Spleen IV (french poem) notes , 2nd additional IEB language
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Course
French
Institution
12
Contains an english and a french translation of the poem Spleen iv (fleurs du mal) alongside one another in order to make it easier to understand. some short notes and background information included (in english with the important wards also translated into french for exam purposes)
Quand le ciel bas et lourd pèse comme un couvercle When the low, heavy sky weighs like a lid
Sur l'esprit gémissant en proie aux longs ennuis, On the groaning spirit, victim of great melancholy,
Et que de l'horizon embrassant tout le cercle And from the all-encircling horizon
II nous verse un jour noir plus triste que les nuits; Spreads over us a day gloomier than the night
Quand la terre est changée en un cachot humide, When the earth is changed into a humid dungeon
Où l'Espérance, comme une chauve-souris, In which Hope like a bat
S'en va battant les murs de son aile timide Goes beating the walls with her timid wings
Et se cognant la tête à des plafonds pourris; And knocking her head against the rotten ceiling;
Quand la pluie étalant ses immenses traînées When the rain stretching out its endless train
D'une vaste prison imite les barreaux, Imitates the bars of a vast prison
Et qu'un peuple muet d'infâmes araignées And a silent horde of loathsome spiders
Vient tendre ses filets au fond de nos cerveaux, Comes to spin their webs in the depths of our brains
Des cloches tout à coup sautent avec furie All at once the bells leap with rage
Et lancent vers le ciel un affreux hurlement, And hurl a frightful roar at heaven,
Ainsi que des esprits errants et sans patrie Even as wandering spirits with no country
Qui se mettent à geindre opiniâtrement. Burst into a stubborn, whimpering cry.
— Et de longs corbillards, sans tambours ni musique — And without drums or music, long processions
Défilent lentement dans mon âme; l'Espoir, Pass by slowly in my soul; Hope, vanquished,
Vaincu, pleure, et l'Angoisse atroce, despotique, Weeps, and atrocious, defeated
Anguish
Sur mon crâne incliné plante son drapeau noir. On my bowed skull plants her black flag.
-This is a poem by Charles Baudelair
- The vivid imagery draws a picture in the reader's mind of the poets thoughts and ideas (les adjectifs
dans cette poem dessinent une image vivant dans les pensées des lecteurs)
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