The Tail of my Hell: Noel sur la Terre

Bosch Birds Earthly Delights

I have finished, I think, the tale of my hell today.
It was really hell, the old hell, the one whose doors
were opened by the son of man.

From the same desert, in the same night, always
my tired eyes awake to the silver star, always,
but the kings of life are not moved, the three magi,
mind and heart and soul. When shall we go beyond
the mountains and the shores, to greet the birth
of new toil, of new wisdom, the flight of tyrants,
of demons, the end of superstition,
to adore—the first to adore!
Christmas on the Earth.

Arthur Rimbaud, A Season in Hell

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2 responses to “The Tail of my Hell: Noel sur la Terre

  1. … The ones without men are carrying
    Portraits of men
    Up and down the stairs.

    Hats blow down the road like dandelions.

    (“In This House,” Frank Stanford)

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