mucchio di cose da dire…

       Quel ‘senza cuore’ di                                                                                  A. Rimbaud

Guerra: –  Niente assedio di Mézières. A quando? Nessuno ne parla. – Ho fatto la sua commissione al sign. Deverrière, e se occorre altro lo farò. – Qua e là, qualche franca-tiratoria. – Abominevole prurigine d’idiozia, ecco lo stato d’animo della popolazione. Se ne sentono delle belle, sul serio. E’ dissolvente

Monsieur Georges Izambard

A Douai

arthur-rimbaud

Départ

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , on September 18, 2011 by chjoan

Assez vu. La vision s’est rencontrée à tous les airs.

   Assez eu. Rumeurs des villes, le soir, et au soleil, et toujours.

     Assez connu. Les arrêts de la vie. — Ô Rumeurs et Visions !

     Départ dans l’affection et le bruit neufs !

‘Kindly Inform Me When I Will Be Taken Aboard The Ship’

Posted in Rimbaud with tags , , on June 2, 2011 by chjoan

‘In the last three years, Rimbaud had spent about fifteen months at home and about twenty-one at sea or on the road. He had visited thirteen different countries – excluding coastlines seen from the deck of a ship – and travelled over 32,000 miles. […] He had worked as a pedlar, an editorial assistant, barman, farm labourer, language teacher, private tutor, factory worker, docker, mercenary, sailor, tout, cashier and interpreter, and he was about to add a few more jobs to the list. On almost every occasion, he had done something for which he was not previously qualified.

Though he lacked the most ordinary qualification of all – the baccalauréat – he had a working knowledge of five languages, had seen more sights and experienced more interesting intoxications than an English lord on the Grand Tour, published a book, been arrested in three countries and repatriated from three others. The most he had ever earned from his writing had been a free subscription to a magazine, but he had left behind a body of work that would one day open up new regions of the mind to poetic explorers. He had begged, been to jail, committed approximately twelve imprisonable offences with impunity, and survived war, revolution, illness, a gunshot wound, his own family and the Cape of Good Hope. He had been on intimate terms with some of the most remarkable writers and political thinkers of the age.

The Arthur Rimbaud who eventually washed up on the shores of East Africa was not a helpless innocent.’

(G. Robb, Rimbaud)