by phillipw | Jan 20, 2020 | RI, VE
July the Fourth, 1873 Rimbaud recalls his older man to crawl To Arthur’s bed in Camden and return To more abuse and weak man’s pain, but Paul Refuses. He has had enough to burn His heart forever and to brand it with Hard scars to last for an eternity And so he...
by phillipw | Jan 20, 2020 | RI, VE
Speaking of Lice: And Only Man is Vile “unbelievably brutal, loud-mouthed people in the streets” ~ Paul Verlaine on the people of London “To see oursels as ithers see us” ~ Robert Burns He said that they were small and skinny, too, Emaciated, most especially The...
by phillipw | Jan 19, 2020 | RI, VE
Illuminations, 35 Howland Street No more than just a single, husk-like room, Their cube in Howland Street became the place Where greatness found inception, found its womb. While huddling in this bolthole from disgrace, Paul wrote adagios, pale Romances sans Paroles,...
by phillipw | Jan 19, 2020 | RI, VE
On a Leash Rimbaud remarked, “Dogs are liberals,” to Gastineau, the Mautés’ loving dog. A “doll-faced” time bomb ticked away with blue, Blue eyes, light blue and deep, until the fog Of future London filled that Paris home. He was an Ostrogothic army in...
by phillipw | Jan 15, 2020 | RI, VE
The Time That’s Stretched The time that’s stretched between Verlaine and us Has painted in a scumble on his scenes With Arthur. It’s as if some sort of pus Has been brushed over them like filthy jeans Encrusted with the grime of tears. A scrim Obscures our view...
by phillipw | Jan 15, 2020 | RI, VE
Synesthesia Verlaine spun out his poetry like silk From spider abdomens, but it had hues Of melody, it sounds the touch of milk, And all came also from the fragrant blues Of Rimbaud’s irises and, more, from deep Within the boy’s manly soul which sang In...
