Poetry: The Head of Hair (Baudelaire)
The Head of Hair O Fleece, foaming to the neck! O curls! O scent of laziness! Ecstasy! This evening, to people the dark corners Of memories that are sleeping in these locks, I would wave them in the air like a handkerchief! Languorous Asia and burning Africa, A whole world, distant, absent, almost extinct, Lives in the depths of your perfumed jungle; As other souls sail along on music, So mine, O my love, swims on your scent. I shall go over there where trees and men, full of sap, Faint away slowly in the passionate climate; O strong locks, be the sea-swell that transports me! You keep, O sea of ebony, a dazzling dream Of sails and sailormen, flames and masts: A resounding haven where in great waves My soul can drink the scent, the sound and color; Where ships, sliding in gold and watered silk, Part their vast arms to embrace the glory Of the pure sky shuddering with eternal heat I shall plunge my head, adoring drunkenness, Into this black ocean where the other is imprisoned; And my subtle spirit caressed by the sway Will know how to find you, O pregnant idleness! In an infinite cradle of scented leisure! Blue hair, house of taut darkness, You make the blue of the sky seem huge and round for me; On the downy edges of your twisted locks I hungrily get drunk on the muddled fragrances Of coconut oil, of musk and tar For a long time! For ever! Amongst your heavy mane My hand will strew the ruby, pearl and sapphire To make you never deaf to my desire! For are you not the oasis where I dream, the gourd Where in great draughts I gulp the wine of memory? — Geoffrey Wagner, Selected Poems of Charles Baudelaire (NY: Grove Press, 1974)
Transcript
The Head of Hair by Charles Baudelaire, translation Geoffrey Wagner, 1974. Oh fleas foaming to the neck, oh curls, oh scent of laziness, ecstasy, deceiving to people the dark corners of memories that are sleeping in these locks. I would wave them in the air like a handkerchief.
Lungorous Asia and burning Africa, a whole world, distant, absent, almost extinct, lives in the depth of your perfumed jungle. As other souls sail along on music, so mine, oh my love, swims on your scent. I shall go over there where trees and men full of sap fend away slowly in the passionate climate.
Oh strong locks, be the sea swell that transports me, you keep, oh sea of ebony, a dazzling dream of sails and sailor mail, flames and masts, a resounding haven, a resounding haven where in great waves my soul can drink the scent, the sound and color, where ships sliding in gold and watered silk part their vast arms to embrace the glory of the pure sky shuddering with eternal heat. I shall plunge my head, adoring drunkenness, into this black ocean where the other is imprisoned and my subtle spirit, caressed by the sway, will know how to find you, oh pregnant idleness, in an infinite cradle of scented leisure. Blue hair, house of taut darkness, you make the blue of the sky seem huge and round for me.
On the downy edges of your twisted locks I ungrily get drunk on the muddled fragrances of coconut oil, of musk and tar. For a long time, forever, amongst your heavy mane, my hand will strew the ruby, pearl and sapphire to make you never deaf to my desire, for are you not the oasis where I dream, the gourd where in great throats I gulp the wine of memory?
-watering second of every track.