Puisi Karya Charles Baudelaire

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ZETIZEN RADAR CIREBON Charles Baudelaire, seorang penyair, penerjemah serta kritikus sastra dan seni Prancis yang punya reputasi dan pengaruh pada abad ke-19 di Prancis. Berikut adalah pengenalan singkat dan sejumput puisi karya Charles Baudelaire. (an)

Nama lengkap beliau adalah Charles Pierre Baudelaire, beliau lahir di Paris, Prancis pada 19 April tahun 1821. Ayahnya, seorang pegawai negeri dan seniman amatir yang kemudian menumbuhkan apresiasi seni kepada putranya.

Dalam dunia sastra, pengaruh beliau telah diakui oleh Arthur Rimbaud, Paul Verlaine, Stéphane Mallarmé, dan Algernon Charles Swinburne pada abad ke-19. Kemudian pada abad ke-20 oleh Paul Valéry, Rainer Maria Rilke, dan TS Eliot.

Sampai akhir hidupnya beliau telah menerbitkan banyak karya-karya berpengaruh. Hingga pada usia ke-46 tahun beliau terserang kelumpuhan dan afasia yang tidak dapat disembuhkan.

Sumber & lanjutkan membaca: Britannica

Puisi

Kemudian ini adalah puisi-puisi beliau, namun puisi-puisi ini masih dalam bahasa Inggris.

The Albatross (L’Albatros)

Often, to amuse themselves, the men of a crew

Catch albatrosses, those vast sea birds

That indolently follow a ship

As it glides over the deep, briny sea.

Scarcely have they placed them on the deck

Than these kings of the sky, clumsy, ashamed,

Pathetically let their great white wings

Drag beside them like oars.

That winged voyager, how weak and gauche he is,

So beautiful before, now comic and ugly!

One man worries his beak with a stubby clay pipe;

Another limps, mimics the cripple who once flew!

The poet resembles this prince of cloud and sky

Who frequents the tempest and laughs at the bowman;

When exiled on the earth, the butt of hoots and jeers,

His giant wings prevent him from walking

Terjemahan oleh William Aggeler

Beauty (La Beauté)

I am fair, O mortals! like a dream carved in stone,

And my breast where each one in turn has bruised himself

Is made to inspire in the poet a love

As eternal and silent as matter.

On a throne in the sky, a mysterious sphinx,

I join a heart of snow to the whiteness of swans;

I hate movement for it displaces lines,

And never do I weep and never do I laugh.

Poets, before my grandiose poses,

Which I seem to assume from the proudest statues,

Will consume their lives in austere study;

For I have, to enchant those submissive lovers,

Pure mirrors that make all things more beautiful:

My eyes, my large, wide eyes of eternal brightness!

Cats (Les Chats)

Both ardent lovers and austere scholars

Love in their mature years

The strong and gentle cats, pride of the house,

Who like them are sedentary and sensitive to cold.

Friends of learning and sensual pleasure,

They seek the silence and the horror of darkness;

Erebus would have used them as his gloomy steeds:

If their pride could let them stoop to bondage.

When they dream, they assume the noble attitudes

Of the mighty sphinxes stretched out in solitude,

Who seem to fall into a sleep of endless dreams;

Their fertile loins are full of magic sparks,

And particles of gold, like fine grains of sand,

Spangle dimly their mystic eyes.

The Temptation

The Demon, in my chamber high,

This morning came to visit me,

And, thinking he would find some fault,

He whispered: “I would know of thee

Among the many lovely things

That make the magic of her face,

Among the beauties, black and rose,

That make her body’s charm and grace,

Which is most fair?” Thou didst reply

To the Abhorred, O soul of mine:

“No single beauty is the best

When she is all one flower divine.

When all things charm me I ignore

Which one alone brings most delight;

She shines before me like the dawn,

And she consoles me like the night.

The harmony is far too great,

That governs all her body fair,

For impotence to analyse

And say which note is sweetest there.

O mystic metamorphosis!

My senses into one sense flow–

Her voice makes perfume when she speaks,

Her breath is music faint and low!”

The Sadness of The Moon

The Moon more indolently dreams to-night

Than a fair woman on her couch at rest,

Caressing, with a hand distraught and light,

Before she sleeps, the contour of her breast.

Upon her silken avalanche of down,

Dying she breathes a long and swooning sigh;

And watches the white visions past her flown,

Which rise like blossoms to the azure sky.

And when, at times, wrapped in her languor deep,

Earthward she lets a furtive tear-drop flow,

Some pious poet, enemy of sleep,

Takes in his hollow hand the tear of snow

Whence gleams of iris and of opal start,

And hides it from the Sun, deep in his heart.

Sumber: allpoetry & poetry archive

Baca juga: Biografi dan Puisi karya Arthur Rimbaud

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