THE ABSINTHEURS POETRY

COLLECTION

Collected by: The Psychedelic Fairy Team

The Psychedelic Fairy©2012

Contents

Antoni Deschamps .................................................................................................................................. 3

Raoul Ponchon ........................................................................................................................................ 4

Charles Pierre Baudelaire ...................................................................................................................... 13

August Strindberg ................................................................................................................................. 16

Arthur Rimbaud .................................................................................................................................... 21

Ernest Dowson ...................................................................................................................................... 23

Alphonse Allais ...................................................................................................................................... 25

Aleister Crowley .................................................................................................................................... 27

Charles Cros .......................................................................................................................................... 29

Donald Evans ......................................................................................................................................... 32

Glen MacDonough ................................................................................................................................ 33

Maurice Rollinat .................................................................................................................................... 36

Albert Giraud ......................................................................................................................................... 38

Guillaume Apollinaire ........................................................................................................................... 40

Alfred de Musset ................................................................................................................................... 42

Charles Monselet .................................................................................................................................. 44

Arthur William Symons ......................................................................................................................... 46

Paul Verlaine ......................................................................................................................................... 47

Gustave Kahn ........................................................................................................................................ 49

Joyce Kilmer .......................................................................................................................................... 50

Emily Dickinson ..................................................................................................................................... 52

Paul Valéry ............................................................................................................................................ 53

Carl Daniel Fällström ............................................................................................................................. 55

Octave Féré and Jules Cuvain ............................................................................................................... 57

Oscar Wilde ........................................................................................................................................... 60

Jérôme Douce ....................................................................................................................................... 62

Closing words - The story of the Absinthe poem collection ................................................................. 64

Bibliography .......................................................................................................................................... 65

List of reproductions ............................................................................................................................ 67

3

Antoni Deschamps à Alfred Tattet

AdversusAbsynthium (A l'encontre de l'absinthe)

Absynthe, monstre né jadis pour notre perte De l’Afrique à Paris traînant ta robe verte Comment donc as-tu pu sous le soleil oser Souiller ses lèvres d’or de ton âcre baiser Vile prostituée en tes temples assise Tu te vends à l’esprit ainsi qu'à la sottise Et ne fais nul souci aux adieux, laurier Qui couvre le Poëte ainsi que le guerrier Hélas ! n’avait-il pas assez de l’amertume A laquelle en vivant tout grand cœur s’accoutume Aussi que l’eau du ciel ...... Qu’il ne reste plus rien de ton amer poison O monstre sois maudit, je te jette à la face Les imprécations de Tibulle et d’Horace Et contre toi j’évoque en mon sein irrité La langue que parlait la belle antiquité. – Fontainebleau, août 1847.1

1 http://www.museeabsinthe.com/absintheLIVRES8.html

4

Raoul Ponchon born in December 30, 1848 in Napoléon-

Vendée (now La Roche-sur-Yon), died December 3, 1937 in

Paris, was a French writer, poet, and painter. Originally a

bank employee, he quit his job after his father's death in

1871, and set himself up at the age of 23 in a garret with

the words "Painter and Lyrical Poet" written on the door. He

would take his breakfast in the Café de Cluny, then return at

5pm for L'Heure Verte. The rest of the day he spent holding

court at various other cafés. Ponchon was astonishingly

prolific, writing 150 000 verses, of which over 7000 were

about food and drink, including many dealing specifically

with absinthe.

Sonnet de l’Absinthe - (Le Courrier Français 24 oct 1886)

Absinthe, ô ma liqueur alerte, Il me semble quand je te bois Boire l’âme des jeunes bois Pendant la belle saison verte. Ton frais parfum me déconcerte Et dans ton opale je vois Des cieux habités autrefois Comme par une porte ouverte. Qu’importe, ô recours des maudits, Que tu sois un vain paradis, Sit tu contentes mon envie; Et si, devant que j’entre au port, Tu me fais supporter la vie, En m’habituant à la mort.

(English translation)

Absinthe, O my lively liquor, It seems, when I drink you I inhale the young forest’s soul During the beautiful green season.

Your perfume disconcerts me And in your opalescence I see the full heavens of yore, As through an open gate.

5

What matter, O refuge of the damned,

That you a vain paradise be, If you appease my need;

And if, before I enter the gate, You make me put up with life, By accustoming me to death.2

Five O’clock Absinthe

Quand le couchant étend son voile d'hyacinthe Sur Rastaquapolis. C'est l'heure assurément de prendre son absinthe, Qu'en penses-tu, mon fils? C'est en été surtout, quand la soif vous terrasse – Tels cent Dreyfous bavards – Qu'il convient de chercher une fraîche terrasse Le long des boulevards. Où l'on sait rencontrer l'absinthe la meilleure. Celle du fils Pernod; Fi des autres ! De même un dièze est un leurre Quand il est de Gounod. Je dis le long des boulevards, et non à Rome, Ni chez les Bonivards; Carpour être absinthier on n'en est pas moins homme. Et sur nos boulevards On voit passer les plus suaves créatures Aux plus gentes façons : Tout en buvant, cela réveille vos natures, C'est exquis... mais passons. Vous avez votre absinthe, il s'agit de la faire; Ça n'est pas, croyez-moi, Comme pense un vain peuple, une petite affaire, Banale et sans émoi. Il ne faut pas avoir ailleurs l'âme occupée, Pour le moment du moins. L'absinthe veut d'abord de la belle eau frappée, Les dieux m'en soient témoins

2 http://www.oxygenee.com

6

D'eau tiède, il n'en faut pas : Jupiter la condamne. Toi-même, qu'en dis-tu ? Autant vaudrait, ma foi, boire du pissat d'âne Ou du bouillon pointu. Et n'allez pas comme un qui serait du Hanovre, Surtout me l'effrayer, Avec votre carafe, elle croirait, la povre ! Que l'on la veut noyer. Déridez-la toujours d'une première goutte... Là... là... tout doucement. Vous la verrez alors palpiter, vibrer toute, Sourire ingénûment; Il faut que l'eau lui soit ainsi qu'une rosée, Tenez-vous-le pour dit : N'éveillerez les sucs dont elle est composée Que petit à petit. Telle une jeune épouse hésite et s'effarouche Quand, la première nuit, Son mari brusquement l'envahit sur sa couche En ne pensant qu'à lui... Mais, tenez : votre absinthe éclot dans l'intervalle, La voilà qui fleurit, S'irise et passe par tous les tons de l'opale Avec un rare esprit. Vous pouvez maintenant la humer, elle est faite; Et la chère liqueur A l'instant même vous mettra la joie en tête Et l'indulgence au coeur...

(English translation) When sundown spreads its hyacinth veil Over Rastaquapolis It’s surely time for an absinthe Don’t you think, my son? It’s especially in summer, when thirst wears you down - Like a hundred Dreyfus gossips -

7

That it’s fitting to seek a fresh terrace Along the boulevards Where one finds the best absinthe That of the sons of Pernod Forget the rest! They’re like a sharp by Gounod: mere illusion. I say along the boulevards, and not in Rome, Nor at the home of the Bonivards; To be an absinthier is not to be any less a man. And on our boulevards One sees pass the sweetest creatures With the gentlest manners: You’re drinking, they rouse your nature, They are exquisite... but let it pass. You have your absinthe, it’s all about preparation This is not, believe me, As the cynics think, a small matter Banal and without emotion The heart should not be elsewhere For the moment at least. Absinthe wants first, beautiful ice water The gods are my witness! Tepid water, none of that: Jupiter condemns it. Yourself, what say you? Might as well, my faith, drink donkey piss Or enema broth And don’t come on like a German, And scare her, With your carafe; she would think, poor dear! That you want to drown her. Always rouse her from the first drop … Like so ... and so ... very gently Then behold her quiver, all vibrant With an innocent smile; Water must be for her like dew, You must be certain about that: Awaken the juices of which she is made Only little by little.

8

Such as a young wife hesitates, startled When, on her wedding night, Her husband brusquely invades her bed Thinking only of himself... But wait: your absinthe has bloomed in the meantime, See how she flowers, Iridescent, passing through every shade of the opal With a rare spirit. You may sniff now, she is made; And the beloved liquor In the same instant brings joy to your head And indulgence to your heart …3

L’ABSINTHE ET LE COBAYE A Paul Mounet

M Bordas, rout-chef du laboratoire

municipal, inj«cle dix centimètres

cube» d'absinlbe à un cobaye,

pour démontrer la toxicité mortelle

de ce breuvage.

Dix centimètres ! quelle cuite ! Pourquoi pas trente, tout de suite? Pauvre cobaye! dont la fin Est de servir l'expérience De ces messieurs de la science. Avec son frère le lapin. Mais, ô savant, que je respecte, Sache bien que je m'en injecte Relativement moins. Ainsi, C'est donc comme si moi bélître, Il me fallait en boire un litre. Dans une séance... Merci! Moi, ces dix centimètres cube D'absinthe jetés dans mon tube,

3 http://www.oxygenee.com

9

Je puis hardiment les braver, Sans même hésiter sur ma tige, Mais ce n'est pas un tel prodige Qu'un cobaye en puisse crever. En outre, que prouve la chose ! Pour ce petit cochon en cause, Pas plus gros en tout que le poing L'absinthe, idiosyncrasique, Peut être infiniment toxique, Pour moi, ne l'être du tout point. Chacun, comme il le peut, s'en tire. Ne me suis-je pas laissé dire Par exemple, que le persil, Qui m'est â moi fort salutaire, Était au perroquet contraire, Tout autant qu'un coup de fusil ? De même mon gosier se cabre, Quand je veux avaler un sabre, Tandis que j'ai vu, chez Barnum, Je ne sais quelle créature Dont c'est l'ordinaire pûture. Que voulez-vous?... cuiquesuum.4

L'ABSINTHE DU MORT A Georjges Hugo.

A Madagascar, il est d'tuage de

continuer à nourrir lesdéfuntsau

delà du trépas.

A celui qui a été ivrogne, sa

veuve considère comme un devoir

de lui apporter sa boisson favorite

Lectures de la femme.

Dieu ! que la France est vaine Auprès de ces pays! Et je comprends sans peine Qu'on les ait envahis. Les moeurs et les usages Y sont cent fois plus sages Que chez nous, Blancs -Visages,

4 Raoul Ponchon, La Muse au Cabaret, BIBLIOTHÈQUE-CHARPENTIER, EUGENE FASQUELLE, ÉCITEUR, 1920,

Paris, p. 199 http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k74840t.r=Raoul+Ponchon%2C+La+Muse+au+Cabaret.langEN

10

Qu'ils noniment les Oui-ouis. Là-bas, le mariage Me parait, dès l'abord, Offrir un avantage. Et que je prise fort : La loi s’y trouvant telle, Que ma femme fidèle Si je meurs avant elle Doit me nourrir encor ! Bien mieux, si la « biture» Est mon léger défaut , Ma seconde nature, Elle doit — il le faut — Bien loin qu'elle sévisse. Mettre tout son office A respecter mon vice Par delà le tombeau. Chez nous, c'est un calvaire : Pour un verre de trop, La femme vocifère, Glapit comme un blaireau; Elle peste, elle rogne, Vous traite de carogne, D'enfant de la Pologne, Et de fleur de bistro. Tandis, là-bas — macache ! Que si je suis nanti D'une épouse malgache, Elle ne m'abrutit. Je puis boire — sans phrase, Et sans qu'elle me rase, Et voyez cette occase ! Même une fois parti ! Je suis donc mort. Ma veuve Inconsolable, au lieu De pleurer comme un fleuve, M'apporte, grâce à Dieu ! De son pas le plus vite, Ma boisson favorite, Qui bien plus me profite Que ses pleurs... Croyez-le !

11

Ainsi, quand le jour tombe, Je la vois, jeune Hébé, Déposer dans ma tombe Un vieux « Pernod » frappé ; Et je me crois encore, Assis — humble pécore. Que le Néant décore, — A l'ombre d'un café.5

AU CABARET Celui qui ne sait pas tirer profil

du premier objet qui lui tombe «ou»

les yeux, n'a pas un atome d'intelligence

Edison.

Ed lisant les ci-dessus lignes. Je pensai : voilà du « chiqué » : D'autre part, Edison les signe, Qui HP passe pas pour toqué. Je ne le crois pas davantage Un farceur, un mauvais plaisant, Un vieillard fou de radotage... Quoi qu'il en soit, essayons-en. Étant donné son axiome, Je dis en mon for : « Voyons voir » Si je jouis du moindre atome D'intelligence. Il faut savoir. Or, je puis le dire sans feinte, Au même instant, j'étais campé Par hasard, devant une absinthe, D'aventure — dans un café, A l'heure oùle soleil décline. Ainsi donc, le premier objet Était cette absinthe opaline. Que mon regard interrogeait ; Dans l'espoir qu'il me viendrait d'elle, Une idée, un éclair subit Qui m'activerait la cervelle Et dont je tirerais profit.

5Ibid, p. 204

12

Je l'avais encor ménagée, Mais tel n'était point mon projet ; Et je la bus d'une gorgée. Pour être plein de mon sujet. Sans doute elle était trop légère, Car je restai comme devant, Après avoir vidé mon verre, En dépit de notre savant. Alors, j’en pris une seconde — Vous eussiez dit des pois cassés ; Elle ne fut pas plus féconde En solutions, vous pensez!... Je devins un peu plus loquace, Et plus agité, voilà tout; Je bavardai comme une agace, Et pour ne rien dire, surtout... N’importe, ô bourreau de science. Rare et merveilleux Edison ! Cette dernière expérience Te donne absolument raison : On doit, pour peu qu'on y médite, Tirer profil de tout, c'est sûr : Ainsi, cette absinthe maudite. J'aurai toujours « profité sur »...6

6ibid, p. 207

13

Charles Pierre Baudelaire (1821-1867) was a

French poet who produced notable work as an

essayist, art critic, and pioneering translator of Edgar

Allan Poe. His most famous work, Les Fleurs du mal

(The Flowers of Evil), expresses the changing nature of

beauty in modern, industrializing Paris during the 19th

century. Baudelaire's highly original style of prose-

poetry influenced a whole generation of poets

including Paul Verlaine, Arthur Rimbaud and Stéphane

Mallarmé among many others. He is credited with

coining the term "modernity" (modernité) to

designate the fleeting, ephemeral experience of life in

an urban metropolis, and the responsibility art has to

capture that experience. He was a member of the Club

des Hashischins (sometimes also spelled Club des Hashishins or Club des Hachichins), a

Parisian group dedicated to the exploration of drug-induced experiences, notably with

hashish, he was a regular user of laudanum, opium, and absinthe.

Le Poison — Charles Baudelaire

Le vin sait revêtir le plus sordide bouge D'un luxe miraculeux, Et fait surgir plus d'un portique fabuleux Dans l'or de sa vapeur rouge, Comme un soleil couchant dans un ciel nébuleux. L'opium agrandit ce qui n'a pas de bornes, Projette l'illimité, Approfondit le temps, creuse la volupté, Et de plaisirs noirs et mornes Remplit l'âme au delà de sa capacité. Tout cela ne vaut pas le poison qui découle De tes yeux, de tes yeux verts, Lacs où mon âme tremble et se voit à l'envers... Mes songes viennent en foule Pour se désaltérer à ces gouffres amers. Tout cela ne vaut pas le terrible prodige De ta salive qui mord, Qui plonge dans l'oubli mon âme sans remord, Et, charriant le vertige,

Le roule défaillant aux rives de la mort!

14

Poison (English translation)

Wine can endow the lowest dive with sudden luxury and out of a red mist create enchanted porticoes, like sunset firing a sodden sky. Opium can dilate boundless space and plumb eternity, emptying out time itself till a grim ecstasy burdens the soul past all bearing. None of which equals the poison welling up in your eyes that show me my poor soul reversed… My dreams throng to drink at those green, distorting pools. None of which rivals the taste of your bitter saliva which like a pestilence infects my soul until it sinks unconscious on the shores of death !7

Avec ses vêtements ondoyants et nacrés

Avec ses vêtements ondoyants et nacrés, Même quand elle marche on croirait qu'elle danse, Comme ces longs serpents que les jongleurs sacrés Au bout de leurs bâtons agitent en cadence.

Comme le sable morne et l'azur des déserts, Insensibles tous deux à l'humaine souffrance Comme les longs réseaux de la houle des mers Elle se développe avec indifférence.

Ses yeux polis sont faits de minéraux charmants, Et dans cette nature étrange et symbolique Où l'ange inviolé se mêle au sphinx antique,

7 CHARLES BAUDELAIRE, Les Fleurs Du Mal, translation by RICHARD HOWARD, David R. Godine Publisher 1983,

p. 54

15

Où tout n'est qu'or, acier, lumière et diamants, Resplendit à jamais, comme un astre inutile, La froide majesté de la femme stérile.8

Even when she walks (English translation)

Even when she walks she seems to dance! Her garments writhe and glisten like long snakes obedient to the rhythm of the wands by which a fakir wakens them to grace. Like both the desert and the desert sky Insensible to human suffering, and like the ocean’s endless labyrinth she shows her body with indifference. Precious minerals are her polished eyes, and in her strange symbolic nature where angel and sphinx unite, where diamonds, gold, and steel dissolve into one light, shines forever, useless as a star, the sterile woman’s icy majesty.9

8 Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal, Poulet-Malassis et de Broise, 1857, Paris, p. 61

9 CHARLES BAUDELAIRE, Les Fleurs Du Mal, translation by RICHARD HOWARD, David R. Godine Publisher 1983,

p.33

16

August Strindberg was a Swedish playwright,

novelist, poet, essayist and painter. A prolific writer

who often drew directly on his personal experience,

Strindberg's career spanned four decades, during which

time he wrote over 60 plays and more than 30 works of

fiction, autobiography, history, cultural analysis, and

politics. A bold experimenter and iconoclast

throughout, he explored a wide range of dramatic

methods and purposes, from naturalistic tragedy,

monodrama, and history plays, to his anticipations of

expressionist and surrealist dramatic techniques. From

his earliest work, Strindberg developed forms of

dramatic action, language, and visual composition so

innovative that many were to become technically

possible to stage only with the advent of film. He is considered the "father" of modern

Swedish literature and his The Red Room (1879) has frequently been described as the first

modern Swedish novel.

Indian summer – August Strindberg (English translation)

From the sickroom's chloral fragrant pillows,

darkened by stifled sighs

and as yet unheard blasphemies;

from the bedside table,

cluttered with medicinal bottles,

prayer books and Heine,

I stumbled out on the balcony

to look at the sea.

Shrouded in my flowered blanket

I let the October sun shine

on my yellow cheeks

and on a bottle of absinthe,

green as the sea,

green as the spruce branches

on a snowy street

where a funeral procession has passed.

The sea lay motionless,

and the wind slept --

as if nothing had happened!

Then came a moth,

17

a brown horrid moth,

which once was a caterpillar

but had crawled up

out of a newly raked leaf pile,

tricked by the sum

if you please!

Shivering with cold

or unfamiliarity,

he alit

on my flowered blanket.

And he chose among the roses

and the aniline lilacs

the smallest and ugliest--

how can one be so stupid!

When the hour had passed

and I stood up

to go and turn in,

he still sat there,

that stupid moth.

He had fulfilled his destiny

and was dead,

the stupid bastard!10

Indiansommar - (August Strindberg, urDikterpåversochprosa, 1883)

Frånsjukrummetskloraldoftandekuddar, mörknadeavkvävdasuckar ochhittillsohördahädelser; frånnattduksbordet, belamratavmedikamentsflaskor, bönböckeroch Heine, jag stappladeutpåbalkongen föratt se påhavet. Svept i min blommigafilt lät jag oktobersolenskina på mina gula kinder ochpå en flaskaabsint, grönsomhavet,

10 Strindberg, August, - , Selected poems of August Strindberg edited and translated by Lotta .

L fgren. arbondale : Southern Illinois University Press, c2002, p.46

18

grönsomgranriset på en snöiggata därettliktåggåttfram.

Havet låg blickstillt, och vinden sov – som om ingenting passerat! Då kom en fjäril, en brun otäck fjäril, som förr varit kålmask men nu kravlat sig upp ur en nylagd lövhög, narrad av solskenet gubevars!

Skälvande av köld eller ovana slog han sig ner på min blommiga filt. Och han valde bland rosorna och anilinsyrenerna den minsta och fulaste – hur kan man vara så dum!

När timman var ute och jag reste mig för att gå och ta in, satt han kvar ännu, den dumma fjäriln. Han hade uppfyllt sin bestämmelse och var död, den dumma djäveln!11

11

August Strindberg, Dikterpåversochprosa, Publisher: Bonnier 1883, Book from the collections of: Oxford University, p.152

19

Note:Between 1880 and 1881 a collection of all Strindberg's previous short stories, I Vårbrytningen (Spring Harvest), is published divided into seven booklets. Immediately after the seventh booklet is published the collection is also published as a book in its entirety.

Sunset on the ocean (English translation)

"I'm lying on the boatswain's locker smoking "Fem BlåBröder" thinking of nothing. The sea is green dark absinthe green it is bitter like magnesium chloride and saltier than sodium chloride it is chaste like potassium iodide and oblivion, oblivion from large sins and large sorrows you find only in the ocean, and absinthe! O green absinthe sea, o calm absinthe oblivion, numb my senses and let me fall asleep in peace, as I fell asleep before over an article in Revues des deux Mondes! Sweden lies likesmoke like the smoke from a MaduroHavanna and the sun is sitting above like an almost extinguished cigar, but around the horizon the quarries stand red like Bengal-fires shedding light on the misery."12

12

http://www.absinthe.se, English translation

20

SolnedgångpåHavet

….Jag lågpåkabelgattet, ….Rökte »fem blå bröder» Och tänkte på intet. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- ….Havet är så grönt, Så dunkelt absintgrönt -- Det är bittert som chlormagnesium Och saltare än chlornatrium; Det är kyskt som jodkalium. Och glömska, glömska Av stora synder och stora sorger Den ger endast havet Och absint! O du gröna absinthav, O du stilla absintglömska, Döva mina sinnen Och låt mig somna i rö Som förr jag somnade ….Över en artikel i Revue des deux Mondes. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- Sverge ligger som en rök, ...Somrökenav en Maduro-Havanna ...Och solen sitter bredvid Som en halvsläckt cigarr. Men runt kring horisonten Stå brotten så röda Som bengaliska eldar ...Ochlysapåeländet!13

13

August Strindberg, I vårbrytningen, online Internet Archive - Project Gutenberg.

21

Arthur Rimbaud (1854 – 1891) was a French poet.

Born in Charleville, Ardennes, he produced his works

while still in his late teens—Victor Hugo described him

at the time as "an infant Shakespeare"—and he gave up

creative writing altogether before the age of 20. As part

of the decadent movement, Rimbaud influenced

modern literature, music, and arts, and prefigured

surrealism. Rimbaud arrived in late September 1871 at

Verlaine's invitation and resided briefly in Verlaine's

home. Verlaine, who was married to the seventeen-

year-old and pregnant Mathilde Mauté, had recently left

his job and taken up drinking. In later published

recollections of his first sight of Rimbaud, Verlaine

described him at the age of seventeen as having "the

real head of a child, chubby and fresh, on a big, bony rather clumsy body of a still-growing

adolescent, and whose voice, with a very strong Ardennes accent, that was almost a dialect,

had highs and lows as if it were breaking." Rimbaud and Verlaine began a short and torrid

affair. Whereas Verlaine had likely engaged in prior homosexual experiences, it remains

uncertain whether the relationship with Verlaine was Rimbaud's first. During their time

together they led a wild, vagabond-like life spiced by absinthe and hashish.

"Comédie de la Soif" – III verse "Les Amis" "Viens, les Vins vont aux plages, Et les flots par millions ! Vois le Bitter sauvage Rouler du haut des monts ! Gagnons, pèlerins sages, L'Absinthe aux verts piliers...14

14

Wallace Fowlie, Seth Adam Whidden, Rimbaud: Complete Works, Selected Letters : a Bilingual Edition, University of Chicago Press, 2005, p.176/177

22

Comedy of thirst – III verse Friends – (English translation)

"Come, the Wines go to the beaches, And waves by the millions! See the wild Bitter Rolling from the mountaintops! Let us, wise pilgrims, reach The Absinthe with its green pillars..."

Absinthe poem "Long live L'academied'Absomphe...It is the most delicate and trembling of all vestments, this drunkenness by virtue of the sagebrush of the glaciers, absomphe..15

15

BetinaWittels, Robert Hermesch, T. A. Breaux, Absinthe: Sip of Seduction: A Contemporary Guide, Speck Press, p. 16

23

Ernest Dowson was an English poet whose

passion and despair revolved around a girl,

Adelaide (Cynara), whom he first met when

she was eleven.

He wrote some of his best work for her, but

she, unable to relate to his verse or return his

passion, married a tailor - and Dowson spent

the rest of his short life bereft and adrift. The

title of this celebration of brevity is from

Horace’s Ode I: Life's brevity prevents us from

fulfilling our potential. Dowson was a friend of

Yeats, of Symons, of Gide and Verlaine,

amongst others. As with Verlaine, alcohol was

more a master than a friend, and he had

constant sad recourse, when in France, to

absinthe, which he referred to as Opaline.

Like Verlaine, his personal appearance and hygiene disgusted the bourgeois, though his

poetry was well-received. He attended Verlaine's funeral, and was one of the very few

supporters and final friends of Oscar Wilde.

AbsinthiaTaetra

Green changed to white, emerald to opal; nothing was changed.

The man let the water trickle gently into his glass,

and as the green clouded, a mist fell from his mind.

Then he drank opaline.

Memories and terrors beset him.

The past tore after him like a panther and

through the blackness of the present he saw

the luminous tiger eyes of the things to be.

But he drank opaline.

24

And that obscure night of the soul, and the valley of humiliation,

through which he stumbled, were forgotten.

He saw blue vistas of undiscovered countries,

high prospects and a quiet, caressing sea.

The past shed its perfume over him,

today held his hand as if it were a little child,

and tomorrow shone like a white star: nothing was changed.

He drank opaline.

The man had known the obscure night of the soul,

and lay even now in the valley of humiliation;

and the tiger menace of the things to be was red in the skies.

But for a little while he had forgotten.

Green changed to white, emerald to opal; nothing was changed.

(AbsinthiaTaetra is part of Decorations in Verse and Prose published in 1899)

DREGS

'The fire is out, and spent the warmth thereof,

(This is the end of every song man sings!)

The golden wine is drunk, the dregs remain,

Bitter as wormwood and as salt as pain;

And health and hope have gone the way of love

Into the drear oblivion of lost things.

Ghosts go along with us until the end;

This was a mistress, this, perhaps, a friend.

With pale, indifferent eyes we sit and wait

For the dropt curtain and the closing gate:

This is the end of all the songs man sings...'16

16

The poems of Ernest Dowson, with a memoir by Arthur Symons, four illustrations by Aubrey Breadsley and a portrait by William Rothenstein, DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, New York 1922, p. 148

25

Alphonse Allais (1854-1905) was a French writer and humourist

born in Honfleur, Calvados. He is the author of many collections of whimsical writings. A poet as much as a humourist, he in particular cultivated the verse form known as holorhyme, i.e. made up entirely of homophonous verses, where entire lines rhyme.

Absinthes - Alphonse Allais (published in Le Chat Noir 1885) Five o'clock. Foul weather. Grey sky... depressing, hellish sort of grey. Oh, for a good downpour to get rid of all these imbeciles milling around with their idiotic airs!…Foul weather. A bad day today, dammit.Bad luck. Article rejected. So politely... : ‘Liked your article... interesting idea... nicely written... but not really in the style of the magazine, I'm afraid…’ Style of the magazine?Style of the magazine?? Dullest magazine in the whole of Paris! Whole of France. Publisher preoccupied, distracted: ‘Got your manuscript here somewhere... yes, liked your novel... interesting idea... nicely written... but business is very slow at the moment, you see... already got too much stuff on our hands... ever thought of writing something aimed more at the popular market? Lots of sales... awards…' Went out politely, feeling stupid: ‘Another time, perhaps.’ Foul weather. Half past five. The boulevards! Let's take to the boulevards. Meet a friend or two. If you can call them friends. Bunch of worthless... But who can you trust in Paris? And why is everyone out tonight so ugly? The women so badly dressed. The men looking so stupide. ‘Waiter! Bring me an absinthe and sugar!’ Amusing, watching the sugar lump melt gently on its little grid. Same way they say a drip of water hollows out granite. Only difference, sugar softer than granite. Just as well, too. Can you imagine? Waiter, one absinthe and granite! Absinthe on the rocks! That's a good one, that's a good one. Quite funny. For people who aren't in a hurry - absinthe and granite! Nice one. Sugar lumps almost melted now. There it goes. Just like us. Striking image of mankind, a sugar lump...

26

When we are dead, we shall all go the same way. Atom by atom, molecule by molecule. Dissolved, dispersed, returned to the Great Beyond by kind permission of roots and earthworms. Everything sorted out then. Victor Hugo and a hack like Anatole Beaucanard equal in the eyes of the Great God Maggot. Thank goodness. Foul weather... Bad day. Fool of an editor. Unbelievable ass of a publisher. Don't know though. Perhaps not so much talent as keep telling self. Good stuff, absinthe. Not the first mouthful, perhaps. But after that. Good stuff. Six o'clock. Boulevards looking a bit more lively now. And look at the women! A lot prettier than an hour ago.More elegant, too. Men don't look so cretinous either. Sky still grey. Nice mother-of-pearl sort of grey. Rather effective. Lovely nuances. Setting sun tingeing the clouds with pale coppery pink glow. Very fine.

‘Waiter!An absinthe and anis!’ Good fun, absinthe with sugar, but can't stand around all day waiting for it to melt. Half past six. All these women! And so pretty, most of them. And so strange, too. Mysterious, rather. Where do they all come from? Where are they all going to? Ah, shall we ever know! Not one of them spares me a glance - and yet I love them all so much. I look at each one as she passes, and I’m certain I’ll never forget her face. Then she vanishes, and I have absolutely no recollection what she looked like. Luckily, there are always even prettier girls following behind. And I would love them so, if only they would let me! But they all pass by. Shall I ever see any one of them again? Street Hawkers out there on the pavement, selling everything under the sun…newspapers... celluloid cigar-cases... cuddly toy monkeys - any colour you want... Who are all these men? Crushed by life, no doubt.Unrecognised geniuses.Renegades. Hollow eyed. But fire still burning in their pupils. A book waiting to be written about them.A great book.An unforgettable book. A book that everyone would have to buy - everyone! Oh, all these women! Why doesn't it occur to just one of them to come in and sit down beside me... kiss me very gently... caress me…take me in her arms and rock me to and fro just as mom did when I was small? ‘Waiter!An absinthe neat. And make it a large one!’17

17

http://www.oxygenee.com

27

Aleister Crowley (1875-1947), born Edward Alexander

Crowley was an English occultist, mystic, ceremonial

magician, poet and mountaineer, who was responsible for

founding the religious philosophy of Thelema. Crowley

was also pansexual, a recreational drug experimenter and

a social critic. In many of these roles he "was in revolt

against the moral and religious values of his time",

espousing a form of libertinism based upon the rule of "Do

What Thou Wilt". Crowley was a habitual drug user and

also maintained a meticulous record of his drug-induced

experiences with opium, cocaine, hashish, cannabis,

alcohol, ether, mescaline, morphine, and heroin. In 1918,

Aleister Crowley composed a lyrical essay on absinthe and aesthetics titled "Absinthe - The

Green Goddess". He wrote his essay (according to legend, while waiting for a female

companion) in the Old Absinthe House in New Orleans. "Art is the soul of life," he

proclaimed, "and the Old Absinthe House is the heart and soul of the old quarter of New

Orleans."

ABSINTHE (By JEANNE LA GOULUE a pseudonym of Aleister Crowley, published in The

International, New York, October 1917.)

Apollon, qui pleurait le trépas d’Hyacinthe, Ne voulait pas céder la victoire à la mort. Il fallait que son âme, adepte de l’essor, Trouvât pour la beauté une alchimie plus sainte. Donc, de sa main céleste il épuise, il éreinte Les dons les plus subtils de la divine Flore. Leurs corps brisés soupirent une exhalaison d’or Dont il nous recueillait la goutte de l’Absinthe! Aux cavernes blotties, aux palais pétillants, Par un, par deux, buvez ce breuvage d’aimant. ar c’est un sortilège, un propos de dictame; e vin d’opal pale avortit la misère, Ouvre de la beauté l’intime sanctuaire Ensorcelle mon ceur, extasie mon âme!18

18

http://hermetic.com/

28

La légende de l'Absinthe (English translation)

Apollo, mourning the demise of Hyacinth, Would not cede vicotry to death. His sould, adept of transformation, Had to find a holy alchemy for beauty. So from his celestial hand he exhausts and crushes The subtlest gifts from divine Flora. Their borken bodies sigh a golden exhalation From which he harvest our first drop of - Absinthe! In crouching cellars, in sparkling palaces, Alone or together, drink that potion of loving! For it is a sorcery, a conjuration, This pale opal wine aborts misery. Opens the intimate sanctuary of beauty Bewitches my heart, exalts my soul in ecstasy. 19

19

http://www.inabsinthia.com

29

Charles Cros is perhaps most famous as the man who

almost, but not quite, invented the phonograph. No one

before M. Charles Cros had thought of reproducing sound

by making an apparatus capable of registering and

reproducing sounds which had been engraved with a

diaphragm. The inventor gave the name of Paleophone

(voix du passé) to his invention. On April 30, 1877 he

submitted a sealed envelope containing a letter to the

Academy of Sciences in Paris explaining his proposed

method. The letter was read in public on the 3rd

December following. In his letter, after having shown that

his method consisted of detecting an oscillation of a

membrane and using the tracing to reproduce the

oscillation with respect to its duration and intensity. Cros

added that a cylindrical form for the receiving apparatus seemed to him to be the most

practical, as it allowed for the graphic inscription of the vibrations by means of a very fine-

threaded screw. An article on the Paleophone was published in "la semaine du Clergé" on

October 10, 1877, written by l'Abbé Leblanc. Cros proposed metal for both engraving tool

attached to the diaphragm and receiving material for durability.

Before Cros had a chance to follow up on this idea or attempt to construct a working model,

Thomas Alva Edison introduced his first working phonograph in the USA. Edison used a

cylinder covered in tinfoil for his first phonograph, patenting this method for reproducing

sound on January 15, 1878. Edison and Cros apparently did not know of each other's work in

advance.

Cros was convinced that pinpoints of light observed on Mars and Venus, probably high

clouds illuminated by the sun, were the lights of large cities on those planets. He spent years

petitioning the French government to build a giant mirror that could be used to

communicate with the Martians and Venusians by burning giant lines on the deserts of

those planets. He was never convinced that the Martians were not a proven fact, nor that

the mirror he wanted was technically impossible to build.

Charles Cros a Painter, Poet, Physicist, Chemist, Musician, and Inventor. He regularly drank

up to 20 Absinthes a day, and was known to regulars at Paris’ legendary absinthe cafés as a

bon vivant, partying long into the next day.

30

"Lendemain" – Charles Cros

"Avec les fleurs, avec les femmes, Avec l’absinthe, avec le feu, On peut se divertir un peu, Jouer son rôle en quelque drame. L’absinthe bue un soir d’hiver Éclaire en vert l’âme enfumée, Et les fleurs, sur la bien-aimée Embaument devant le feu clair. Puis les baisers perdent leurs charmes, Ayant duré quelques saisons. Les réciproques trahisons Font qu’on se quitte un jour, sans larmes. On brûle lettres et bouquets Et le feu se met à l’alcôve. Et, si la triste vie est sauve, Restent l’absinthe et ses hoquets. Les portraits sont mangés des flammes: Les doigts crispés sont tremblotants... On meurt d’avoir dormi longtemps, avec les fleurs, avec les femmes."20

The morning after (English translation)

"With Flowers, and with Women, With Absinthe, and with this Fire, We can divert ourselves a while, Act out our part in some drama. Absinthe, on a winter evening, Lights up in green the sooty soul; And Flowers, on the beloved, Grow fragrant before the clear Fire. Later, kisses lose their charm Having lasted several seasons;

20

Charles Cros, Le Coffret de santal, AncienneLibrairie TRESSE & STOCK 1908, Book from the collections of: University of Michigan, p. 45 http://archive.org/stream/lecoffretdesant01crosgoog#page/n7/mode/2up

31

And after mutual betrayals We part one day without a tear. We burn letters and bouquets. And fire takes our bower; And if sad life is salvaged Still there is Absinthe and its hiccups. The portraits are eaten by flames. Shrivelled fingers tremble. We die from sleeping long With Flowers, and with Women."

L'heure verte

Comme bercée en un hamac La pensée oscille et tournoie, A cette heure où tout estomac Dans un flot d'absinthe se noie. Et l'absinthe pénètre l'air, Car cette heure est toute émeraude. L'appétit aiguise le flair De plus d'un nez rose qui rôde. Promenant le regard savant De ses grands yeux d'aigues-marines, Circé cherche d'où vient le vent Qui lui caresse les narines. Et, vers des dîners inconnus, Elle court à travers l'opale De la brume du soir. Vénus S'allume dans le ciel vert-pâle.21

21

Ibid, p. 77

32

Donald Evans (1884 - 1921) was an American poet, publisher, music critic and journalist.

Associated with the avant-garde scene of Greenwich Village, his works relate a strong sense of irony as well as his own personal bohemianism, coupled with the deep influence of 1890s aestheticism.

Somewhat comparable to fellow bohemian poet Maxwell Bodenheim, many stories about his bohemian lifestyle circulated. Evans single-handedly founded and managed the Claire Marie press, intending to publish "New Books for Exotic Tastes". He stated its goals as thus, "Claire Marie believes there are in America seven hundred civilized people only. Claire Marie publishes books for civilized people only. Claire Marie's aim, it follows from the premises, is not even secondarily commercial." Evans was an early admirer of Gertrude Stein. He first published her Tender Buttons in 1914. His works include 1914's Sonnets from the Patagonian, 1916's Two Deaths in the Bronx and 1919's Ironica.

Portraits of Louise Norton To Donald Evans

BUVEUSE D’ABSINTHE Rue d’Aphrodite

Her voice was fleet-limbed and immaculate, And like peach blossoms blown across the wind Her white words made the hour seem cool and kind, Hung with soft dawns that danced a shadow fete. A silken silence crept up from the South, The flutes were hushed that mimed the orange moon, And down the willow stream my sighs were strewn, While I knelt to the corners of her mouth. Lead me afar from clamorous dissonance, For I am sick of empty trumpetings, Choking the highways with a dusty noise. Here I have found her sweet sheer utterance, And now I seek the garden of the wings Where I may bathe in sounds that life destroys.22

22

Donald Evans, Sonnets from Patagonian, Published by Nicholas L. Brown 1918, p. 51

33

Glen MacDonough (1870-1924) was a US American writer, lyricist and librettist.

MacDonough is best-remembered today as the librettist of Victor Herbert's operetta, Babes

in Toyland (1903). He wrote the lyrics for the operetta, Chris and the Wonderful Lamp

(1899), with music by March King, John Phillip Sousa, a work that undergoes periodic revival

even today. MacDonough was also one of the many lyricists called to help out in the first

musical production of Frank Baum's The Wizard of Oz (1902). Between 1896 and 1909,

MacDonough collaborated with Victor Herbert on three other operettas besides Babes in

Toyland: It Happened in Nordland (1905), Wonderland (1905), and The Rose of Algeria

(1909). MacDonough was also the American adapter of Johann Strauss' last work, Vienna

Life (1901), and of Franz Lehar's The Count of Luxembourg (1912).

Absinthe Frappe was written song by Glen MacDonough, combined with music of Victor

Herbert as a part of the Broadway musical Comedy “It Happened in Nordland”. The Musical

was performed 254 times during the period between December 1904 to November 1905 in

the Lew M. Fields Theatre in New York. The song was sung by the actor Harry Davenport

who played the role of Prince George of Nebula.23

Absinthe Frappé

When life seems gray and dark the dawn and you are blue, There is they say on such a morn one thing to do. Rise up and ring, a bell-boy call to you straight-way, And bid him bring a cold and tall absinthe frappè. It will free you first from the burning thirst that is born on the night of the bowl, like a sun 'twill rise through the inky skies That so heavily hang o'er your soul. At the first cool sip on your fevered lip you determine to live through the day, Life's again worthwhile as with dawning smile you imbibe your absinthe frappe. The deed is done so waste no woe o'er yestereen. Nor swear to shun a year or so the festive scene. Remorse will pass despair will fade with speed away before a glass of rightly made absinthe frappe. 23

It Happened in Nordland, IBDB Internet Broadway Database http://www.ibdb.com/production.php?id=5964

34

It will free you first from the burning thirst that is born on the night of the bowl, like a sun 'twill rise through the inky skies that so heavily hang o'er your soul. At the first cool sip on your fevered lip you determine to live through the day, life's again worthwhile as with dawning smile you imbibe your absinthe frappe. Note: The sheet music reproductions are borrowed from JScholarship which is designed to gather, distribute, and preserve digital materials related to the Johns Hopkins research and instructional mission. The reproductions can be found in The Lester S. Levy Collection of Sheet Music is part of Special Collections at the Milton S. Eisenhower Library of The Johns Hopkins University. https://jscholarship.library.jhu.edu/handle/1774.2/18475

Sheet music page.3 strophic with chorus Sheet music page. 4strophic with chorus

35

Sheet music page.5 strophic with chorus Sheet music page. 6strophic with chorus

Sheet music page. 7strophic with chorus Front Cover

36

Maurice Rollinat (1846 – 1903) was a French poet.

La Buveused’Absinthe Elle était toujours enceinte, Et puis elle avait un air... Pauvre buveuse d’absinthe ! Elle vivait dans la crainte De son ignoble partner : Elle était toujours enceinte ! Par les nuits où le ciel suinte, Elle couchait en plein air. Pauvre buveuse d’absinthe ! Ceux que la débauche éreinte La lorgnaient d’un œil amer : Elle était toujours enceinte ! Dans Paris, ce labyrinthe Immense comme la mer, Pauvre buveuse d’absinthe, Elle allait, prunelle éteinte, Rampant aux murs comme un ver... Elle était toujours enceinte !

37

Oh ! Cette jupe déteinte Qui se bombait chaque hiver ! Pauvre buveuse d’absinthe ! Sa voix n’était qu’une plainte, Son estomac qu’un cancer : Elle était toujours enceinte ! Quelle farouche complainte Dira son hideux spencer ! Pauvre buveuse d’absinthe ! Je la revois, pauvre Aminte, omme si c’était hier : Elle était toujours enceinte ! Elle effrayait maint et mainte Rien qu’en tournant sa cuiller ; Pauvre buveuse d’absinthe ! Quand elle avait une quinte De toux, — oh ! qu’elle a souffert, Elle était toujours enceinte ! — Elle râlait : « Ça m’esquinte ! Je suis déjà dans l’enfer. » Pauvre buveuse d’absinthe ! Or elle but une pinte De l’affreux liquide vert : Elle était toujours enceinte ! Et l’agonie était peinte Sur son œil à peine ouvert ; Pauvre buveuse d’absinthe ! Quand son amant dit sans feinte : « D’débarras, c’en est un fier ! « Elle était toujours enceinte. » Pauvre buveuse d’absinthe !24

24

Maurice Rollinat, Les névroses: Les ạmes-Les luxuries-Les refuges-Les spectres-Les ténèbres, G. Charpentier, Editeur, 1883, Paris, p. 270

38

Albert Giraud (1860-1929) was a Belgian poet who wrote

in French. Giraud was born Emile Albert Kayenbergh in

Leuven, Belgium. He studied law at the University of

Louvain. He left university without a degree and took up

journalism and poetry. In 1885, Giraud became a member of

La Jeune Belgique, a Belgian nationalist literary movement

that met at the Café Sésino in Brussels. Giraud became chief

librarian at the Belgian Ministry of the Interior. He was a

Symbolist poet. His published works include Pierrot Lunaire:

Rondelsbergamasques (1884), a poem cycle based on the commedia dell'arte figure of

Pierrot, and La Guirlande des Dieux (1910). The composer Arnold Schönberg set a German

language version (translated by Otto Erich Hartleben) of selections from his Pierrot Lunaire

to innovative atonal music.

Absinthe

Dans une immense mer d'absinthe,

Je découvre des pays soûls,

Aux ciels capricieux et fous

Comme un désir de femme enceinte.

La capiteuse vague tinte

Des rythmes verdâtres et doux:

Dans une immense mer d'absinthe,

Je découvre des pays soûls.

Mais soudain ma barque est étreinte

Par des poulpes visqueux et mous:

Au milieu d'un gluant remous

Je disparais, sans une plainte,

Dans une immense mer d'absinthe.

------------------------------------

In an immense sea of absinthe,

I discover drunken countries,

To the heavens which are as mad and capricious

As a pregnant woman's cravings.

The heady wave resounds

With soft, greenish rhythms:

In an immense sea of absinthe,

I discover drunken countries.

39

But suddenly my boat is seized

By soft and viscous octopi:

Amid a gluey undertow

I disappear, without a cry,

Into an immense sea of absinthe.25

The poem was published in Pierrot Lunaire: Rondelsbergamasques (1884).

Photograph of Toulouse Lautrec and Lucién Metivet drinking Absinthe, c.1885 at Musée

Toulouse Lautrec Albi Tarn France

25

http://www.reverbnation.com/artist/song_show_lyrics/11213308

40

Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918) was a French poet born in

Italy, playwright, short story writer, novelist, and art critic. Among the foremost poets of the early 20th century, he is credited with coining the word Surrealism and writing one of the earliest works described as surrealist, the play The Breasts of Tiresias.

Nuit rhénane

Mon verre est plein d'un vin trembleur comme une flamme Écoutez la chanson lente d'un batelier Qui raconte avoir vu sous la lune sept femmes Tordre leurs cheveux verts et longs jusqu'à leurs pieds Debout chantez plus haut en dansant une ronde Que je n'entende plus le chant du batelier Et mettez près de moi toutes les filles blondes Au regard immobile aux nattes repliées Le Rhin le Rhin est ivre où les vignes se mirent Tout l'or des nuits tombe en tremblant s'y refléter La voix chante toujours à en râle-mourir Ces fées aux cheveux verts qui incantent l'été Mon verre s'est brisé comme un éclat de rire26

26

Guillaume Apollinaire, Alcools poèmes 1898-1913, Soixante-huitième éd. Gallimard 1920, Paris, p. 111 (Internet Archive http://archive.org/details/alcoolspomes1800apol, Book Number: PQ2601 .P6 A7 1920)

41

RHEINISCHE NACHT - Übersetzung: Jürgen Helbach

In meinem vollen Glase leuchtet flammengleich der Wein

Höret wie ein Schiffer sanft erzählt in seinem Sang

Erzählt von sieben Fraun die er gesehn im Mondenschein

Flechtend ihr grünes Haar bis an die Füße lang

Stehet auf singet lauter und fangt den Rundtanz an

Daß ich nicht mehr das Lied des Schiffers hör

Alle blonden Mädchen holt an meine Seite dann

Mit tiefen Blick und das Haupt von Zöpfen schwer

Der Rhein, der Rhein ist trunken von dem sich spiegelnden Wein

Und alles Gold der Nächte versinkt in seinem Wellenschlagen

Doch immer noch ertönt der Stimme Todespein

Von grünbehaarten Feen die Zaubernacht erschlagen

Mein Glas zersprang wie eines Gelächters Schrein27

27

http://jhelbach.de/

42

Alfred de Musset (1810-1857) French Romantic poet and

playwright, remembered for his poetry. A love affair with the novelist George Sand between the years 1833 and 1835 inspired some of Musset's finest lyrics. After hesitating between many professions, Musset abandoned medicine because of his distaste of the dissecting room. Instead, he studied painting for six months in the Louvre. Musset began his career as a poet and dramatist in 1828 with the publication of a ballad called 'A Dream'. His early poems won the approval of Victor Hugo, who accepted Musset in his Romantic literary circle Cénacle.

Ode à l’Absinthe

Salut, verte liqueur, Némésis de l’orgie! Bien souvent, en passant sur ma lèvre rougie, Tu m’as donné l’ivresse et l’oubli de mes maux; J’ai vu plus d’un géant pâlir sous ton étreinte! Salut, sœur de la ort! Apportez de l’absinthe; Qu’on la verse à grands flots! Il est temps à la fin que je te remercie: Celui qui ne sait pas toute la poésie Qu’un flacon de cristal peut porter en son flanc, Celui-là n’a jamais près d’une table ronde, Vu d’un œil égaré les globes et le monde Valser en grimaçant. Il ne soutiendra pas sans que son cœur défaille Qu’il n’est pas sur la terre une chose qui vaille De l’ivrogne absinthé le sommeil radieux, Qui peut, quand il lui plaît, durant son rêve étrange, Quittant le corps humain, sentir des ailes d’ange L’emporter dans les cieux. oi, je t’aime! Aux mortels ta force est plus funeste Que la foudre, le feu, la mitraille, la peste, Et je te vis souvent terrasser le soldat, Insoucieux de tout, contentant son envie, Quoique sachant trop bien qu’il te donne sa vie Qu’épargna le combat.

43

J’aime ta forte odeur et ton flot d’un vert sombre Qui laisse s’élancer, au milieu de son ombre Des feux couleur de sang tout le long du cristal, Comme si le Seigneur, en signe de prudence, Avait voulu mêler à ton vert d’espérance Quelque signe fatal. Belle comme la mer, comme ses flots cruelle, Tu peux quand tu le veux aussi, cacher comme elle, Sous un calme apparent tes instincts irrités, Et ton flux fait tourner un océan de têtes, Qui battent en riant, les soirs des jours de fêtes, Les portes des cités.

Pour moi, qui ne veux pas atteindre la vieillesse, Je veux contre ta force essayer ma faiblesse, ombattre contre toi, t’étreindre corps à corps. Je veux voir, aujourd’hui, dans un duel terrible, Si tu peux soutenir ton titre d’invincible: Notre témoin sera la mort!28

(Originally published in the newspaper Le Gaulois du Dimanche in 1905).

28

Encyclopédie de l'Agora http://agora.qc.ca/documents/absinthe--ode_a_labsinthe_par_alfred_de_musset

44

Charles Monselet (1825 - 1888) was a French

journalist, novelist, poet and playwright, nicknamed "the king of the gastronomes" by his contemporaries. He specialised in comedic and romantic novels and his total output was around 40 volumes.

L'heure de l'absinthe

On avait déjà l’heure du berger; voici venir maintenant l’heure de l’absinthe.

Paris n’est continuellement occupé qu’à se créer des habitudes. À l’habitude du tabac, à l’habitude de la bière, il a ajouté depuis plusieurs années l’habitude de l’absinthe.

Qu’on ne s’attende pas à de banales imprécations contre ce breuvage-émeraude, comme dirait Victor Hugo. Je sais les désordres que son abus entraîne.

Donc, Paris n’avait guère autrefois qu’un seul motif pour aller au café, motif honnête, plausible, celui de savourer, entre six & sept heures du soir,

La fève de oka dans l’émail du Japon.

Bientôt il s’aperçut que ce n’était pas assez pour lui d’aller au café après dîner; il voulut encore y aller avant.

Dès lors, l’heure de l’absinthe fut imaginée.

L’heure de l’absinthe commence vers quatre heures de l’après-midi.

À ce moment tous les cafés, principalement ceux du boulevard, présentent l’aspect le plus animé. ’est la Bourse des oisifs après la Bourse des affairés.

Des groupes de trois ou quatre personnes s’organisent autour de chaque table – à l’extérieur pendant l’été, à l’intérieur pendant l’hiver.

’est un va-&-vient de plateaux; les garçons, la bouteille d’absinthe au poing, demandent aux consommateurs :

- Monsieur, pure ou avec de la gomme?

- Non, avec de l’anisette.

45

Car il y a cent manières de prendre l’absinthe, & puis aussi de la faire, c’est-à-dire de la troubler avec l’eau, de la mêler, de la battre, de la lier. J’ai connu des professeurs d’absinthe.

La use verte! ainsi l’ont baptisée quelques poètes désespérés.

Un fléau moderne! a-t-on ajouté. – Pas si moderne, car on trouve dans l’Apocalypse deux versets consacrés à l’absinthe & aux buveurs d’absinthe. L’Apocalypse a tout vu, tout annoncé; c’est encore le livre le plus actuel que nous ayons.

Voici ces deux versets, détachés du chapitre VIII :

« 10. Puis le tiers ange sonna de la trompette, & il cheut du ciel une estoille ardente comme un flambeau, &cheut en la tierce partie des fleuves & ès fontaines des eaux.

. Et le nom de l’estoille est Absinthe, & la troisième partie des eaux devint absinthe, & plusieurs des hommes moururent par les eaux à cause qu’elles devinrent amères. »

Mais pour peu que la couleur vous effraye ou vous semble suspecte, lecteur, on a à vous proposer l’absinthe blanche, l’absinthe hypocrite, qui rassure le passant sur votre moralité & lui fait croire que vous buvez de l’orgeat.

Du reste, ainsi que je l’ai dit, l’absinthe n’est qu’un prétexte chez beaucoup de gens. ela est si vrai, que la moitié d’entre eux se font apporter du vermouth, du madère, du marsalla ou du bitter.

Oh! le bitter! – Quelques-uns le prennent en le mélangeant avec du cognac, du curaçao, de la menthe & deux morceaux de sucre. Je m’abstiens de tout commentaire.

ela n’en est pas moins l’heure de l’absinthe.

Elle est tellement passée dans nos mœurs, cette heure-là, que rien n’est plus fréquent que de surprendre au coin d’une rue le dialogue suivant :

- Tiens! c’est vous! Qu’est-ce que vous devenez? On ne vous voit nulle part.

- Mais si!

- Où donc?

- Tous les soirs au café de ***.

- À quelle heure?

- À l’heure de l’absinthe, parbleu!

Ainsi, dans cette merveilleuse capitale, s’enrichit & se poétise journellement le langage de Voltaire & de Joseph Kelm.29

29

Charles Monselet, De Montmartre à Séville, Achille Faure, Libraire Éditeur , Paris 1865, p. 16 (online source Internet Archive, http://archive.org/stream/demontmartresvi00monsgoog#page/n29/mode/2up)

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Arthur William Symons (1865 – 1945), was a British

poet, critic and magazine editor.

The Absinthe Drinker

Gently I wave the visible world away. Far off, I hear a roar, afar yet near. Far off and strange, a voice is in my ear, And is the voice my own? The words I say Fall strangely, like a dream, across the day; And the dim sunshine is a dream. How clear, New as the world to lover's eyes, appear The men and women passing on their way!

The world is very fair. The hours are all Linked in a dance of mere forgetfulness. I am at peace with God and man. O glide, Sands of the hour-glass that I count not, fall Serenely: scarce I feel your soft caress, Rocked on this dreamy and indifferent tide.30

30

Arthur Symons, Silhouettes, Leonard Smithers, London/George H. Richmond and CO., New York, 1896, p. 32 (Internet Archive http://archive.org/stream/cu31924013557172#page/n7/mode/2up

47

Paul Verlaine (1844 – 8 January 1896) the

most celebrated Symbolist poet was also the greatest natural Bohemian since Gerard de Nerval; and yet his whole existence was a poignant struggle between the Bohemian and the bourgeois.

Paul Verlaine was born in Metz in 1844, the only child of an army officer and his pious, respectable, well-to-do wife. He was educated at the Lycee Bonaparte in Paris, passed his baccalaureates-lettres, and became a copying-clerk at the Hotel de Vine. Verlaine, however, had no ambition and quickly developed a profound distaste for clerical work. He soon showed his incurable addiction to drink.

For a moment it seemed as if he might control his passion for alcohol. He fell profoundly in love, at first sight, with a girl of sixteen: MathildeMaute de Fleurville.. Verlaine and Mathilde were married in 1870, and the strains of the Franco-Prussian War, the Siege of Paris, the Commune, and of sharing quarters with the Mautes, proved too much for husband and wife. Though Verlaine loved Mathilde and his infant son, he returned for solace to gin and absinthe; the habit made him intolerably violent. In 1871 Arthur Rimbaud arrived in Paris, and any frail remaining hope of an ordered life was lost. Verlaine was dazzled by this uncouth, brilliant, ruthless young poet; he was physically drawn to him. In 1872 he left his wife and son, in order to live with Rimbaud in London and Belgium. On 10 July 1875, in a drunken quarrel in Brussels, Verlaine shot Rimbaud in the wrist, and was imprisoned for two years at Mons.

In April 1874 Mathilde Verlalne obtained a separation and the shock of the separation sent him to religion for comfort and guidance. Over the next several years a series of tragedies befell him. His adopted favourite student Lucien Letinois died, Verlaine sold the farm and tried (for the bourgeois in him still struggled with the Bohemian) to get himself employed again at the H6tel de Ville. He failed to get work, his mother died in 1886 and at the same time he heard that his former wife had recently remarried. Thence forward he found cafe life a deplorable but imperious necessity.

Verlaine, unlike many poets of that generation, never gave himself up to hashish, opium, ether or morphine, as was then the fashion. He professed genuine horror of these poisons of the mind... He remained faithful to the green enchantress absinthe. With rare exceptions, Verlaine never drank anything but absinthe, beer... and rum-and-water.

He had finally taken refuge in the Latin Quarter, and he was often to be seen near the Pantheon, chatting freely to a retinue of young poets. Increasingly the great Bohemian of the epoch sought refuge in alcohol. Alcohol was the curtain he drew across the ugliness of reality. Constantly exalted by absinthe, he only slept for a few troubled hours each night.

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As soon as dawn broke, he was up, to stroll around the quartier, breaking his walk at familiar taverns.

Verlaine died on 8 January 1896. 'His is a rare and singular case,' Jules Lemaitre had written. 'He has found the means of living in a civilised society as if he was living in the heart of Nature... He has kept a soul as new as that of Adam when he opened his eyes to the light.... He is a savage, a barbarian, a child....But this child has music in his soul, and on certain days he hears voices which have not been heard by any other on earth.'31

A FRANÇOIS COPPÉE

LES passages Choiseul aux odeurs de jadis, Oranges, parchemins rares, – et les gantières ! Et nos « débuts », et nos verves primesautières, De ce Soixante-sept à ce Soixante-dix, Où sont-ils ? Mais où sont aussi les tout petits Événements et les catastrophes altières, Et le temps où Sarcey signait S. de Suttières, N’étant pas encore mort de la mort d’Athys ! Or vous, mon cher Coppée, au sein du bon Lemerre omme au sein d’Abraham les justes d’autrefois, Vous goûtez l’immortalité sur des pavois. oi, ma gloire n’est qu’une humble absinthe éphémère Prise en catimini, crainte des trahisons, Et, si je n’en bois pas plus, c’est pour des raisons.32

(English translation of the last verse) For me my glory is an Humble ephemeral Absinthe Drunk on the sly, with fear of treason and if I drink it no longer, it is for a good reason.

31

http://www.vintagevenus.com.au/bohemia/eblinks/spirboho/paris1830/verlaine/verlaine.html 32

[Littérature française en édition électronique]. Paul Verlaine (1844 - 6). D’après le Tome III des OEuvres complètes de Paul Verlaine chez Léon Vanier (1901), p. 9 http://www.scribd.com/doc/188381/Verlaine-P-Dedicaces

49

Gustave Kahn (1859 – 1936) was a French Symbolist

poet and art critic. Kahn was born in Metz.

He claimed to have invented the term verslibre, or free verse; he was in any case one of the first European exponents of the form. Hies principal publications include Les Palais nomades, 1887, Domaine de fée, 1895, and Le Livre d'images, 1897. Kahn also made a valuable contribution to the history of the movement with his book Symbolistes et décadents, 1902. In addition to his poems, Kahn was a public intellectual who wrote novels, plays, and literary criticism. He played a key role in a number of periodicals, including La Vogue, La Revue Indépendante, La Revue Blanche and Le Mercure de France. He was also an art critic and collector who stayed current with

developments in painting and sculpture until his death. He also played a role in a number of debates on public issues, including anarchism, feminism, socialism, and Zionism.

Absinthe

Absinthe, mother of all happiness, O infinite liquor, you glint in my glass green and pale like the eyes of the mistress I once loved. Absinthe, mother of happiness, like Her, you leave in the body a memory of distant pain; absinthe, mother of insane rages and of staggering drunkenness, where one can say without thinking oneself a madman that one is loved by one's mistress. Absinthe, your fragrance soothes me...33

33

Phil Baker, The Book of Absinthe: A Cultural History, Grove Press, 2003, p. 230 http://books.google.mk/books?id=dsqugu7guQQC&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0#v=onepage&q&f=false

50

Joyce Kilmer (1886 – 1918) was an American journalist,

poet, literary critic, lecturer, and editor. Though a prolific poet whose works celebrated the common beauty of the natural world as well as his religious faith, Kilmer is remembered most for a short poem titled "Trees" (1913), which was published in the collection Trees and Other Poems in 1914. While most of his works are unknown, a select few of his poems remain popular and are published frequently in anthologies. Several critics, both Kilmer's contemporaries and modern scholars, disparaged Kilmer's work as being too simple, overly sentimental, and suggested that his style was far too traditional, even archaic.

Absinthe

I have prayed to the Christ of the merciful eyes, I have prayed to the Lord of Hosts, I have prayed, but in vain, for God to rise And scatter these murderous ghosts, These horrible, beckoning ghosts that sign And beckon me where? Ah, where? O little green god in your crystal shrine, You only will heed my prayer! The breath of your mouth is a powerful wind That whirls sorrow-shadows away; The light of your eyes burns the bonds that bind, I escape from the earth's fell sway. The pallid figures in threatening line, They falter and tremble and flee. O little green god in your crystal shrine, Shed some of your glory on me! I have given you service, sincere and prolonged, I have given you love--ah, you know! Though I pray in a fane by your worshippers thronged, There is no one who worships you so. My hand and my heart and my brain, ah, divine Lord, master of living, I give, O little green god in your crystal shrine, Take these--and then bid me to live!

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By a green marble house in a garden of green, Green roses bloom 'neat a green sun, Where the maidens have eyes of an emerald sheen, And the strife and the labour are done, O there let me dwell, where the ravenous whine Of the earth ghosts is soundless and dead. O little green god in your crystal shrine, Your heavenly dream-shower shed!34

Placard art ca.1900

34

Joyce Kilmer, Summer of Love, The Baker & Taylor Company, New York, 1911, p. 58 http://archive.org/details/summeroflovebyjo00kilmrich

52

Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886) was an American

poet. While Dickinson was a prolific private poet, fewer than a dozen of her nearly eighteen hundred poems were published during her lifetime. The work that was published during her lifetime was usually altered significantly by the publishers to fit the conventional poetic rules of the time. Dickinson's poems are unique for the era in which she wrote; they contain short lines, typically lack titles, and often use slant rhyme as well as unconventional capitalization and punctuation.

I Taste a Liquor Never Brewed

I taste a liquor never brewed, From tankards scooped in pearl; Not all the vats upon the Rhine Yield such an Alcohol! Inebriate of air – am I, And debauchee of dew, Reeling, through endless summer days, From inns of molten blue. When landlords turn the drunken bee Out of the foxglove's door, When butterflies renounce their drams, I shall but drink the more! Till seraphs swing their snowy hats, And saints to windows run, To see the tippler Leaning against the Sun!35 Note: “I taste a liquor never brewed”. First published Springfield Daily Republican (May 4), 1861. Titled “The May-Wine”.

35

The Poems of Emily Dickinson, ed. By Martha Dickinson Bianchi and Alfred LeeteHampson, Little, Brown, and Company, Boston, 1930, p. 12 http://archive.org/details/poemsofemilydick00dick

53

Paul Valéry (1871 – 1945) was a French poet, essayist, and

philosopher. His interests were sufficiently broad that he can be classified as a polymath. In addition to his poetry and fiction (drama and dialogues) and aphorisms on art, history, letters, music, and current events, he also wrote many misanthropic diatribes on human nature.

Les vaines danseuses Celles qui sont des fleurs légères sont venues, Figurines d’or et beautés toutes menues Où s’irise une faible lune... Les voici Mélodieuses fuir dans le bois éclairci. De mauves et d’iris et de nocturnes roses Sont les grâces de nuit sous leurs danses écloses Qui de parfums voilés dispensent leurs doigts d’or. ais l’azur doux s’effeuille en ce bocage mort, Et de l’eau mince luit à peine, reposée Comme un pâle trésor d'une antique rosée D’où le silence en fleur monte... Encor les voici Mélodieuses fuir dans le bois éclairci. Aux calices aimés leurs mains sont gracieuses; Un peu de lune dort sur leurs lèvres pieuses Et leurs bras merveilleux aux gestes endormis Aiment à dénouer sous les myrtes amis Leurs liens fauves et leurs caresses... Mais certaines, Moins captives du rythme et des harpes lointaines, S’en vont d'un pas subtil au lac enseveli Boire des lys l’eau frêle où dort le pur oubli.

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The Vain Dancers (English translation by Christopher Mulrooney)

They who are lightsome flowers now are come, Golden figurines and beauties not buxom Where a feeble moon iridises... They are here Tuneful to flee into the wood bright and clear. Of mallows and irises and nocturnal roses Are the night graces under their dances disclosed. What veiled perfumes their golden fingers dispense! But the sweet azure is bare in this dead copse And some thin water gleams a bit, rested Like an antique dewdrop’s pallid treasure Whence in flower rises silence... and here Tuneful to flee into the wood bright and clear. To loved calyxes their hands are gracious; A little moonlight sleeps on their lips pious And their marvellous arms with drowsy gestures Love to undo beneath the friendly myrtles Their wild bonds and their caresses... But some, Less captive to the rhythm and harps’ far strum, Go with subtle steps to the lake buried To drink from lilies frail water where sleeps pure oblivion.36

36

http://calquezine.blogspot.com/2007/03/paul-valry-les-vaines-danseuses.html

55

Carl Daniel Fällström (1858 - 1937) was a Swedish writer,

actor, journalist and theatre critic.

Absinthe (English translation by Markus Hartsmar, Absinthe.se, 2009)

Absinthe! It came and the glass was filled for the third time I believe, if memory serves, for, I thought, here is cure to be found and I was ill in body and in mind. The green witch’s caress was so soft, that heart tired of life forgot its troubles. Absinthe is good: you feel it in marrow and bone and it livens more than all the doctor’s pills. And now a nymph! In the mud of the boulevard I find myself a friend for the night. By her embrace the image of Dagny shall flee like the morning mist flees from the water of the Seine. A kiss and yet one more! Champagne too – let the wine flow! – Hello, we shall drink, until all memories vanish in drunkenness and we be blessed like gods, girl! That’s how I live, and fall more and more, and the rift widens during the night hours, until I for sheer dark cannot see how friendly the far northern star glimmers.

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Yet often the morning sun finds me in dumb despair leaned at my desk. Then I love over again and worship you, and the story begins, where I thought it ended.37 Note: The poem is part of Fallström's collected poems “HvitaSyrener” published in 1905, named Absinth and can be find on p. 62 on the same book. Here link to the book written in Swedish language http://archive.org/details/hvitasyrener00fal

37

http://www.absinthe.se/absinthe-poetry#daniel_fallstrom

57

Octave Féré and Jules Cuvain

The poem below was first published in a short novel named "Les Buveursd'Absinthe", published in the French journal "Les Èchos de Paris", 28 May 1864. The same story was later published as a book in 1865. The novel was published over a total of twelve issues of Échos de Paris, between March and May.

La Chanson de l'Absinthe I. Salut, essence magique Salut, verbe des liqueurs! Des esprit flambeau mystique Trempe d'acier pour les coeurs. Foin de la chair! droit à l'âme Coule ton flot nourrissant Toi, n'es tu pas de la flamme Quand le vin n'est que du sang? II. Dans ta changeante nuance Le faible voit ou le fort, La couleur de l'espérance Ou le glacis de la mort; La verdure de la terre Ou l'âpre teinte des mers, Du paradis la lumière Ou la lueur des enfers! III. O toi, l'exterminatrice Des débiles impuissants! To nous restes protectrice, Nous, aimons l'onde orageuse. Bouleverse nos cerveaux; Nous narguons la mort frileuse, Consume-nous jusqu'aux os!

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IV. Pour notre raison ravie, Opium, haschisch et nectar, Sois le ciel dans cette vie, Qu'importe l'autre plus tarde! S'il s'ouvre sur notre tête, L'absinthe aux lèvres le met: Elle aurait fait son prophète Du buveur d'eau Mahomet. A l'absinthe Trois fois sainte, Il faut un culte divin. A sa gloire, Pour ciboire, Jouvre et je donne mon sein!

Absinthe Song (English Translation by Peter Schaf for Absinthe.se, 2011)

I. Greetings magic essence Greetings, the Verb of liqueurs ! Spirit of the mystic torch Steel hardener for the hearts Grass of the flesh! Right of the soul Your nourishing stream flows You, are you not the flame When wine is only the blood? II. In your changing nuance The weak or the strong, see The color of hope Or the frosting of death; The green of the earth Or the bitter tint of the seas, A paradise of light Or the glimmer of hell! III. Oh you, exterminator Of weak imbeciles ! You remain our protector, We, love the stormy waves. Disrupting our brains; We provoke a shivery death, Consume us to the bone!

59

IV. For our senses delight, Opium, hashish and nectar, You are the sky in this life, Whatever the other is later! If the sky opens on our heads, We put absinthe to our lips: She will make her prophet the drinker of uhammad’s water. To absinthe Three times holy, There must be a devine cult. To her glory, To drink her, I open up and give her my heart!38

Photo: People from Couvet Switzerland ca, 1880.

38

http://www.absinthe.se/absinthe-poetry#fere_and_cuvain

60

Oscar Wilde (1854 – 1900) was an Irish writer and poet.

Known for his amazing wit and scandalous lifestyle, Wilde was the great aesthete, glorifying beauty for beauty's sake in a series of sparkling plays, poems, fairy tales and essays. In his only novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray, a young man is corrupted by sensual indulgence and moral indifference. Wilde's lifestyle became too much for Victorian sensibilities, and he was imprisoned in 1895 for conducting a homosexual affair with Lord Alfred Douglas. Two great poems, The Ballad of Reading Gaol and De Profundis were inspired by his experiences in prison. Wilde is often mentioned as one of the great absinthe drinkers. It is however far from certain that he drank that much absinthe at all. No references to absinthe can be

found in any of his own works or letters. The famous quotes about absinthe often attributed to Wilde have instead been written by other authors supposedly "quoting" Wilde. Here a quotation from “Letters to the Sphinx from Oscar Wilde: With Reminiscences of the Author by Ada Leverson” published in 30. Where Leverson described a conversation she had with the great with Wilde: "After the first glass, you see things as you wish they were. After the second, you see things as they are not. Finally you see things as they really are, and that is the most horrible thing in the world.' `How do you mean?' `I mean disassociated. Take a top-hat! You think you see it as it really is. But you don't, because you associate it with other things and ideas. If you had never heard of one before, and suddenly saw it alone, you'd be frightened, or laugh. That is the effect absinthe has, and that is why it drives men mad.' He went on, 'Three nights I sat up all night drinking absinthe, and thinking that I was singularly clearheaded and sane. The waiter came in and began watering the sawdust. The most wonderful flowers, tulips, lilies, and roses sprang up and made a garden of the cafe. "Don't you see them?" I said to him. "Mais, non, monsieur, it ny a rien."' Another quote which is often said to be Wilde describing his encounters with absinthe is the one where he compares a glass of absinthe to the beauty of a sunset. What's interesting is that this is actually not at all a description of Wilde describing his taste for absinthe but rather him describing the typical decadent conception of absinthe in his talking about English symbolist poet Edgar Dowson - a friend of his, and a well-known absinthe drinker - and absinthe's effects on Dowson. He points out though, that if Dowson didn't drink so much absinthe, he just wouldn't be Dowson... He mentions this in a conversation with Norwegian landscape painter Christian Krohg and Norwegian impressionist painter Frits Thaulow in Thaulow's home in Dieppe, France. Christian Krohg writes this in his book "I smaaDagsreisertilogfra Paris" (In little Day trips to and from Paris), published in 1897;

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"He is very talented! I am a great admirer of his. But it is a shame, it's so sad, that he staggers so much and drinks too much Absinthe." Oscar Wilde shrugged his shoulders: "If he didn't do that, he would be quite a different person. Il faut accepter la personnalité comme elle est. Il ne faut jamais regretter qu'un poëte est soûl, il faut regretter que les soûls ne soient pas toujours poëtes." "Well, it doesn't matter, whatever you say. The worst is, that I think that what he drinks is Absinthe, and that is so devastating." "Absinthe," Wilde answered, "has a lovely colour, la couleurverte. Ilfautmaintenantboire des choses vertes. A glass of Absinthe is as poetic as every other thing. Quelle différence y a't-il entre un verre d'absinthe et un coucher de soleil?"39

Swiss Kübler Absinthe 1896.

39

http://www.absinthe.se/absinthe-drinkers/oscar-wilde

62

Jérôme Douce, 19th century poet who wrote

"Chaussuresd'antan" (1913). The image is a painting by Albert Maignan, "The Green Muse" made circa 1895, which was inspiration for the poem.

Chanson de l’Absinthe (1905) Adorée ainsi qu'une sainte, Baisée autant qu’une maitresse, Je suis la fidèle traitresse, Le poison, le baume,-l'absinthe. Je suis l'île toujours ouverte Au rêveur naufragé qui souffre, Un ciel de flammes et de soufre, L'intarissable muse verte Close au cristal de mes rivages, Je suis une mer d'émeraude Où toujours la tempête rôde, Mais dissimule ses ravages. Je suis le lourd hamac qui berce Les douleurs d'amoureux mensonges, Je suis l'oubli, je suis le songe, Le désert sans fin qu'on traverse, La roue invisible et dentée Qui doucement saisit et broie, Le sphinx qui se fait une proie De ce qui passe à sa portée.

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Il est le mien celui qui me goute Grisé par ma senteur perverse, Regarde ce peuple qui verse, En tremblotant, l'eau goutte à goutte Sans voir - esclave de mes charmes, Et fidèle jusqu'à la tombe - Que chaque goutte d'eau qui tombe Dans un océan profond des larmes.40

Absinthe postcard ca.1900

40

http://feverte.skyrock.com/345631887-Chanson-a-l-Abinsthe.html

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Closing words - The story of the Absinthe poem collection

This Absinthe poetry collection was given out on request by Roger Liggenstorfer from

Nachtschatten Verlag, Solothurn. We maintain one of the richest Absinthe culture page on

Facebook which is called “The Psychedelic Fairy - Absinthe Culture Page”.

The page contains a very large collection of the Absinthe culture where can be found

various works of art with Absinthe as a main subject matter, like: poster art, art paintings

from all the famous artists, historical etiquettes, historical Absinthe photos and postcards,

antique Absinthe tools like a Absinthe fountains, spoons, trippers, various Absinthe grilles,

various absinthe glasses from the epoch, antique Absinthe bottles all around 1900, historical

Absinthe Labels (étiquettes), Absinthe videos and 100 high class notes all about absinthe

and the time of the Belle Époque up to the modern days and many more for the interested

Absintheur and for all people interested in the Absinthe culture and history.

The Psychedelic Fairy – Absinthe Culture Page is a page with a main purpose to develop and

share the Absinthe Culture and Art, inspired by the Green Fairy in the 19th and 20th century

and up to this days with a proper foundation. This Page is a Page for Information and we

support all Absinthe pages, Producer and Shops etc,. The idea is only for collecting info’s and

knowledge in a form of open sources without any competition to each other. Simple the

goal is to develop the Absinthe culture again like it was in the Absinthe high times before.

The Psychedelic Fairy is founded by three people:

Shri Krishan Puri comes from Switzerland, he grow up in the Absinthe Region of

Switzerland, he was following continually the history, the culture and the rituals of the

Absinthe, during the underground times of the Absinthe culture, with a big interest.

Through many years of research he have seen the inner value, the spiritual question and the

search for the source and it brings him always back to one matter, the Absinthe, because of

this Absinthe culture in the region, many artists, thinkers, philosophers, writers have made

their quantum leap and get spiritually richer from it. He is the main Instructor of the

Psychedelic Fairy Page.

Jasmina Kotevska is graduated art historian, which right now is working on her master’s

degree in contemporary art, particularly on the subject: “The psychoactive substances

(Cannabis, Hashish, Opium, Cocaine, Absinthe (Alcohol) in the art during the time of the

Belle Époque, their usage and their influence on the artistic creativity”. Jasmina is the main

translator from the Psychedelic Fairy Page and researcher through the artistic historical

facts. She is our good fairy in all that game

Jack Thompson has a big knowledge at theme Absinthe, culture and Absinthe antiques, he

also has made an Absinthe-Blog which is very nice and proper. He is our Gourmet, in the

past 15 years he tried over 300 different brands and also he is a real Absinthe antique

collector and connoisseur with all the heart you need for.

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Bibliography

1. Raoul Ponchon, La Muse au Cabaret, BIBLIOTHÈQUE-CHARPENTIER, EUGENE

FASQUELLE, ÉCITEUR, 1920, Paris, p. 199,204,207 2. Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal, Poulet-Malassis et de Broise, 1857, Paris, p.

61, 105 3. CHARLES BAUDELAIRE, Les Fleurs Du Mal, translation by RICHARD HOWARD, David R.

Godine Publisher 1983, p. 33, 54 4. Strindberg, August, 1849-1912, Selected poems of August Strindberg /edited and

translated by Lotta . L fgren. arbondale : Southern Illinois niversity Press, c2002, p.46

5. August Strindberg, Dikterpåversochprosa, Publisher: Bonnier 1883, Book from the collections of: Oxford University, p.152

6. Strindberg, I vårbrytningen, online Internet Archive - Project Gutenberg 7. Wallace Fowlie, Seth Adam Whidden, Rimbaud: Complete Works, Selected Letters : a

Bilingual Edition, University of Chicago Press, 2005, p.176/177 8. BetinaWittels, Robert Hermesch, T. A. Breaux, Absinthe: Sip of Seduction: A

Contemporary Guide, Speck Press, p. 16 9. The poems of Ernest Dowson, with a memoir by Arthur Symons, four illustrations by

Aubrey Breadsley and a portrait by William Rothenstein, DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, New York 1922, p. 148

10. Charles Cros, Le Coffret de santal, AncienneLibrairie TRESSE & STOCK 1908, Book from the collections of: University of Michigan, p. 45, 77

11. Donald Evans, Sonnets from Patagonian, Published by Nicholas L. Brown 1918, p. 51 12. It Happened in Nordland, IBDB Internet Broadway Database

http://www.ibdb.com/production.php?id=5964 13. Maurice Rollinat, Les névroses: Les ạmes-Les luxuries-Les refuges-Les spectres-Les

ténèbres, G. Charpentier, Editeur, 1883, Paris, p. 270 14. Guillaume Apollinaire, Alcools poèmes 1898-1913, Soixante-huitième éd. Gallimard

1920, Paris, p. 111 15. Charles Monselet, De Montmartre à Séville, Achille Faure, Libraire Éditeur, Paris

1865, p. 16 16. Arthur Symons, Silhouettes, Leonard Smithers, London/George H. Richmond and

CO., New York, 1896, p. 32 17. Phil Baker, The Book of Absinthe: A Cultural History, Grove Press, 2003, p. 230 18. Joyce Kilmer, Summer of Love, The Baker & Taylor Company, New York, 1911, p. 58 19. The Poems of Emily Dickinson, ed. By Martha Dickinson Bianchi and Alfred

LeeteHampson, Little, Brown, and Company, Boston, 1930, p. 12

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Web sources: http://www.absinthe.se, English translation http://www.museeabsinthe.com/absintheLIVRES8.html ttp://www.oxygenee.com http://hermetic.com/ http://www.inabsinthia.com http://www.reverbnation.com/artist/song_show_lyrics/11213308 http://jhelbach.de/ http://agora.qc.ca/documents/absinthe--ode_a_labsinthe_par_alfred_de_musset August http://www.vintagevenus.com.au/bohemia/eblinks/spirboho/paris1830/verlaine/verlaine.html [Littérature française en édition électronique]. Paul Verlaine (1844 - 6). D’après le Tome III des OEuvres complètes de Paul Verlaine chez Léon Vanier (1901), p. 9 http://www.scribd.com/doc/188381/Verlaine-P-Dedicaces http://calquezine.blogspot.com/2007/03/paul-valry-les-vaines-danseuses.html http://feverte.skyrock.com/345631887-Chanson-a-l-Abinsthe.html Copyright and intellectual rights of scientific publications: The copyright and intellectual right exists, already with the creation of a scientific publication work, not only with the performance or publication. Scientific publication work falls as well automatically under national property of every graduated person. THE ABSINTHEURS POETRY COLLECTION of Jamina Kotevska falls under this specific category. THE ABSINTHEURS POETRY COLLECTION is just a small part of Jamina Kotevska academical Master's theses in scientific contemporary art which will be legally presented at 2013 at the Faculty of Philosophy Department of Art History and Archaeology at the Ss. Cyril and Methodius University Skopje in Macedonia. All intellectual rights belong to Jasmina Kotevska graduated art historian. She has given the right of publishing and promotion of her work exclusively to the Psychedelic Fairy founders as a member and scientific leader of the Psychedelic Fairy-Absinthe culture page. All the intellectual rights of the original translations, photos, painting and poster-art belong to the original sources which is declared exactly in : The web sources, list of reproductions and in the bibliography. If there is something missing or someone wants a correction please contact j.kotevska@gmail.com. Or contact the address below Jamina Kotevska Suvodol, DemirHisar 7240 Republic of Macedonia Tel. No. + 389 78 618 704

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List of reproductions:

1. Raoul Ponchon, LES ANNALES, 08. 02. 1903,

source:http://raoulponchon.blogspot.ch/search/label/Ponchon%20dessin-photo

2. Charles Baudelaire, original photo by Étienne Carjat, ca. 1863.

3. August Strindberg self-portrait Gersau, 1886.

4. Étienne Carjat, Portrait of Arthur Rimbaud at the age of seventeen, c. 1872

5. Ernest Dowson, Image from The Poems of Ernest Dowson (London: John Lane, 1905):

http://www.archive.org/details/poemsofernestdow00dowsuoft

6. Alphonse Allais, unknown photographer, 1900/1.

7. A black and white photograph of the English ceremonial magician Aleister Crowley.

Copyright is owned by the OrdoTempliOrientis.

8. Charles Cros, unknown photographer, source Wikipedia.

9. Maurice Rollinat, source Wikipedia.

10. Albert Giraud, unknown photographer, 1890. Source Wikipedia.

11. Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918) in 1914. Photo taken by photo booth machine in

Paris on August 1, 1914 (One photo of a series of photo booth pictures with André

Rouveyre - Cropped image). Collection of Marcel Adéma. Source Wikipedia.

12. Alfred de Musset, portrait by Charles Landelle, 1854.

13. Portrait of Charles Monselet by Gaston Vuillier, 1892.

14. Arthur Symons, St. John's Wood, September 22nd, 1906, photo by Coburn, Alvin

Langdon.

15. Verlaine drinking absinthe in the Café François 1er in 1892, photographed by Paul

MarsanDornac.

16. Portrait of French poet Gustave Kahn, before 1936. Unknown author. Source

Wikipedia.

17. Joyce Kilmer, Source http://www.dejaelaine.com/kilmer.php

18. Daguerreotype of the poet Emily Dickinson, taken circa 1848. (Original version.)

From the Todd-Bingham Picture Collection and Family Papers, Yale University

Manuscripts & Archives Digital Images Database, Yale University, New Haven,

Connecticut, circa 1848.

19. Paul Valéry, source :

http://www.oregonrepublicanparty.org/quotes/author/Paul%20Valery

20. Daniel Fallström around 1900. Picture postcard P.H.1957. Unknown photographer.

21. Octave Féré and Jules Cuvain, "Les Buveursd'Absinthe", published in the French

journal "Les Èchos de Paris", 28 May 1864.

22. Oscar Wilde, photograph taken in 1882 by Napoleon Sarony.

23. Albert Maignan, "The Green Muse" made circa 1895.

THE ABSINTHEURS POETRY COLLECTION

by various authors is a fine herb historical poetry

collection, every Absintheur will have a deep

experience of the time Belle Époque and from the

fantastic poetic creativity of that time.

The Psychedelic Fairy©2012