A QUATRAIN, A TRANSLATION OF A SHORT LETTER BY RIMBAUD, A POEM, 
		AND A TRANSLATION OF A POEM BY BAUDELAIRE   --BY FRANCOIS DROUIN 

THE SOUND OF ASHES SETTLING

i practice abstract distractionism

i am drawn to the formless

in all things, at all times, the undefined

the sound of ashes settling

the invader of my heart left mark

the ruins of Alit, sparse poisoned, emotional domain

this moon draws decay and disease to me

the sound of ashes settling

in Onement, Cathedra, and the dark city of Dis

paradiso con terra in the arms of a worker of words

i am alone, i have always been alone

the sound of ashes settling

in this vessel, in this mind

in this time of times of time

i am lost and found in you

the sound of ashes settling

 

this one is a composite of poem and inspirations - i take the inspirational lines 
from rimbaud's letter and his line that inspired the title of the following poem -
 The Poet Is A Thief Of Fire - and then culminates in baudelaire's - Evening Prayer
  - so i guess the title lines and credit lines are as follows -

Rimbaud/Drouin/Baudelaire

Lettre pour un Voyant/The Poet Is A Thief Of Fire/Evening Prayer


A Poet makes himself a visionary through a long boundless disorganization of the senses. 
In all forms of love, of suffering, he searches himself. He exhausts within himself all 
poisons and perserves their quintessences. Thus he attains the unknown. So what if he is 
destroyed in his estatic flight through things unheard of, unseen, and unnamable. . . 
The Poet is a Thief of Fire.

THE POET IS A THIEF OF FIRE

To be a poet

entails more than

the writing of poems.

It demands a commitment

to live and die with great style

and an even greater sadness.

to wake up each morning

with the fever raging,

and to know that it can never

be extinguished except by

death,

and yet to be convinced that this suffering,

this sensitivity carries its own unique

reward...

I want to be

the Hierophant

of an unapprehended

inspiration.


EVENING PRAYER

Discontented with everything and discontented with myself

I should be glad enough to redeem myself and restore my pride

a little in the silence and the solitude of the night.

souls of those i have loved,

souls of those i have sung,

fortify me, sustain me, drive me far

from the corrupting vapors of the world.

And you, my God, grant me

the grace to produce a few beautiful lines

which will prove to me

that I am not lower

than those whom i despise.



copyright frank andrick