Like Poe, Laforgue has been a more influential poet abroad than at home. His innovatory handling of free verse, for example, was an inspiration to the young T.S. Eliot, who was also drawn to his tone of urban wit and the way his poetry, part symbolist and part impressionist, reflected the uncertainties of modern city life. Peter Dale captures the resourceful, energy and panache of Laforgue's poetry in translations which are as playful, wild, clear, obscure and impossible as the French poems.
Jules Laforgue (Montevideo, 16 August 1860 – Paris, 20 August 1887) was an innovative French poet, often referred to as a Symbolist poet. Critics and commentators have also pointed to Impressionism as a direct influence and his poetry has been called "part-symbolist, part-impressionist".
Strongly influenced by Walt Whitman, Laforgue was one of the first French poets to write in free verse. Philosophically, he was an ardent disciple of Schopenhauer and Von Hartmann. His poetry would be one of the major influences on the young T. S. Eliot (cf. Prufrock and other observations) and Ezra Pound. Louis Untermeyer wrote, "Prufrock, published in 1917, was immediately hailed as a new manner in English literature and belittled as an echo of Laforgue and the French symbolists to whom Eliot was indebted."
Excellent book of poetry by a 19th Century Franco-Uruguayan poet I got to know reading The Hare With Amber Eyes By Edward De Wall. Laforgue has been praised by Ezra Pond, T.S Eliot and many more. A great poet of symbolism sadly lost too early as he is one of the early members of the 27 Club (having died only 4 days after turning 27). His work deals with mundane issues. I think it was a good read. Loved that it included the original poem (in French) so an opportunity to read in French is also had. Great English translation too. Very interesting book. 4 stars.
Jules Laforgue's poetry would be one of the major influences on Ezra Pound, the young T. S. Eliot, and even Marcel Duchamp (and who can be more modern than the originator of contemporary art?) loved him: http://toutfait.com/an-exit-marcel-du...
Ezra Pound, in his Literary Essays, calls Laforgue a better versifier than Baudelaire and Mallarmé (oh, is that all‽).
Between Baudelaire's modernity, poems about life in the city, and Eliot's, we have Laforgue's (closer to Eliot's, more about the everydayman, alienation, vapidity, etc., than being a little God amongst mortals [Baudelaire's hyper awareness of his inmense talent as a poet, and how little it mattered]).
If you like The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot and/or poetry enough, you should know about Jules Laforgue.
Eliot was close to not overcome the anxiety of Laforgue's influence, stating that I was hypnotized by the music of his verse.
Prufrock, published in 1917, was immediately hailed as a new manner in English literature and belittled as an echo of Laforgue and the French symbolists to whom Eliot was highly and clearly indebted.
T. S. Eliot said that he traced his beginnings as a poet to two influences, the later Elizabethans and the poems of Laforgue. He said that Laforgue spoke to his generation more intimately than Baudelaire seemed to do, and he ranked Laforgue with Donne and Baudelaire as the inventor of an attitude, a system of feeling or of morals. Some of Eliot’s early poems, notably Portrait of a Lady and The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, are modeled on Laforgue’s “complaints.”
P.S. On the bad side, André Bretón despised Laforgue (he lead an unsurrealist life and same goes for his poetry), mainly because, Breton being highly snobby and deep down old-fashionedly serious about art (I feel him), he was on Rimbaud's and Lautréamont's side, for them being visionary geniuses writing either from a place of clairvoyance (Rimbe) or unadulterated creativity (Isidore), and I share that with Breton, again, but, however, Laforgue's influence on modern poetry, through Eliot and Pound, shouldn't be overlooked). I myself, can't stress it enough, prefer Rimbaud, Baudelaire and Lautréamont, by far, than Laforgue, but that doesn't mean I don't respect him and highly admired what he added to poetry (same way, I prefer Picasso and Dalí to Duchamp, and yet am really, really fond of Marcel).
I gasp you out my Hearts well smeared with ashes; wind exhausted with coughs from the landscapes of love!
Where do the gloves of April go, the oars of yesteryear? The souls of mad herons weep across the pond.
And you, romances of yesteryear?
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Blessed moon of insomnias, White medallion of Endymions, Fossil star which everything banishes, Jelous tomb of Salammbô, Embarcation-Point for the Great Mysteries, Madonna and Miss Diana-Artemis, Sainted Virgil of our orgies, Evil eye of the baccarats, Most weary lady of out terraces, Love potion setting the glow-worms on fire, Rose-window and dome of the last psalms, Lovely cat's-eye of our redemptions, Be the Ambulance of our Beliefs! Be the Eiderdown of the Grand Forgiveness!
- - -
I'm smoking, sprawled out gazing at the sky, on the roof of the stage-coach, my carcass is being jolted about, my soul is dancing like an Ariel; without honey, without malice, my high-minded soul is dancing, O roads, hills, smoking chimneys, valleys, my high-minded soul, ah! let's go over it again.
REALLY conflicted about these translations. Peter Dale has provided verse translations, in addition he tries to maintain the rhyme scheme of the originals. I think that's a really bad idea, some of these poems in translation read in a much more convoluted manner than the originals...it makes Laforgue sound odder than necessary. Unfortunately this is one of the only versions available of this poet translated into English. Best thing to do is have a French/English dictionary handy. There are translations here that actually made me groan...just too much padding to maintain the syllabic count. I've read prose translations of several of the Complaintes in Rees' French Poetry 1820-1950 (an absolutely fantastic anthology) and they are much better...you really get the sour humour and I found myself laughing out loud on a couple of occasions. On the other hand half the time with Dale all I found myself doing was scratching my head. That's fine if the source of the puzzlement is the original poet, it's not fine if it is the translator, at times, completely warping the meaning to maintain rhyme or syllable count. When I translated the puzzling passages myself I think I came much closer to the essence of the poems. It's an interesting question in general, verse and prose translations? I prefer the latter option myself, you miss some of the music, no doubt about it, but I think that you get closer to the general "tone" and meaning of the poem.
The French symbolist poet, Jules Laforgue, is someone who I knew more by reputation than by his works. T.S. Eliot was famously inspired by him. I am infamously inspired by T.S. Eliot. So, I decided to cut the middle man and head write into the Poems of Jules Laforgue.
What greeted me were strange, picaresque poems about people. The kinda people that might've inhabited the France of Laforgue's time. What greeted me was a liminal sensation. The poems weren't great the way Eliot's poems are but they were true. Real. They breathed.