From my very first exposure to Baudelaire's poetry, I have loved him. 

I "discovered" him (yes! that was me who discovered him!) the same way I discovered all the other poets I loved: When I was a teenager I hung out endlessly in the Little Professor bookstore in the mall. 99.7% of the time, I actually bought the books I fell in love with. The first book I ever stole was A Coney Island of the Mind by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. I stole it because I fell so intensely in love with it so instantaneously and I had absolutely no money to my name whatsoever, so I stuck the book in my pocket and left the store. I was about 14. (I should probably clarify and explain that I stole tons of other things; I had no qualms about stealing pretty much anything and everything, until I got arrested and taken off to jail in a police cruiser and got 2 months of house arrest -- also, when I was 14 (14 was sort of a banner year for me in the worst ways you can possibly imagine). It's just that for some reason, I never stole books. I loved and really valued books.)

Then when I was 16, I stole a hard-bound copy of the screenplay of Les Quatre Cents Coups (The 400 Blows) by Francois Truffaut from the public library and forever after, of course, could never go back to the library. But the book was so cool. It had over 100 stills from the film included in it and at that point in my life the 400 Blows was my most favorite film ever. (Yes, I also wore black all the time and had really long, straight hair & wore glasses.) And you know what? The 400 Blows is still a pretty incredible film, and I still have that book I stole 34 years ago. (Here's hoping the statute of limitations has run out for stealing library books and that the library police don't come knocking on my door now, wanting their property back.)

The other book I stole was a very beat-up copy of Truman Capote's Other Voices, Other Rooms . (Apparently, I try only to steal classics.) I was 24 when I stole that book. It was the only book in Capote's oeuvre that I had yet to read. I was with a friend and we were visiting some older person she knew out in Queens. This person had literally thousands of books in his collection. One of those typical New York City apartments that's just nothing but bookshelves and stacks of books everywhere, etc. I figured, no way in the world is this guy going to notice that this thin little old beat-up paperback is no longer among the thousands of books in his collection. But you know what, now that I am 50 and have both an unbelievable amount of hindsight as well as having owned an unbelievable amount of books, I can tell you that in reality, that guy probably walked into his living room later that day and INSTANTANEOUSLY noticed that his beat-up old paperback copy of Other Voices, Other Rooms was missing!

Okay, so maybe I exaggerate, but we book lovers do indeed notice these things and then feel like screaming. I can't tell you how many times people have stolen my paperback copies of Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas over the decades that I lived in New York. They probably just figured I had so many fucking books, I'd never notice. Au contraire! I always noticed; it was one of my all-time favorite books. And the first copy that was stolen from me was a first edition of the paperback that I'd had since high school (that's how old I am, gang!). I guess that was the karma wheel coming back at me for stealing that guy's copy of Other Voices, Other Rooms. But I think I had Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas stolen from me 3 times. (Hey, maybe it was one copy for every book I'd stolen over the course of my entire life? I should steal another book and see if my current copy of Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas then disappears, as well.)

Anyway. I love Baudelaire . I first encountered his work in a paperback collection of French poetry that I bought when I was 15. (It was a really well-made book, too. I still have it and it almost looks brand new.) From there, I read Fleurs du Mal, Paris Spleen, some of his collected letters, some journals, etc.  I also absolutely love Jean Genet -- his novels more than his plays, however.

So, I mean, looking at that list, wouldn't you just naturally think that I would also love Rimbaud ? Seems like a no-brainer, doesn't it? It would be a great trick question on the final tier of Who Wants to be A Millionaire? because I absolutely do not like Rimbaud. Although I have read all of his works (not that there were many) and I have really, really tried to love Rimbaud. So, yesterday, after watching Total Eclipse for the third or fourth time (which, obviously, I love or I wouldn't keep watching it), I decided that maybe I should try reading Rimbaud in French. Perhaps it is the English translation that's fucking me up. So I am currently reading both Fleurs du Mal and Une Saison en Enfer "en francais" and we'll see what I think then.

So far, I've read up to "Bad Blood" in Une Saison en Enfer and it's at least interesting. But then, for me, even Frère Jacques is more interesting en francais... If this doesn't work, I might try reading Rimbaud both in French and while drinking absinthe; something's bound to work, right gang? I can't go through life not loving Rimbaud, can I? If nothing else works, then perhaps singing Frère Jacques while drinking absinthe will at least help me to understand Rimbaud better as a man. ha ha. We shall see, gang; we shall see!