Revisiting Rimbaud

Jannie Dresser writes in SF Poetry Examiner :

I hold poets to a high standard, which means I sometimes dismiss a great poet out of hand when I learn too much about how they conducted their lives. When I found out that Ezra Pound collaborated with the Italian fascists during World War II, Poof! there went Mr. Pound onto the bottom of my poetry shelves in spite of his literary importance. I loved Arthur Rimbaud when I was in my early 20's, then dropped him like a hot French fry when I read about his mercenary gun-running and ivory-trading actiivities in Africa.

With trepidation and some compulsion, I've found myself drawn again to Rimbaud and just finished rereading A Season in Hell, translated by Bertrand Mathieu as part of BOA Editions' French poetry series. We are attracted to certain writers for reasons not always consciously devised. Some readers follow the latest work by some new talent the critics promote; others work their way through 'must-read by the time you die' lists; and some hop-scotch through an author's entire oeuvre. I assume you are a reader, and have an interest in that petite subculture that loves poetry, so, quite possibly, you are a reader like me who follows a compulsion, a whiff of something to the forest or field that scent takes you, not knowing why. Only later do you discover why you needed to feed on a certain type of game.

Born in 1854, in Charleville, France, Rimbaud is a young person's poet, all the more because he stopped producing work at age 19. He is not the kind of poet you would expect a middle-aged American white woman would become obsessed with, yet . . . there is adolescent rage still in me, and identity confusion as I scramble to put together a new career after illness and job loss, and deep dissatisfaction at what our society deems relevant. If I was 30 years younger, and stronger, I might actually follow Rimbaud to his flea-infested flophouses, seeking adventure.

Jean Cocteau wrote "Rimbaud is a poet bent on losing in order to gain everything. Only total revolt against the trivializing familiarity with Nothingness--the most brutal and most blissful of all the angels--can release the mysteriously cunning word that will make things happen, that will 'change life.'" For boomers who haven't been shamed into thinking that the period of our adolescence--the turbulent '60s and transformative '70s--was simply an era of failed left-wing agendas, you may understand what I mean when I say we shared a cultural milieu that asserted the need to live life fully, and not limit ourselves to pursuit of career, family, and materialist acquisition. The seal-of-approval was stamped on experiencing, and led to new forms of relationships, validation of new identities, ("it's your thing, do what you want to do"), and experimentation with lifestyles as much as with clothing, music, literature and mind-altering drugs.

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