Customer Reviews

The Flowers of Evil & Paris Spleen (New American Translations)

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In the poem "Le Soleil" (The Sun), Crosby translates the words "secrete luxures," as "lubricious evils." The phrase in French literally and simply means "secret lusts." Time and again throughout the book, Crosby foists his own meaning on Baudelaire, distorting the intent of the author. In the same poem, a line which translates literally as "sniffing in every corner the chance of a rhyme," Crosby writes, "Sniffing for lucky rhymes at every thingamabob." He uses this monstrously unpoetic and incorrect vocabulary to make a rhyme with "job" in the preceding line. This translation is frequently clumsy and wrong, and if you can't read French, there is little point in reading this, because it is not Baudelaire.

I have read the purist's dismissal of this work. It is, they complain, not a literal translation. There are many literal, word-for-word translations of Baudelaire. But there is only one translation in which the author attempts and most often succeeds in capturing the sound and spirit of the poet, and this is this one. Poetry is not just words. What makes poetry different from prose is the use of word-sound to carry meaning. Crosby captures the music of Baudelair's verse. It is the only translation to do so.

Dr. Crosby has done the impossible. He has translated Baudelaire while somehow maintaining the sound, the music of the great man. [...] For those who wish to know the soul and sound of CB this is your book!!!

Granted that much is always lost in any translation, much is also gained regarding these English renditions of one of the greatest poets our transient existence is likely to witness. Crosby has presented Baudelaire's verses, preserving the poet's lyricism & profound wit as close to the originals as has yet been possible. The pros/cons of translations are that each one shows a disparate shade of a poet's versatility and brilliance, just as some nuances are forlorn or perverted by the interpretations and misrepresentations of the translator. But just as Molière found his Wilbur, Baudelaire has his Crosby.