Weep no more, dry your eyes!
Let me show you where peace lies:
In my pussy lies your prize!
Spider, spider, weave for me
Your web of black iniquity
So I can snare my victims three—
Honour, Truth and Dignity!
Laughing, lilting, see me go
Where the girls of summer blow
In the gardens we all know.
In the gardens of delight
Where nobody laughs tonight
But the loathers of daylight.
O In is out and Out is in—
And where we end, there we begin.
The downward road snakes back above
For Evil is the bite of Love.
O aren’t you sick of all my lies?
Aren’t you weary of being wise?
Come, find peace between my thighs!
Dear lazybones, how I adore
You in your shining skin!—
It has the shimmer of shot silk
Or frosted hyaline.
Upon your matted mane of hair
As rank as bitter rue
An undulating sea of scents
Wafts billows brown and blue.
And I am drifting like a ship
In quest of distant skies
Dreamily . . . there oceans roll
And morning breezes rise!
In your blank eyes there’s nothing sweet
Or bitter to behold:
Those eyes like frozen jewels chipped
From iron and pure gold.
* * *
Baudelaire: Le Serpent qui danse
(CLICK TO EXPAND)
THE GYBROCH: A sex demon; a real entity of the hellworlds, a type of incubus or succubus who often assumes human form and eventually devours its caged victims after raping them a thousand times.
As I walked by the Sea of Longing,
The lost sea of Kasmere,
The gybroch flew to my shoulder
And gibbered in my ear.
My blood ran cold when I saw her,
Her long hair lank with brine,
Her wintry eyes like sunless seas,
Her mouth a thin red line.
The moon swooned sickly in heaven
As she bound me to her breast
And turned her wild smoke-pistol eyes
To the Isles of the Unblest.
Her wings spread wide and up we flew
Into the black abyss.
Her grip was hard, her claws were cold,
Her breath a leper’s kiss.
Terror and vertigo! and then—
Down to her wailing castle
On the island of Lalára
In the Lake of Ice Crystal.
She kept me in a hanging cage
Bound with a rubied chain
And brought me strange white breads to eat
And goblets of rare rain.
I will not let you go, she growled,
Until you learn to dream
Of me alone, and be my slave
In the City of the Scream!
I shall keep you here forever
In the queendom of my crime,
My puppet and my plaything
Until the end of time!
You will learn to find a pleasure
In the deepest pits of pain
Till there’s nothing but a howling
Hole of darkness in your brain!
She climbed into my raging cage
And scourged me with her hair
And flung me the blood red rose
Of her cruel mouth to wear
And proffered the poisoned apples
Of her breasts with silken sighs
And turned on the pleasure fountains
Between her feathered thighs,
Until the bubble in her burst
Like a brain round a pistol
On the island of Lalára
In the Lake of Ice Crystal.
Now the moon hangs high in heaven—
Or else it hangs in hell!—
Like the moon in a madman’s painting
Seen from a padded cell.
Who sprinkles pepper in my pot?
Upon my wall who laid this crack?
Who deals my cards, who writes my plot?
How comes this monkey on my back?
— The monkey on your back is you.
The lurker on the landing is
Your nemesis. You know it’s true
You made the killer and his kiss.
Agent provocateur of sin,
You built the mad menagerie:
The bars you clang, the cage you’re in
You forged in your mind factory.
Never, never, never again!—
And yet the horror’s back, it’s here.
The maggot festers in the brain,
The monkey gibbers in your ear.
youtube presentation: The Monkey on Your Back
Lying on red satin sheets, with long black hair,
My lilyscented lover Solitaire!
Her mouth lascivious and her eyes aslant,
My succuba so ripe and ravissante!
And so I abseil down from paradise
Into the bed of Satan, lord of lies,
Where my vampiric sweetheart Solitaire
Lies with vermilion mouth and raven hair.
My demon lover lapped in lilyskin
(Her eyes like smokeholes) gently sucks me in
To the sweet darkness where there is no sin.
I brush her neckbone with my burning lips
I froll her nipples with my fingertips
I stroke her silk and make her velvet wet
I slip my tongue into her cool cachette
I fly her on my broomstick to the moon
I bring her to the City of the Swoon.
And my dark angel drowns me all night long
In pools of pleasure where we’re always young.
I cry for beauty, all I find is burning!
I clang the bells of madness until morning.
And I have fished and caught in the abyss
The Beast that was, and is not, and yet is!—
And She has given me ad nauseam
New wounds, new swoons, and made me what I am!
Padding behind me soft, à pas-de-loup,
The devil whispers, “Madam, don’t you know,
God’s a leaf in the wind . . . It’s I who blow!”
When Pleasure Calls
Your head, your stance, your girlish grace
Are like a landscape in July,
And laughter flutters round your face
Like a cool breeze in a clear sky.
The gloomy souls you graze in passing
Are ravished by your radiant charms:
The health that from your skin comes leaping,
Your shining shoulders and your arms.
Many a time in languid gardens
To which I dragged my vertigo,
I felt a strange, ecstatic burden:
Sweet sunlight tore my heart in two.
And then came Spring with greening leaf
And made me go all sick and sour,
And this is how I sought relief—
I took it out on some poor flower!
And this is something I now wish:
One night, one night when pleasure calls,
Toward the heaven of your flesh
To steal, and like a craven crawl.
To lacerate your lovely flesh,
Punish your breast and pardon it,
And in your harrowed haunches gash
A gaping wound, a gloating slit—
And then at last, ah sweet delight!
Into that mouth made for me new—
All beautiful and sparkling bright—
To spurt my venom into you!
Baudelaire: À Celle Qui Est Trop Gaie
(One of Baudelaire’s banned poems).
Sole being I love!—pity, oh pity me
Here in this pit of darkness where I lie,
Here under leaden skies in lethargy
Where terror lurks and blasphemy stalks by.
Six months the frigid sun floats overhead,
Six months the world lies wrapped in blackest night.
The frozen poles are not so cold and dead—
No birds, no streams, no greening leaves, no light.
Horror, horror! There’s none to equal this:
The grim chaotic glooms of hideous night,
The cutting coldness of the cruel sun.
Oh, how I envy simple beasts their plight!—
Dumb creatures sunk in sleep’s paralysis.
How time creeps by . . . how slow my reel is run!
When in the shadowlands we met in shame,
In my shy ear you whispered one strange word,
And from the haunted woods far off there came
The saddest, wildest song you ever heard.
I can’t remember what you whispered then
Although you’ve whispered it ten thousand times
To many others under alien suns
In other worlds amid the dragon tombs;
There where the pterodactyl slants its wings
Across a lurid moon of lizard green
And every day a new tsunami brings
You back from worlds that never should have been.
There’s nothing to remember or forget.
I could have loved you, but we never met.
Free was that bird to fly
away at length at large;
so tell me, tell me why
she flies back to her cage?
You too, my love, set free
long cruel from your chains—
why, tell me why you creep
back to your ancient sins?
The fight, I let you win it
and doused your deadly fires.
For what? Dog to its vomit
back, swine back to its mire?
No, no, let it not be—
Not for this I set you free!
You, deadlier than a dagger thrust,
Who into my sick heart have come!
You, sleek and lethal in your lust,
Who like a thousand demons swarm
Into my mind, where you have found
Your bed of sin and your domain—
Bitch! vile bitch! to you I’m bound
As is the convict to his chain!
As is the gambler to his dice,
As is the drunkard to his bowl,
As is the carcase to its lice—
Incarnate bitch! bitch without soul!
I begged the knife to put an end
To all my pain…poison to pour
Its giddy death into my veins,
Yielding the peace I so longed for!
Alas! these two, they sneered at me,
Both poison and the knife so rude:
“You have no right to be set free
From your accursèd servitude!
Fool! if somehow we could contrive
To free you from your wretched pain,
Your kisses would restore to life
Your Vampire’s rotting corpse again!”
— Translated by Lasha Darkmoon