H, by Arthur Rimbaud

Master Page, "H" translations

Every monstrosity violates the atrocious gestures of Hortense. Her solitude is erotic engineering; her lassitude, amorous dynamics. Under a childhood's surveillance, she has been, in numerous epochs, the ardent hygiene of races. Her door is open to misery. There, the morality of present beings disembodies in her passion or her action—o terrible shiver of novice loves on the bloody ground and in bright hydrogen!—find Hortense. 

Poet X

Home

Poems

Contact