Le Chat (which means "
The Cat", surprisingly enough) is one of the
lesser known poems of
Charles Baudelaire, which is in my view,
A BAD THING. It has a
pleasant simplicity to it which makes it
readily appreciable, and in comparing the
stroking of
a cat to a
passionate relationship it makes a
daring but
realistic comparison. Best of all, it's
appreciable even with quite
basic French.
Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon coeur amoureux;
Retiens les griffes de ta patte,
Et laisse-moi plonger dans tes beaux yeux,
Mêlés de métal et d’agate.
Lorsque mes doigts caressent à loisir
Ta tête et ton dos élastique,
Et que ma main s’enivre du plaisir
De palper ton corps électrique,
Je vois ma femme en esprit. Son regard,
Comme le tien, aimable bête,
Profond et froid, coupe et fend comme un dard,
Et, des pieds jusques à la tête,
Un air subtil, un dangereux parfum
Nagent autour de son corps brun.
And this, in my "
Vache Espagnol"
French,
translates as:
Come, my handsome cat, to my amorous heart,
Keep your claws in your paw,
And let me plunge into your beautiful eyes,
A coalescence of metal and agate.
When my fingers caress at leisure
Your head and your elastic body,
And when my hand becomes drunk with pleasure
From feeling your electric body,
I see my love in my mind. Her regard
Like your own, lovely beast,
Is deep and cold, and it splits like a spear,
And, from her feet to her head,
A subtle air, a dangerous perfume,
Swims around her brown skin.