The image of the Poet as Prometheus, stealing fire from the gods, is stunning in its truth. Giving words to the truth he saw, Rimbaud exposes every word written by philosophers and bards. From whoever Homer was through the words of a writer sung by an artist.
Thank you so much Patti. it is so lovely to listen to your teachings to us. I feel very privileged to be sharing your time like this and with the other subscribers of course. What an amazing way to be learning about Rimbaud.
Thank you dear Patti for this most interesting insight, am very slowly working my way through these talks & enjoying every moment, such a fascinating & deeply moving life.
So interesting - just catching up on your posts. We had a tornado in our area and were without power for 5.5 days. Our little village/town was hit hard but people worked and helped one another get through it. Nice to be able to relax and listen again. Thank you.
It’s amazing that he wrote this 50 years before women in the United States got the vote – and 75 before French women did. And, 100 years before second wave feminism/women’s liberation took hold – and yet we still have such a long way to go!
There’s no way he who lived Rimbaud wrote that. He’s my 2nd favorite poet, survived rape and was out on a limb enough to write that he fell in love with a pig. Then he stopped writing for the rest of his life. He lived, he saw, he thought, he wrote, he stopped and lived more. Some 300 year old biased, restrictive entity did not write through him. Patti Smith- you of all people... This world has not and is not a nothing. I would hope someone would not write you as some homemaker with a casserole in the oven.
Considering all you say in your thoughtful, poetic riff on Rimbaud, it make sense that, at one point, in his Illuminations, he turned to the prose poem, which allowed him to really cut loose and experiment with language without the constraints of line breaks. It is a haunting text that is meant to be experienced, not understood. And who is this poet? As Rimbaud himself wrote: "For I is another. If the brass wakes the trumpet, it’s not its fault. That’s obvious to me: I witness the unfolding of my own thought: I watch it, I hear it: I make a stroke with the bow: the symphony begins in the depths, or springs with a bound onto the stage."
Finished the Season in Hell - and have to say that your foreward was poignant and so insightful. Next in my stack is “Letters”.
To read and understand the artist’s rejection by the world around him, actually gives one courage to go on because, why not? It is his gift and as you say he was a genius and had no choice but to work and the work fed his soul. A true poet…..as you say. No matter what his habits and agony and escapes, he was a poet. His hungry heart and soul restlessly twirled all the minutes of the day…..and night. Your description of the alchemy he experienced fills in the spaces of understanding his churning mind--Thank you, Patti.
BTW - re: women in the 50's, When I was 12, my brother-in-law to be taught me how to drive. We drove in his old classic down Crossbay Boulevard to the bridge and back to Ozone Park. We didn’t tell my sister or my mother. I remember the smell of the Home Economics room….bleach and Bon Ami. Good night to you.......and sweet dreams. C.
My mom didn't learn how to drive until I was in first grade (1968!) She took her driver's test on the day I had my tonsils out (one of the neighbor ladies babysat me when she went to do this) and it was snowing like crazy. She passed! I remember it was a big deal for my big sister to learn how to drive and she went away to college. This was 1970. I was very proud of her, not too many of my friends had big sisters who went away to college, and she went to graduate school. Then later, she bought her first car (a Mercury Comet) with the money she made at a summer job working in a factory where she glued glass gems into cheap rings, bracelets, and pendants. It's funny thinking back to those days.
If anyone's looking to read a biography of Rimbaud, then the best one by far is
Arthur Rimbaud: Presence of an Enigma (2002) by Jean-Luc Steinmetz.
Bravo!!! Thank you Patti, I am immersed in world of Rimbaud! So looking forward to more.
The image of the Poet as Prometheus, stealing fire from the gods, is stunning in its truth. Giving words to the truth he saw, Rimbaud exposes every word written by philosophers and bards. From whoever Homer was through the words of a writer sung by an artist.
I am catching up. This is an extraordinary session. Many thanks to you.
Thank you so much Patti. it is so lovely to listen to your teachings to us. I feel very privileged to be sharing your time like this and with the other subscribers of course. What an amazing way to be learning about Rimbaud.
Wonderful!
Thank you dear Patti for this most interesting insight, am very slowly working my way through these talks & enjoying every moment, such a fascinating & deeply moving life.
So interesting - just catching up on your posts. We had a tornado in our area and were without power for 5.5 days. Our little village/town was hit hard but people worked and helped one another get through it. Nice to be able to relax and listen again. Thank you.
Merci, dear Patti! ❤️ Bonne nuit
It’s amazing that he wrote this 50 years before women in the United States got the vote – and 75 before French women did. And, 100 years before second wave feminism/women’s liberation took hold – and yet we still have such a long way to go!
There’s no way he who lived Rimbaud wrote that. He’s my 2nd favorite poet, survived rape and was out on a limb enough to write that he fell in love with a pig. Then he stopped writing for the rest of his life. He lived, he saw, he thought, he wrote, he stopped and lived more. Some 300 year old biased, restrictive entity did not write through him. Patti Smith- you of all people... This world has not and is not a nothing. I would hope someone would not write you as some homemaker with a casserole in the oven.
Considering all you say in your thoughtful, poetic riff on Rimbaud, it make sense that, at one point, in his Illuminations, he turned to the prose poem, which allowed him to really cut loose and experiment with language without the constraints of line breaks. It is a haunting text that is meant to be experienced, not understood. And who is this poet? As Rimbaud himself wrote: "For I is another. If the brass wakes the trumpet, it’s not its fault. That’s obvious to me: I witness the unfolding of my own thought: I watch it, I hear it: I make a stroke with the bow: the symphony begins in the depths, or springs with a bound onto the stage."
Finished the Season in Hell - and have to say that your foreward was poignant and so insightful. Next in my stack is “Letters”.
To read and understand the artist’s rejection by the world around him, actually gives one courage to go on because, why not? It is his gift and as you say he was a genius and had no choice but to work and the work fed his soul. A true poet…..as you say. No matter what his habits and agony and escapes, he was a poet. His hungry heart and soul restlessly twirled all the minutes of the day…..and night. Your description of the alchemy he experienced fills in the spaces of understanding his churning mind--Thank you, Patti.
BTW - re: women in the 50's, When I was 12, my brother-in-law to be taught me how to drive. We drove in his old classic down Crossbay Boulevard to the bridge and back to Ozone Park. We didn’t tell my sister or my mother. I remember the smell of the Home Economics room….bleach and Bon Ami. Good night to you.......and sweet dreams. C.
Patti, you are such a patient, caring teacher! Thanks for sharing Rimbaud with us! safe travels!
My mom didn't learn how to drive until I was in first grade (1968!) She took her driver's test on the day I had my tonsils out (one of the neighbor ladies babysat me when she went to do this) and it was snowing like crazy. She passed! I remember it was a big deal for my big sister to learn how to drive and she went away to college. This was 1970. I was very proud of her, not too many of my friends had big sisters who went away to college, and she went to graduate school. Then later, she bought her first car (a Mercury Comet) with the money she made at a summer job working in a factory where she glued glass gems into cheap rings, bracelets, and pendants. It's funny thinking back to those days.
Thank you Robin for the high compliment but your messages are far more articulate!