SpokenVerse | The Albatross by Charles Baudelaire (read by Tom O'Bedlam) @SpokenVerse | Uploaded March 2013 | Updated October 2024, 1 hour ago.
The poem was most likely influenced by Coleridge's Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Coleridge too might have felt himself burdened by his talent, like having a dead albatross tied around his neck. The problem faced by those with natural talent is perpetual criticism. Like Sartre said, "Hell Is Other People". or "L'enfer, c'est les autres,"
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean-Paul_Sartre
It's true that the world treats talented people unkindly and unfairly. Look what happened to Marilyn Monroe, who would probably win a poll as the most sexually desirable woman of the 20th century. It's hard to believe anything that's ever been said about her.
Consider too what happened to William James Sidis, who was the most intelligent man whose intelligence has been measured. What this article says about him is substantially untrue and so is practically everything anybody has ever said about him.
harvardmagazine.com/1998/03/pump.html
Albatross illustrations:
studio.chrisrose-artist.co.uk/2011/03/finished-painting-ive-worked-up-foaming.html
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Gustave Doré.
Here's the original:
Souvent, pour s'amuser, les hommes d'équipage
Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers,
Qui suivent, indolents compagnons de voyage,
Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.
À peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches,
Que ces rois de l'azur, maladroits et honteux,
Laissent piteusement leurs grandes ailes blanches
Comme des avirons traîner à côté d'eux.
Ce voyageur ailé, comme il est gauche et veule!
Lui, naguère si beau, qu'il est comique et laid!
L'un agace son bec avec un brûle-gueule,
L'autre mime, en boitant, l'infirme qui volait!
Le Poète est semblable au prince des nuées
Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer;
Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées,
Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.
I used Google Translate to make a literal machine translation. It's quite good.
Often, for fun, the crew
Take albatross, huge birds of the sea,
Following, indolent fellow travelers,
The ship gliding over the bitter gulfs.
Scarcely have they placed on the boards,
These kings of the sky, awkward and ashamed,
Let their great white wings pathetically
As oars hanging beside them.
This winged traveler, as he left and spineless!
Him, once so beautiful, it is comical and ugly!
One teases his beak with a mouth-burning,
Another mimics, limping, the crippled flying!
The Poet is like the prince of the clouds
Who haunts the tempest and laughs at the archer;
Exiled on earth amidst boos,
His giant wings prevent him from walking.
Often our sailors, for an hour of fun,
Catch albatrosses on the after breeze
Through which these trail the ship from sun to sun
As it skims down the deep and briny seas.
Scarce have these birds been set upon the poop,
Than, awkward now, they, the sky's emperors,
Piteous and shamed, let their great white wings droop
Beside them like a pair of idle oars.
These wingèd voyagers, how gauche their gait!
Once noble, now how ludicrous to view!
One sailor bums them with his pipe, his mate
Limps, mimicking these cripples who once flew.
Poets are like these lords of sky and cloud,
Who ride the storm and mock the bow's taut strings,
Exiled on earth amid a jeering crowd,
Prisoned and palsied by their giant wings.
The poem was most likely influenced by Coleridge's Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Coleridge too might have felt himself burdened by his talent, like having a dead albatross tied around his neck. The problem faced by those with natural talent is perpetual criticism. Like Sartre said, "Hell Is Other People". or "L'enfer, c'est les autres,"
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean-Paul_Sartre
It's true that the world treats talented people unkindly and unfairly. Look what happened to Marilyn Monroe, who would probably win a poll as the most sexually desirable woman of the 20th century. It's hard to believe anything that's ever been said about her.
Consider too what happened to William James Sidis, who was the most intelligent man whose intelligence has been measured. What this article says about him is substantially untrue and so is practically everything anybody has ever said about him.
harvardmagazine.com/1998/03/pump.html
Albatross illustrations:
studio.chrisrose-artist.co.uk/2011/03/finished-painting-ive-worked-up-foaming.html
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Gustave Doré.
Here's the original:
Souvent, pour s'amuser, les hommes d'équipage
Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers,
Qui suivent, indolents compagnons de voyage,
Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.
À peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches,
Que ces rois de l'azur, maladroits et honteux,
Laissent piteusement leurs grandes ailes blanches
Comme des avirons traîner à côté d'eux.
Ce voyageur ailé, comme il est gauche et veule!
Lui, naguère si beau, qu'il est comique et laid!
L'un agace son bec avec un brûle-gueule,
L'autre mime, en boitant, l'infirme qui volait!
Le Poète est semblable au prince des nuées
Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer;
Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées,
Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.
I used Google Translate to make a literal machine translation. It's quite good.
Often, for fun, the crew
Take albatross, huge birds of the sea,
Following, indolent fellow travelers,
The ship gliding over the bitter gulfs.
Scarcely have they placed on the boards,
These kings of the sky, awkward and ashamed,
Let their great white wings pathetically
As oars hanging beside them.
This winged traveler, as he left and spineless!
Him, once so beautiful, it is comical and ugly!
One teases his beak with a mouth-burning,
Another mimics, limping, the crippled flying!
The Poet is like the prince of the clouds
Who haunts the tempest and laughs at the archer;
Exiled on earth amidst boos,
His giant wings prevent him from walking.
Often our sailors, for an hour of fun,
Catch albatrosses on the after breeze
Through which these trail the ship from sun to sun
As it skims down the deep and briny seas.
Scarce have these birds been set upon the poop,
Than, awkward now, they, the sky's emperors,
Piteous and shamed, let their great white wings droop
Beside them like a pair of idle oars.
These wingèd voyagers, how gauche their gait!
Once noble, now how ludicrous to view!
One sailor bums them with his pipe, his mate
Limps, mimicking these cripples who once flew.
Poets are like these lords of sky and cloud,
Who ride the storm and mock the bow's taut strings,
Exiled on earth amid a jeering crowd,
Prisoned and palsied by their giant wings.
