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￭ The only thing
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2008-02-08 | |
What can I say about Rimbaud is the fact that inside his poems we can find a true opened door to another language, to an amazing non-conformism and a well developed intellectuality for that time he lived.
He has a smart language and his vocabulary has a developed canopy of subjective and objective words that give birth to the wonderful poetry that is a little bit different than the usual French symbolism. But his poetry is governed by an objective mode.
I wish to say that Arthur Rimbaud has an opened place that attracts the truth in his poems, meaning that he exposes the nature as it is, as is seen and the world as he feels â€“ from this point he developed a powerful descriptive character.
He also has a large amount of knowledge, making connections between different cosmological ideas, between different myths and different thoughts about religions. He makes a distinction between different research domains and human connection behavior, and finally he puts a chain between them, making a proof of an open-minded person.
He takes word by word and transposes on paper a powerful self-respect manner.
In different poems we can observe the poetic sarcasm and irony that only a writer like him can expose what he feels and offers without any resign all that is true, having no fear about consequences.
He is a poetry and a prose writer that took his life at high edges, he felt on his own skin the warâ€™s nightmare, he believed in human simplicity, he loved women putting them in a true nudity but also dressed under the light of new judgments and differences.
When we talk about religion, Arthur Rimbaud gets together the conceptions about Evil and Good. In some of his poems he also recognized that he has a developed ecclesiastic inner side which is needed, but also other things that are contradictory with the religious belief.
He creates a rough black comedy about all that surrounds the definition of Evil and has a sadistic laugh about that.
Like a finishing expression I can say that he was a good mad guy, a lovely one and a final â€śmad manâ€ť just in the moments of his poetry when he thinks about himself as being a true monarch, a true rebel.
He has his own world (actually all writers have their own world) in which he was born, in which he lives and which will be his own grave â€“ so nothing and nobody can change his destiny.
As much as he loved life, in the same manner he felt a grotesque love for Death: â€śI have just swallowed a terrific mouthful of poison. [â€¦]This is Hell, eternal torment! See how the flames rise! I burn as I ought to. Go on, Devil! / Have mercy! Lord, I am afraid! Water, I thirst, I thirst!â€ť-("Night in Hell").
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