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To Charles Baudelaire

I did not know you, I did not love you,
I do not know you and love you even less:
It'll do me ill to burden myself with your libeled name,
and the reason why I might still stand among your witnesses
 
is firstly that, in some other place, you fell and prayed
at those Feet joined first by cold nails, and then
by the swooned urge of sinful women who kissed them
hungrily and anointed them with mad tears.
 
You fell and prayed, like me, like all the souls
driven to the roads by hunger and thirst
that hope would embellish as they hit the Calvary!
 
A just and true Calvary, a Calvary where these doubts,
various grimaces and art, all weep over their debacle.
How come we sinful men could just die?
 
This translation does not claim to be of any particular value.
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Praises of My Francisca

Upon new chords of you I sing.
And the new-born bud you bring
From solitude, the pure heart's Spring.
 
Your brows should be with garlands twined
Woman of delightful mind,
Who our trespasses unbind.
 
As the wondrous balm of Lethe,
Through thy kisses, I will breathe thee.
All are magnetised who see thee.
 
When my vices, wild and stormy,
From my wonted courses bore me
It was You appeared before me,
 
Star of Oceans! you that alter
Courses, when the pilots falter —
Take my heart upon your altar.
 
Cistern full of virtuous ruth,
Fountain of eternal youth,
Give to dumbness speech and truth!
 
What was dirty, you cremated,
What uneven — you equated,
What was weak you re-created.
 
Inn, on the hungry roads I tramp,
And, in the dark, a guiding lamp
To steer the lost one back to camp.
 
To my strength add strength, O sweet
Bath, where scents and unguents meet!
Anoint me for some peerless feat!
 
Holy water most seraphic,
On the lusts in which I traffic
Flash your chastity ecstatic.
 
Bowl of gems where radiance dances.
Salt that the holy bread enhances,
And sacred wine — your name is Frances!