#PoetryTakeMeAway
Poetic Art.
"Music before anything else,
And therefore prefer the odd verse
More vague and more soluble in the air,
With nothing in it that weighs or rests...
It is also necessary that you do not choose
your words without some mistakes:
nothing is more precious than the gray song
in which the Uncertain joins the Precise.
There are beautiful eyes behind the veils,
it's the strong flickering light of noon,
it's, in the warm autumn sky,
the blue swarm of clear stars!
Because we want the Shade again,
not Color but only shade!
Oh! the shade only couples
dream with dream and flute with horn
Flee far from the deadly Wit,
from the cruel Spirit and the impure Laughter,
that make the eyes of Blue weep,
and all this garlic of low cuisine
Take eloquence and twist its neck!
And you will do well, in a fit of energy,
to moderate the Rhyme a little.
How far will it go, if you do not watch over it?
Oh, who will say the wrongs of Rhyme?
Which deaf child or mad black one
forged us this penny jewel
that sounds empty and false under the file?
Music and always music again!
Let your verse be the thing that vanishes
that is felt fleeing from a soul that goes
towards other skies to other loves.
Let your verse be the good adventure
Scattered in the wind rippling in the morning
That carries scents of mint and thyme...
And all the rest is literature."
Paul Verlaine
Poetic Art.
"Music before anything else,
And therefore prefer the odd verse
More vague and more soluble in the air,
With nothing in it that weighs or rests...
It is also necessary that you do not choose
your words without some mistakes:
nothing is more precious than the gray song
in which the Uncertain joins the Precise.
There are beautiful eyes behind the veils,
it's the strong flickering light of noon,
it's, in the warm autumn sky,
the blue swarm of clear stars!
Because we want the Shade again,
not Color but only shade!
Oh! the shade only couples
dream with dream and flute with horn
Flee far from the deadly Wit,
from the cruel Spirit and the impure Laughter,
that make the eyes of Blue weep,
and all this garlic of low cuisine
Take eloquence and twist its neck!
And you will do well, in a fit of energy,
to moderate the Rhyme a little.
How far will it go, if you do not watch over it?
Oh, who will say the wrongs of Rhyme?
Which deaf child or mad black one
forged us this penny jewel
that sounds empty and false under the file?
Music and always music again!
Let your verse be the thing that vanishes
that is felt fleeing from a soul that goes
towards other skies to other loves.
Let your verse be the good adventure
Scattered in the wind rippling in the morning
That carries scents of mint and thyme...
And all the rest is literature."
Paul Verlaine
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