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Simone Heil |
www.artshange.fr |
mail@artshange.fr |
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Original in German |
Volume: 95 229 signs ~ 63,5 A4-pages of 1 500 signs |
ESSAY:The Case Rimbaud |
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Writer and Copyright: Simone Heil |
The Case Rimbaud |
26.02 - 15.12.2012 |
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Prelimanary remark Translation with some liberty regarding punctuation, syntax and terms, combined with a little bit of 'Genglish' (portmanteau of German and English) in the sense of the author which I am. |
Plea for artists without artwork
Essay about Arthur Rimbaud 'From Arthur to me to Arthur Rimbaud' or 'The sinking of The Drunken Ship'
not revised Manuscript
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Me too, I belong to the insistently touched by Arthur Rimbaud. Me too, I recognize, me too, I imagine to have fundamental commonalities of entity with him. After Henry Miller, which I shall quote often below, I add to the already existing interpretation essays one more from 'artist perspective'. 1871 meet the seventeen-years-old Arthur Rimbaud and the twenty-seven-years-old writer Paul Verlaine in Paris. In contrast to A.R., had P.V. a public life, a living in society before their meeting. Shame and deep guilt feelings pushed Arthur Rimbaud to leave Europe. Away, only away from where somebody could recognized him. Away from the events' places. P.V. has killed the poet Rimbaud. P.V. has destroyed the man Arthur. Rimbaud is without equal. In the 21st century Arthur R. would be a runaway, a teeny prowler at the railway station in the drogues bog. In the library of Béziers I have discovered Henry Miller's Essay about Rimbaud 'Le temps des assassins'. After an initial hesitation my curiosity won. I borrowed the book on 10 th February 2012 and devoured it in hasty reading pulls-pushes. With astonishment I remarked that Henry Miller sees also parallels between himself and A.R. Some, but just some central ideas about himself and A.R. coincide with mine. Henry Miller has not stolen my thoughts but just writen them 70 years ago, 1946. I don't have the intention to steel Henry Miller's thoughts and quote therefore Henry Miller when he has already formulated aptly what I had still before to formulate. If there are similarities between H.M. And A.R., and there are, as I assert, similarities between A.R. And S.H., there are maybe also similarities between H.M. and S.H. Oh scare?! Another futile attempt of approach to A.R. Exhausted are the interpretation attempts about 'life and work' of A.R., thought I when I discovered H.M.'s essay. And now I want also to add an useless composition about him. Yes, H.M. has inspired me. So many of my truths in pleasantly flowing, often stimulating bubbling and intoxicating, captivating words expressed by Henry Miller. Oh Arthur, my heart is already softly bloated from the non-wept tears. Why did your life go like this and not otherwise? Why do my life go like this and not otherwise? To my surprise H.M. discovered A.R. only until mid-30, like me. A.R. was the favorite author of my father, next to Ch. Baudelaire und W. Burroughs. But above all stood A.R. With A.R.'s portrait cutout in postcard format of Henri Fantin-Latour's painting (1872) grew I up. The graceful glance, looking directly at the viewer and still passing him. Attendant and non-attendant, present and absent at the same time, that was A.R. in my life. I refused until mid-30 to read even just one line of him. I didn't want to know with whom my father identified himself. Yes, he too belongs to those seeing themselves, recognizing themselves in Rimbaud. I try to keep as short as possible my essay about A.R. I will nevertheless, as far as existing, indulge in similarities. Than, beside of the interpretation of A.R's misery, I want probably pointing to my own. That this wonder boy should have done his artwork until nineteen, made him eerie and non-credible to me with my nineteen years. What artist should that be who stopped with 19 years to be one? I mistrusted that precocious, how I mistrusted my father's youth cult. So I push Arthur Rimbaud out of my thoughts whenever he should touch me. In the stony loneliness of a southern French village I ordered for 1 Euro + postage via Internet: 'Arthur Rimbaud Œuvres poétiques' and my body of thoughts, accumulated until then, roll over. My thinking oscillated from thought wobbling to thought wobbling. Rightly they render hommage to you. Nothing read until then touched me as deeply as his texts, not even Ch. Baudelaire. The life of A.R. is marked by this one fateful encounter with P.V. To a letter of Rimbaud replied Verlaine: "Come, dear great soul. We await you; we desire you." He asked Rimbaud to visit him. Did he know that A.R. was a 17 years old teenager or did he not? When he was standing in front of him, he knew it definitely. From now on Verlaine bears the responsibility. Searching for the love and appreciation that his family could not give him, A.R. had already approached elder, but still less than 30 years old men. Being nothing except his family and youth, so he stood before Verlaine. Verlaine had already an independent life before Rimbaud, family with child, an artistic reputation. Arthur R. had just thrown himself into life. He was not aware of the consequences of his behavior for his future life. How should he know? He was youth, nothing could harm him, because so far only his family harmed him and his familly he had left behind. But Verlaine, he knew already what society is and its rules. I were 14 years old when I met a 24 years old man. We had a several weeks lasting friendship. I have not chosen this friendship. I took it because I got recognition and affection. I try to remember and to describe my feelings at that time. I mention this episode from my life to recognize the situation of Rimbaud at least partially. Verlaine gave him recognition and affection. He would have taken them from everyone, but it was just Verlaine with him. Verlaine has the responsibility because of his experience. After some time, he dares to separate himself from Rimbaud. But, that's not so easy with an 18-year-old teenager who makes just his first love experiences. Cruelty of Verlaine. They come together again, Rimbaud wants now to separate. He, the drawn, wants to be now the drawer. However, a Verlaine does not put up with this. In 1873 he shoots at Rimbaud. ... INTERESTED TO READ FURTHER ? - CONTACT: mail@artshange.fr |
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