Charles Baudelaire’s “The Flowers of Evil” – Benediction – Breakdown and Review
Charles Baudelaire’s “The Flowers of Evil” – Benediction – Poetry Breakdown and Review
This is a breakdown and review of “Benediction” from Baudelaire’s “The Flowers of Evil.”
Benediction
When by the changeless Power of a Supreme Decree
The poet issues forth upon this sorry sphere,
His mother, horrified, and full of blasphemy,
Uplifts her voice to God, who takes compassion on her.
This reminds me of the time I was pulled over for speeding in a small Ohio town and for some reason didn’t have my license. My mom had to come get me out of jail. She grounded me for 37 years and I had to go to church every morning for 47 years.
“Ah, why did I not bear a serpent’s nest entire,
Instead of bringing forth this hideous Child of Doom!
Oh cursèd be that transient night of vain desire
When I conceived my expiation in my womb!”
We had serpents when I lived in Texas but we called them rattlesnakes. Texas is fun for a kid because there are so many critters. Like spiders. Lots and lots of spiders. I have plenty of Texas spider tales but I once worked with guy who served in the Iraq war. He said they would sleep in the open desert and wake up surrounded by spiders as big as your head. He wins.
“Yet since among all women thou hast chosen me
To be the degradation of my jaded mate,
And since I cannot like a love-leaf wantonly
Consign this stunted monster to the glowing grate,”
We had a glowing grate once at our house in Texas. Turns out the air conditioner was busted and was heating the grates that covered the air ducts. Nothing like more heat in the middle of a Texas summer.
“I’ll cause thine overwhelming hatred to rebound
Upon the cursèd tool of thy most wicked spite.
Forsooth, the branches of this wretched tree I’ll wound
And rob its pestilential blossoms of their might!”
Almost every tool is cursed. Every drill I’ve ever owned was somehow cursed by Satan and would turn off and on by itself. Maybe it’s because I always buy the cheapest drill in the store.
So thus, she giveth vent unto her foaming ire,
And knowing not the changeless statutes of all times,
Herself, amid the flames of hell, prepares the pyre;
The consecrated penance of maternal crimes.
I’ve had lots of girlfriends that gaveth vent to me, telling me over and over what I did wrong. I see it as a form of love. If they weren’t complaining about me, I thought they didn’t love me anymore. Well, that happened eventually, anyway.
Yet ‘neath th’ invisible shelter of an Angel’s wing
This sunlight-loving infant disinherited,
Exhales from all he eats and drinks, and everything
The ever sweet ambrosia and the nectar red.
I wonder if this is how Baudelaire ordered wine when he lived in Paris. “Yes, sir, I’ll have a bottle of your best Ever-sweet Ambrosia and 3 bottles of some plain Nectar Red. And put it on Picasso’s tab.”
He trifles with the winds and with the clouds that glide,
About the way unto the Cross, he loves to sing,
The spirit on his pilgrimage; that faithful guide,
Oft weeps to see him joyful like a bird of Spring.
This is about living in the Midwest. There’s nothing better than surviving another Midwest winter and feeling joyful that the sun has returned after a 4-month absence.
All those that he would cherish shrink from him with fear,
And some that waxen bold by his tranquility,
Endeavour hard some grievance from his heart to tear,
And make on him the trial of their ferocity.
I’m always waxen bold by the tranquility of dogs. Did you know dogs sleep 15 to 18 hours a day? Woo! That’s a lot of shut eye. No wonder they run around like maniacs when they are awake.
Within the bread and wine outspread for his repast
To mingle dust and dirty spittle they essay,
And everything he touches, forth they slyly cast,
Or scourge themselves, if e’er their feet betrod his way.
The only reason you might be mixing bread and wine with dust and dirty spittle is you are eating way too fast. Slow down. Chew your food for at least 20 seconds. The way you doing it now means huge chunks of raw food are going into your stomach. No wonder you are downing the pink stuff to soothe the holes in your stomach lining. You eat like an alligator.
His wife goes round proclaiming in the crowded quads—
“Since he can find my body beauteous to behold,
Why not perform the office of those ancient gods
And like unto them, redeck myself with shining gold?”
Redeck yourself with gold? I heard Trump had a gold toilet at one of his New York apartments. Seems like gold would be cold to sit on.
“I’ll bathe myself with incense, spikenard and myrrh,
With genuflexions, delicate viandes and wine,
To see, in jest, if from a heart, that loves me dear,
I cannot filch away the hommages divine.”
How come you can’t get shampoo that comes with incense, spikenard and myrrh. In fact, that would be a great brand name. “Get full, rich lather and gorgeous shine with new Incense, Spikenard and Myrrh!”
“And when of these impious jokes at length I tire,
My frail but mighty hands, around his breast entwined,
With nails, like harpies’ nails, shall cunningly conspire
The hidden path unto his feeble heart to find.”
Impious jokes? Wow, tough crowd. And you better trim your nails. Disgusting. You can get a nail clipper from the corner store for under tow bucks. Were you raised in a barn?
“And like a youngling bird that trembles in its nest,
I’ll pluck his heart right out; within its own blood drowned,
And finally to satiate my favourite beast,
I’ll throw it with intense disdain upon the ground!”
Plucking hearts right out of beasts? This sounds like the next stage of Mixed Martial Arts. “Mixed Martial Arts Against Fighting Beasts! This Sunday only! In the Octagon!”
Towards the Heavens where he sees the sacred grail
The poet calmly stretches forth his pious arms,
Whereon the lightenings from his lucid spirit veil
The sight of the infuriated mob that swarms.
If your poetry is infuriating mobs, maybe you want to tone it down just a smidge. Or learn some MMA moves so you can defend yourself Bruce Lee-style against a crowd of 20 to 30 attackers.
“Oh blest be thou, Almighty who bestowest pain,
Like some divine redress for our infirmities,
And like the most refreshing and the purest rain,
To sanctify the strong, for saintly ecstasies.”
I don’t want anyone bestowing pain on me. I’ve got enough problems. I’ve never broken 80 on the golf course so I already know pain very well.
“I know that for the poet thou wilt grant a chair,
Among the Sainted Legion and the Blissful ones,
That of the endless feast thou wilt accord his share
To him, of Virtues, Dominations and of Thrones.”
Was there a poet in Game of Thrones on TV? I’ve been meaning to watch that show but just don’t have the time. Maybe this year.
“I know, that Sorrow is that nobleness alone,
Which never may corrupted be by hell nor curse,
I know, in order to enwreathe my mystic crown
I must inspire the ages and the universe.”
Sorrow can be a challenge. I’m often depressed and have some mild Bi-Polarity. I’m not sure that’s the medical definition but I just made it up so there you go.
“And yet the buried jewels of Palmyra old,
The undiscovered metals and the pearly sea
Of gems, that unto me you show could never hold
Beside this diadem of blinding brilliancy.”
I once rented a metal detector because I read a story about people finding tons of diamond rings and Rolex watches in the sand at the beach. All I found was a 1954 Campbell’s soup can, some metal dentures, a copy of Madonna’s book “Sex” which had steel covers and mini Phillips-head screwdriver.
“For it shall be engendered from the purest fire
Of rays primeval, from the holy hearth amassed,
Of which the eyes of Mortals, in their sheen entire,
Are but the tarnished mirrors, sad and overcast!”
This talks about sad, overcast eyes because of too many tequilas the night before. Just stop drinking altogether, mate. You’ll sleep better and avoid being engendered from the purest fire. Not sure what the purest fire means but it sounds bad.
