Paul verlaine 1844 1896

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Transcript of Paul verlaine 1844 1896

  • 1. . 1851-61 , Landry Bonaparte . 1862 baccalaurat, . . , . Mr. Prudhomme 1863.

2. Pomes saturniens , , . 1870 . , . 1871 , . , . , Romances sans paroles . 3. 1873, . . , , Romances sans paroles ( 1874 ) EdmondLepelletier. 1875, . , , , , , . 1877 1880 Sagesse, 1873-78 . 4. , (1883) ( 1886), , . 5. Pomes saturniens (1866) Les Amies (1867) Ftes galantes (1869) La Bonne Chanson (1870) Romances sans paroles (1874) Sagesse (1880) Jadis et nagure (1884) Amour (1888) Paralllement (1889) Ddicaces (1890) Femmes (1890) Aprs trois ans (1865) 6. Pomes saturniens (1866) Les Potes maudits (1884) Les Amies (1867) Louise Leclercq (1886) Ftes galantes (1869) Les mmoires dun La Bonne Chanson (1870)veuf (1886) Romances sans Mes hpitaux (1891)paroles (1874) Mes prisons (1893) Sagesse (1880) Quinze jours en Jadis et nagure (1884)Hollande (1893) Amour (1888) Confessions (1895) Paralllement (1889) Ddicaces (1890) Femmes (1890) Aprs trois ans (1865) 7. () -- ! . , ; -- , .-- . . . -- ! ! ! ! -- . . . . -- , , ., , . , , , -- ! ! ! -- . Paul Verlain 8. Les sanglots longsWith long sobsDes violons the violin-throbsDe lautomneof autumn woundBlessent mon cur my heart with languorousDune langueurand montonousMonotone. sound. Tout suffocantChoking and pale Et blme, quand When I mind the tale Sonne lheure.the hours keep, Je me souviensmy memory strays Des jours anciens,down other days Et je pleure... and I weep; Et je men vais and I let me go Au vent mauvais where ill winds blow Qui memporte now here, now there, De , de l, harried and sped, Pareil la even as a dead Feuille morte...leaf, anywhere.Paul Verlaine 9. Your soul is as a moonlit landscape fair,Peopled with maskers delicate and dim,That play on lutes and dance and have an airOf being sad in their fantastic trim.The while they celebrate in minor strainTriumphant love, effective enterprise,They have an air of knowing all is vain,-And through the quiet moonlight their songs rise,The melancholy moonlight, sweet and lone,That makes to dream the birds upon the tree,And in their polished basins of white stoneThe fountains tall to sob with ecstasy.Paul Verlaine 10. , , , , . , , , , .