toyin adepoju
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A remarkable poem by the French poet Charles Baudelaire,here presented in
six translations from http://fleursdumal.org/ , a striking site devoted to
Baudelaire's landmark poetic sequence *Le Fleurs du
Mal<http://books.google.com/books?id=SQ77y2 ... &q&f=false
*, *Flowers of Evil*, in translations that depict its force from a range of
angles,along with the French original. The first translation,by William
Aggeler,
is representative of the tone and imagery of the others except that of the
fifth one,by Will Schmiz,which varies the imagery of the original
significantly,grounding the poem in the social realities of modern
capitalist society.
The poem enables one to appreciate an aspect of the metamorphoses undergone
by the figure of Satan,from the formerly glorious but outcast angel in the
Bible,the tempter of humanity and ultimate source of evil,exemplified by his
despicable portrayal in the 14th century by the Italian poet Dante
Alieghiri's *Divine Comedy,*to the doomed heroic figure of the 17th century
English poet John Milton's *Paradise Lost* who declares it is 'Better to
rule in hell than serve in heaven',to the exemplar of creative rebellion of
Baudelaire's prayer to and praise of Satan in his 19th century
collection.The attitudes embodied by this poem recur in contemporary
adaptations of Satanism and associated ideologies and practices as a
spiritual path in Western culture.
Baudelaire's history in relation to *Flowers of Evil,*from which this poem
comes*,* makes him emblematic of the Promethean spirit he attributes to
Satan.Like Prometheus<http://www.google.com/search?client=gma ... prometheus,the
Greek mythical figure chained by Zeus,the head of the Olympian gods,to the
Caucasus Mountains while an eagle feeds daily on his liver,for stealing
fire from Zeus and giving it to humanity, Baudelaire's publisher and printer
were successfully prosecuted for the perceived immorality of this
collection, the poet fined and some of the poems banned in France.But as the
Wikipedia Baudelaire essay
<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Baudelairedescribes it, 'Nearly
100 years later, on May 11, 1949, Baudelaire was vindicated, the judgment
officially reversed, and the six banned poems reinstated in France'
*
*
*The Litany of Satan*
O you, the wisest and fairest of the Angels,
God betrayed by destiny and deprived of praise,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
O Prince of Exile, you who have been wronged
And who vanquished always rise up again more strong,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who know all, great king of hidden things,
The familiar healer of human sufferings,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who teach through love the taste for Heaven
To the cursed pariah, even to the leper,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who of Death, your mistress old and strong,
Have begotten Hope, � a charming madcap!
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who give the outlaw that calm and haughty look
That damns the whole multitude around his scaffold.
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who know in what nooks of the miserly earth
A jealous God has hidden precious stones,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You whose clear eye sees the deep arsenals
Where the tribe of metals sleeps in its tomb,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You whose broad hand conceals the precipice
From the sleep-walker wandering on the building's ledge,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who soften magically the old bones
Of belated drunkards trampled by the horses,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who to console frail mankind in its sufferings
Taught us to mix sulphur and saltpeter,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who put your mark, O subtle accomplice,
Upon the brow of Croesus, base and pitiless,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who put in the eyes and hearts of prostitutes
The cult of sores and the love of rags and tatters,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
Staff of those in exile, lamp of the inventor,
Confessor of the hanged and of conspirators,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
Adopted father of those whom in black rage
� God the Father drove from the earthly paradise,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
Prayer
Glory and praise to you, O Satan, in the heights
Of Heaven where you reigned and in the depths
Of Hell where vanquished you dream in silence!
Grant that my soul may someday repose near to you
Under the Tree of Knowledge, when, over your brow,
Its branches will spread like a new Temple!
� William Aggeler, *The Flowers of Evil* (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild,
1954)
*Litanies of Satan*
Wisest of Angels, whom your fate betrays,
And, fairest of them all, deprives of praise,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
O Prince of exiles, who have suffered wrong,
Yet, vanquished, rise from every fall more strong,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
All-knowing lord of subterranean things,
Who remedy our human sufferings,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
To lepers and lost beggars full of lice,
You teach, through love, the taste of Paradise.
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You who on Death, your old and sturdy wife,
Engendered Hope � sweet folly of this life �
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You give to the doomed man that calm, unbaffled
Gaze that rebukes the mob around the scaffold,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You know in what closed corners of the earth
A jealous God has hidden gems of worth.
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You know the deepest arsenals, where slumber
The breeds of buried metals without number.
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You whose huge hand has hidden the abyss
From sleepwalkers that skirt the precipice,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You who give suppleness to drunkards' bones
When trampled down by horses on the stones,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You who, to make his sufferings the lighter,
Taught man to mix the sulphur with the nitre,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You fix your mask, accomplice full of guile,
On rich men's foreheads, pitiless and vile.
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You who fill the hearts and eyes of whores
With love of trifles and the cult of sores,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
The exile's staff, inventor's lamp, caresser
Of hanged men, and of plotters the confessor,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
Step-father of all those who, robbed of pardon,
God drove in anger out of Eden's garden
Satan have pity on my long despair!
Prayer
Praise to you, Satan! in the heights you lit,
And also in the deeps where now you sit,
Vanquished, in Hell, and dream in hushed defiance
O that my soul, beneath the Tree of Science
Might rest near you, while shadowing your brows,
It spreads a second Temple with its boughs.
� Roy Campbell, *Poems of Baudelaire* (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)
*Litany to Satan*
O wise among all Angels ordinate,
God foiled of glory, god betrayed by fate,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
O Prince of Exile doomed to heinous wrong,
Who, vanquished, riseth ever stark and strong,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thou knowest all, proud king of occult things,
Familiar healer of man's sufferings,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thy love wakes thirst for Heaven in one and all:
Leper, pimp, outcast, fool and criminal,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Of Death, thy brave leal wanton, Thou didst breed,
Sweet madcap Hope to charm our idle need,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thy gift, that bland imperious glance that hallows
The damned, and damns the blest about the gallows,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
In coigns of miser earth veined with dead bones
Thou knowest what jealous God hid precious stones,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thy fierce eyes pierce deep arsenals in which
The tribe of metals sleep, entombed and rich,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thy broad palm cloaks the precipice's edge
For sleepwalkers, poised on a building's ledge,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thy magic softens bones of drunkards struck
By hooves of horses on a speeding truck,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
To cheer him, Thou didst teach frail man, Thy friend,
How aptly sulphur and saltpeter blend,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thou, skilled accomplice, Who dost stamp thy mark
Upon the brow of Croesus, harsh and stark,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thou Who didst lend the eyes and hearts of whores
Their love of tatters and their cult of sores,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thou, sage's lamp and exile's staff, serene
Guide to those kneeling by the guillotine,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Father to those whom God the Father's vice
Of vengeance drove from earthly paradise,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Envoi
Glory and praise to Thee, Satan, on high,
Where Thou didst reign, in Hell where Thou dost lie,
Vanquished, silent, dreaming eternally.
Grant that my soul some day rest close to Thee
Under the Tree of Knowledge which shall spread
Its branches like a Temple overhead.
� Jacques LeClercq, *Flowers of Evil* (Mt Vernon, NY: Peter Pauper Press,
1958)
*The Litanies of Satan*
O thou, of all the Angels loveliest and most learned,
To whom no praise is chanted and no incense burned,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
O Prince of exile, god betrayed by foulest wrong,
Thou that in vain art vanquished, rising up more strong,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
O thou who knowest all, each weak and shameful thing,
Kind minister to man in anguish, mighty king,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Thou that dost teach the leper, the pariah we despise,
To love like other men, and taste sweet Paradise,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
O thou, that in the womb of Death, thy fecund mate,
Engenderest Hope, with her sweet eyes and her mad gait,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Thou who upon the scaffold dost give that calm and proud
Demeanor to the felon, which condemns the crowd,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Thou that hast seen in darkness and canst bring to light
The gems a jealous God has hidden from our sight,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Thou to whom all the secret arsenals are known
Where iron, where gold and silver, slumber, locked in stone,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Thou whose broad hand dost hide the precipice from him
Who, barefoot, in his sleep, walks on the building's rim,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
O thou who makest supple between the horses' feet
The old bones of the drunkard fallen in the street,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Thou who best taught the frail and over-burdened mind
How easily saltpeter and sulphur are combined,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Thou that hast burned thy brand beyond all help secure,
Into the rich man's brow, who tramples on the poor,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
O thou, who makest gentle the eyes and hearts of whores
With kindness for the wretched, homage for rags and sores,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Staff of the exile, lamp of the inventor, last
Priest of the man about whose neck the rope is passed,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
O thou, adopted father of those fatherless
Whom God from Eden thrust in terror and nakedness,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Prayer
Glory and praise to thee, Satan, in the most high,
Where thou didst reign; and in deep hell's obscurity,
Where, manacled, thou broodest long! O silent power,
Grant that my soul be near to thee in thy great hour,
When, like a living Temple, victorious bough on bough,
Shall rise the Tree of Knowledge, whose roots are in thy brow!
� Edna St. Vincent Millay, *Flowers of Evil* (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)
*Litany to Satan*
Oh, you, most remarkable of angels
Driven from the divine crush of the skies �
You were the first exile.
The billions have followed,
Either into new lands or immediate graves
You heal our discontents
And make us strong through
Hate and anger of our masters
And the weariness of the days
The cancer victims, young beauties with ulcers
Alcoholics who won't be content with their O.K. jobs
Would be happy to give themselves up to the paradise
You maintain below.
Through your agent, Death,
You give us hope and
The curiosity to see tomorrow;
The guilty have their calm photographs
Printed in the newspaper. It is our joy
To see them. Satan,
Whose hands-on the perishable �
Guides drunken feet to cars
Encourages tired whores
Broke drug addicts to score again
Violent alcoholics to hit away
Sends those who want love,
Terrible lovers �
Take pity on our pain?
We are exiles, too!
Prayer
Satan, a prayer to you because we cannot reach anyone else.
Only we are left to remember your unfair loss.
This hell we do not accept silently.
Help us take more apples from the tree �
Let nothing remain unseen!
When you shoot out
To flower again
Remember us not as brute but as
Ones who accept the torture
Again and again.
� Will Schmitz
*Les Litanies de Satan*
wisest and fairest of the Angels young,
o god whom fate betrayed and left unsung,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o exiled Prince borne down by many lies,
who, conquered, ever mightier dost arise,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o thou who knowest all things, who dost reign
in nether worlds, who healest all men's pain,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
thou who to pariahs and lepers dost
reveal, through love, the heaven they have lost,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
thou who with Death, that old and mighty trull,
begot us Hope, so mad, so beautiful!
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o thou who gives bandits, doomed to die,
the brows which damn a nation, standing nigh,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o though who knowest in what crabbed zones
of earth, God locked away the precious stones,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o thou who seest through the deep dark walls
where sleep the metals' buried arsenals,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o thou whose hands upon the housetop keep
the abysses veiled from those who walk in sleep,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o thou who savest from the horses' feet
the poor old drunkard fallen in the street,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o thou who showest suffering mortals how
to mix the salts and sulphur � bless�d thou
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
thou who dost brand in subtle friendliness
the brows of rich men base and merciless,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o thou who hussies' eyes and bosoms chill
with lust of blood and love of rags dost fill,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
staff of the exiled, torch inventors woo,
confessor of the gallows' plotting crew,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o foster-father of us all, who share
God's primal curse, and lost our Eden there,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
glory and praise to the, in heaven above
where thou didst reign, and in the abysses of
thy Hell, where thou art brooding, silently!
grant that with thee my soul, beneath the Tree
of Knowledge may find rest, when, o'er thy brows,
like a new Temple it puts forth its boughs!
� Lewis Piaget Shanks, *Flowers of Evil* (New York: Ives Washburn, 1931)
*Les Litanies de Satan*
� toi, le plus savant et le plus beau des Anges,
Dieu trahi par le sort et priv� de louanges,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
� Prince de l'exil, � qui l'on a fait tort
Et qui, vaincu, toujours te redresses plus fort,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui sais tout, grand roi des choses souterraines,
Gu�risseur familier des angoisses humaines,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui, m�me aux l�preux, aux parias maudits,
Enseignes par l'amour le go�t du Paradis,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
� toi qui de la Mort, ta vieille et forte amante,
Engendras l'Esp�rance, � une folle charmante!
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui fais au proscrit ce regard calme et haut
Qui damne tout un peuple autour d'un �chafaud.
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui sais en quels coins des terres envieuses
Le Dieu jaloux cacha les pierres pr�cieuses,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi dont l'oeil clair conna�t les profonds arsenaux
O� dort enseveli le peuple des m�taux,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi dont la large main cache les pr�cipices
Au somnambule errant au bord des �difices,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui, magiquement, assouplis les vieux os
De l'ivrogne attard� foul� par les chevaux,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui, pour consoler l'homme fr�le qui souffre,
Nous appris � m�ler le salp�tre et le soufre,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui poses ta marque, � complice subtil,
Sur le front du Cr�sus impitoyable et vil,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui mets dans les yeux et dans le coeur des filles
Le culte de la plaie et l'amour des guenilles,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
B�ton des exil�s, lampe des inventeurs,
Confesseur des pendus et des conspirateurs,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
P�re adoptif de ceux qu'en sa noire col�re
Du paradis terrestre a chass�s Dieu le P�re,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Pri�re
Gloire et louange � toi, Satan, dans les hauteurs
Du Ciel, o� tu r�gnas, et dans les profondeurs
De l'Enfer, o�, vaincu, tu r�ves en silence!
Fais que mon �me un jour, sous l'Arbre de Science,
Pr�s de toi se repose, � l'heure o� sur ton front
Comme un Temple nouveau ses rameaux s'�pandront!
� *Charles Baudelaire*
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
six translations from http://fleursdumal.org/ , a striking site devoted to
Baudelaire's landmark poetic sequence *Le Fleurs du
Mal<http://books.google.com/books?id=SQ77y2 ... &q&f=false
*, *Flowers of Evil*, in translations that depict its force from a range of
angles,along with the French original. The first translation,by William
Aggeler,
is representative of the tone and imagery of the others except that of the
fifth one,by Will Schmiz,which varies the imagery of the original
significantly,grounding the poem in the social realities of modern
capitalist society.
The poem enables one to appreciate an aspect of the metamorphoses undergone
by the figure of Satan,from the formerly glorious but outcast angel in the
Bible,the tempter of humanity and ultimate source of evil,exemplified by his
despicable portrayal in the 14th century by the Italian poet Dante
Alieghiri's *Divine Comedy,*to the doomed heroic figure of the 17th century
English poet John Milton's *Paradise Lost* who declares it is 'Better to
rule in hell than serve in heaven',to the exemplar of creative rebellion of
Baudelaire's prayer to and praise of Satan in his 19th century
collection.The attitudes embodied by this poem recur in contemporary
adaptations of Satanism and associated ideologies and practices as a
spiritual path in Western culture.
Baudelaire's history in relation to *Flowers of Evil,*from which this poem
comes*,* makes him emblematic of the Promethean spirit he attributes to
Satan.Like Prometheus<http://www.google.com/search?client=gma ... prometheus,the
Greek mythical figure chained by Zeus,the head of the Olympian gods,to the
Caucasus Mountains while an eagle feeds daily on his liver,for stealing
fire from Zeus and giving it to humanity, Baudelaire's publisher and printer
were successfully prosecuted for the perceived immorality of this
collection, the poet fined and some of the poems banned in France.But as the
Wikipedia Baudelaire essay
<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Baudelairedescribes it, 'Nearly
100 years later, on May 11, 1949, Baudelaire was vindicated, the judgment
officially reversed, and the six banned poems reinstated in France'
*
*
*The Litany of Satan*
O you, the wisest and fairest of the Angels,
God betrayed by destiny and deprived of praise,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
O Prince of Exile, you who have been wronged
And who vanquished always rise up again more strong,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who know all, great king of hidden things,
The familiar healer of human sufferings,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who teach through love the taste for Heaven
To the cursed pariah, even to the leper,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who of Death, your mistress old and strong,
Have begotten Hope, � a charming madcap!
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who give the outlaw that calm and haughty look
That damns the whole multitude around his scaffold.
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who know in what nooks of the miserly earth
A jealous God has hidden precious stones,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You whose clear eye sees the deep arsenals
Where the tribe of metals sleeps in its tomb,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You whose broad hand conceals the precipice
From the sleep-walker wandering on the building's ledge,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who soften magically the old bones
Of belated drunkards trampled by the horses,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who to console frail mankind in its sufferings
Taught us to mix sulphur and saltpeter,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who put your mark, O subtle accomplice,
Upon the brow of Croesus, base and pitiless,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
You who put in the eyes and hearts of prostitutes
The cult of sores and the love of rags and tatters,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
Staff of those in exile, lamp of the inventor,
Confessor of the hanged and of conspirators,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
Adopted father of those whom in black rage
� God the Father drove from the earthly paradise,
O Satan, take pity on my long misery!
Prayer
Glory and praise to you, O Satan, in the heights
Of Heaven where you reigned and in the depths
Of Hell where vanquished you dream in silence!
Grant that my soul may someday repose near to you
Under the Tree of Knowledge, when, over your brow,
Its branches will spread like a new Temple!
� William Aggeler, *The Flowers of Evil* (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild,
1954)
*Litanies of Satan*
Wisest of Angels, whom your fate betrays,
And, fairest of them all, deprives of praise,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
O Prince of exiles, who have suffered wrong,
Yet, vanquished, rise from every fall more strong,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
All-knowing lord of subterranean things,
Who remedy our human sufferings,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
To lepers and lost beggars full of lice,
You teach, through love, the taste of Paradise.
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You who on Death, your old and sturdy wife,
Engendered Hope � sweet folly of this life �
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You give to the doomed man that calm, unbaffled
Gaze that rebukes the mob around the scaffold,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You know in what closed corners of the earth
A jealous God has hidden gems of worth.
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You know the deepest arsenals, where slumber
The breeds of buried metals without number.
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You whose huge hand has hidden the abyss
From sleepwalkers that skirt the precipice,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You who give suppleness to drunkards' bones
When trampled down by horses on the stones,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You who, to make his sufferings the lighter,
Taught man to mix the sulphur with the nitre,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You fix your mask, accomplice full of guile,
On rich men's foreheads, pitiless and vile.
Satan have pity on my long despair!
You who fill the hearts and eyes of whores
With love of trifles and the cult of sores,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
The exile's staff, inventor's lamp, caresser
Of hanged men, and of plotters the confessor,
Satan have pity on my long despair!
Step-father of all those who, robbed of pardon,
God drove in anger out of Eden's garden
Satan have pity on my long despair!
Prayer
Praise to you, Satan! in the heights you lit,
And also in the deeps where now you sit,
Vanquished, in Hell, and dream in hushed defiance
O that my soul, beneath the Tree of Science
Might rest near you, while shadowing your brows,
It spreads a second Temple with its boughs.
� Roy Campbell, *Poems of Baudelaire* (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)
*Litany to Satan*
O wise among all Angels ordinate,
God foiled of glory, god betrayed by fate,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
O Prince of Exile doomed to heinous wrong,
Who, vanquished, riseth ever stark and strong,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thou knowest all, proud king of occult things,
Familiar healer of man's sufferings,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thy love wakes thirst for Heaven in one and all:
Leper, pimp, outcast, fool and criminal,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Of Death, thy brave leal wanton, Thou didst breed,
Sweet madcap Hope to charm our idle need,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thy gift, that bland imperious glance that hallows
The damned, and damns the blest about the gallows,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
In coigns of miser earth veined with dead bones
Thou knowest what jealous God hid precious stones,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thy fierce eyes pierce deep arsenals in which
The tribe of metals sleep, entombed and rich,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thy broad palm cloaks the precipice's edge
For sleepwalkers, poised on a building's ledge,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thy magic softens bones of drunkards struck
By hooves of horses on a speeding truck,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
To cheer him, Thou didst teach frail man, Thy friend,
How aptly sulphur and saltpeter blend,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thou, skilled accomplice, Who dost stamp thy mark
Upon the brow of Croesus, harsh and stark,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thou Who didst lend the eyes and hearts of whores
Their love of tatters and their cult of sores,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Thou, sage's lamp and exile's staff, serene
Guide to those kneeling by the guillotine,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Father to those whom God the Father's vice
Of vengeance drove from earthly paradise,
Satan, O pity my long wretchedness!
Envoi
Glory and praise to Thee, Satan, on high,
Where Thou didst reign, in Hell where Thou dost lie,
Vanquished, silent, dreaming eternally.
Grant that my soul some day rest close to Thee
Under the Tree of Knowledge which shall spread
Its branches like a Temple overhead.
� Jacques LeClercq, *Flowers of Evil* (Mt Vernon, NY: Peter Pauper Press,
1958)
*The Litanies of Satan*
O thou, of all the Angels loveliest and most learned,
To whom no praise is chanted and no incense burned,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
O Prince of exile, god betrayed by foulest wrong,
Thou that in vain art vanquished, rising up more strong,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
O thou who knowest all, each weak and shameful thing,
Kind minister to man in anguish, mighty king,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Thou that dost teach the leper, the pariah we despise,
To love like other men, and taste sweet Paradise,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
O thou, that in the womb of Death, thy fecund mate,
Engenderest Hope, with her sweet eyes and her mad gait,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Thou who upon the scaffold dost give that calm and proud
Demeanor to the felon, which condemns the crowd,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Thou that hast seen in darkness and canst bring to light
The gems a jealous God has hidden from our sight,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Thou to whom all the secret arsenals are known
Where iron, where gold and silver, slumber, locked in stone,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Thou whose broad hand dost hide the precipice from him
Who, barefoot, in his sleep, walks on the building's rim,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
O thou who makest supple between the horses' feet
The old bones of the drunkard fallen in the street,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Thou who best taught the frail and over-burdened mind
How easily saltpeter and sulphur are combined,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Thou that hast burned thy brand beyond all help secure,
Into the rich man's brow, who tramples on the poor,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
O thou, who makest gentle the eyes and hearts of whores
With kindness for the wretched, homage for rags and sores,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Staff of the exile, lamp of the inventor, last
Priest of the man about whose neck the rope is passed,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
O thou, adopted father of those fatherless
Whom God from Eden thrust in terror and nakedness,
Satan, have pity upon me in my deep distress!
Prayer
Glory and praise to thee, Satan, in the most high,
Where thou didst reign; and in deep hell's obscurity,
Where, manacled, thou broodest long! O silent power,
Grant that my soul be near to thee in thy great hour,
When, like a living Temple, victorious bough on bough,
Shall rise the Tree of Knowledge, whose roots are in thy brow!
� Edna St. Vincent Millay, *Flowers of Evil* (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)
*Litany to Satan*
Oh, you, most remarkable of angels
Driven from the divine crush of the skies �
You were the first exile.
The billions have followed,
Either into new lands or immediate graves
You heal our discontents
And make us strong through
Hate and anger of our masters
And the weariness of the days
The cancer victims, young beauties with ulcers
Alcoholics who won't be content with their O.K. jobs
Would be happy to give themselves up to the paradise
You maintain below.
Through your agent, Death,
You give us hope and
The curiosity to see tomorrow;
The guilty have their calm photographs
Printed in the newspaper. It is our joy
To see them. Satan,
Whose hands-on the perishable �
Guides drunken feet to cars
Encourages tired whores
Broke drug addicts to score again
Violent alcoholics to hit away
Sends those who want love,
Terrible lovers �
Take pity on our pain?
We are exiles, too!
Prayer
Satan, a prayer to you because we cannot reach anyone else.
Only we are left to remember your unfair loss.
This hell we do not accept silently.
Help us take more apples from the tree �
Let nothing remain unseen!
When you shoot out
To flower again
Remember us not as brute but as
Ones who accept the torture
Again and again.
� Will Schmitz
*Les Litanies de Satan*
wisest and fairest of the Angels young,
o god whom fate betrayed and left unsung,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o exiled Prince borne down by many lies,
who, conquered, ever mightier dost arise,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o thou who knowest all things, who dost reign
in nether worlds, who healest all men's pain,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
thou who to pariahs and lepers dost
reveal, through love, the heaven they have lost,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
thou who with Death, that old and mighty trull,
begot us Hope, so mad, so beautiful!
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o thou who gives bandits, doomed to die,
the brows which damn a nation, standing nigh,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o though who knowest in what crabbed zones
of earth, God locked away the precious stones,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o thou who seest through the deep dark walls
where sleep the metals' buried arsenals,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o thou whose hands upon the housetop keep
the abysses veiled from those who walk in sleep,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o thou who savest from the horses' feet
the poor old drunkard fallen in the street,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o thou who showest suffering mortals how
to mix the salts and sulphur � bless�d thou
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
thou who dost brand in subtle friendliness
the brows of rich men base and merciless,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o thou who hussies' eyes and bosoms chill
with lust of blood and love of rags dost fill,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
staff of the exiled, torch inventors woo,
confessor of the gallows' plotting crew,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
o foster-father of us all, who share
God's primal curse, and lost our Eden there,
Satan, have pity on my long despair!
glory and praise to the, in heaven above
where thou didst reign, and in the abysses of
thy Hell, where thou art brooding, silently!
grant that with thee my soul, beneath the Tree
of Knowledge may find rest, when, o'er thy brows,
like a new Temple it puts forth its boughs!
� Lewis Piaget Shanks, *Flowers of Evil* (New York: Ives Washburn, 1931)
*Les Litanies de Satan*
� toi, le plus savant et le plus beau des Anges,
Dieu trahi par le sort et priv� de louanges,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
� Prince de l'exil, � qui l'on a fait tort
Et qui, vaincu, toujours te redresses plus fort,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui sais tout, grand roi des choses souterraines,
Gu�risseur familier des angoisses humaines,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui, m�me aux l�preux, aux parias maudits,
Enseignes par l'amour le go�t du Paradis,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
� toi qui de la Mort, ta vieille et forte amante,
Engendras l'Esp�rance, � une folle charmante!
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui fais au proscrit ce regard calme et haut
Qui damne tout un peuple autour d'un �chafaud.
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui sais en quels coins des terres envieuses
Le Dieu jaloux cacha les pierres pr�cieuses,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi dont l'oeil clair conna�t les profonds arsenaux
O� dort enseveli le peuple des m�taux,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi dont la large main cache les pr�cipices
Au somnambule errant au bord des �difices,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui, magiquement, assouplis les vieux os
De l'ivrogne attard� foul� par les chevaux,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui, pour consoler l'homme fr�le qui souffre,
Nous appris � m�ler le salp�tre et le soufre,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui poses ta marque, � complice subtil,
Sur le front du Cr�sus impitoyable et vil,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Toi qui mets dans les yeux et dans le coeur des filles
Le culte de la plaie et l'amour des guenilles,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
B�ton des exil�s, lampe des inventeurs,
Confesseur des pendus et des conspirateurs,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
P�re adoptif de ceux qu'en sa noire col�re
Du paradis terrestre a chass�s Dieu le P�re,
� Satan, prends piti� de ma longue mis�re!
Pri�re
Gloire et louange � toi, Satan, dans les hauteurs
Du Ciel, o� tu r�gnas, et dans les profondeurs
De l'Enfer, o�, vaincu, tu r�ves en silence!
Fais que mon �me un jour, sous l'Arbre de Science,
Pr�s de toi se repose, � l'heure o� sur ton front
Comme un Temple nouveau ses rameaux s'�pandront!
� *Charles Baudelaire*
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