jean arthur rimbaud

Some of us are born rebellious. Like Jean Genet or Arthur Rimbaud, I roam these mean streets like a villain, a vagabond, an outcast, scavenging for the scraps that may perchance plummet off humanity’s dirty plates, though often sometimes taking a cab to a restaurant is more convenient.

Patti Smith

The poet, therefore, is truly the thief of fire. He is responsible for humanity, for animals even; he will have to make sure his visions can be smelled, fondled, listened to; if what he brings back from beyond has form, he gives it form; if it has none, he gives it none. A language must be found…of the soul, for the soul and will include everything: perfumes, sounds colors, thought grappling with thought. 

Arthur Rimbaud

Image:  Jean Louis Forain - Rimbaud, 1872

Artemis:   I really like “thief of fire” and especially “A language must be found…of the soul, for the soul and will include everything: perfumes, sounds colors, thought grappling with thought”.  

I posted the image before.  :)

I need more blogs to follow. Reblog or Like if you post any thing of this:



-Bass Guitars 



-The Cure

-Jimi Hendrix

-Stevie Ray Vaughan

-Pink Floyd

-RHCP (fru)


-Massive Attack 

-Rage Against The Machine

-Trip Hop


-Stanley Kubrick:


    -Clockwork Orange


-Alfred Hitchcock:

    -The Birds



-Clint Eastwood:

   -Gran Torino


-Gustav Klimt
-William Degouve de Nuncques
-Claude Monet
-Félix Vallotton
-Max Ernst
-Léon Spilliaert

-Vincent Van Gogh

-Andy Warhol

-Willy Finch

-Félicien Rops

-Henri Matisse

-Georges Seurat

-Isidore Verheyden

-James Ensor

-Anna Boch

-Henri Van de velde

-Guillaume Vogels

-Camille Corot

-Baron Léon Frédéric

-Jackson Pollock

-Hippolyte Boulenger

-John Constable

-Jean Baptiste Kindermans



-Poetry (Baudelaire, Rimbaud, de Musset,…)

-French literature (Sartre, Camus, Hugo, de Maupassant, …)

-Stephen King





Peter and Carl’s interviews for Culturethèque

Favourite French Director
Peter: Sylvie Verheyde
Carl: Georges Méliès / Luc Besson

Favourite French Author or Poet
Peter: Jean Genet / Arthur Rimbaud / Joris-Karl Huysmans
Carl: Alexandre Dumas / Balzac / Jean Genet

Favourite French Singer
Peter: Serge Gainsbourg / Georges Brassens
Carl: Jacques Brel

Peter / Carl 

In rememberance of Arthur Whitman Wilde

How do I translate him

His language that has no tongue

He of such familiar style 

Whose behavior leaves

A weak communication

Balanced on my lips

With such elusive possession

That transforms me into

A strange image

Who trembles as if

In an appalling malady

When views such an

Exquisitely beautiful profile

For he makes me bear

The extremity of dire mishap

Of pale uncertainty that is

At once pleasurable and disturbing

Who, who can teach me a direction

Such as would map the constellation

Of his beauty and have the words to say

That which in communication would

Leave a bond between us so powerful

That perhaps tender lip of parting breath

Could touch and move endlessly

Through a spiced moonlit night

Who, oh who can give me such translation 

Please speak

Let us re-create ourselves after that superhuman promise
Made to our souls and our bodies at their creation:
That promise, that madness!
Elegance, silence, violence!
They promised to bury in shadows the tree of good and evil,
To banish tyrannical honesty,
So that we might flourish in our very pure love.
It began with a certain disgust, and it ended -
Since we could not immediately seize upon eternity -
It ended in a scattering of perfumes.

Jean Arthur Rimbaud, from Drunken Morning

Siento horror por todos los oficios. Maestros obreros, todos campesinos, innobles. La mano en la pluma equivale a la mano en el arado. -¡Qué siglo de manos!- Yo jamás tendré una mano. Además, la domesticidad lleva demasiado lejos. La honradez de la mendicidad me desespera. Los criminales asquean como castrados: yo, por mi parte, estoy- intacto y eso me da lo mismo.
—  J:A:R
Todas las monstruosidades violan los gestos atroces de Hortensia. Su soledad es la mecánica erótica; su lasitud, la dinámica amorosa. Vigilada por una infancia, ha sido en épocas numerosas, la ardiente higiene de las razas. Su puerta está abierta a la miseria. Allí, la moralidad de los seres actuales se descorporiza en su pasión o en su acción. ¡Oh, terrible escalofrío de los amores novicios sobre el suelo ensangrentado y luminoso de hidrógeno! –encuentren a Hortensia.
—  Arthur Rimbaud.