“Duellem” (The Duel)
by Charles Baudelaire
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Two combatants charged!
                                             Their fearsome swords
brightened the air with fiery sparks and blood.
Their clashing blades
                                      clinked odd serenades
reminding us: youth’s inspired by overloud love.

But now their blades lie broken, like our hearts!
Still, our savage teeth and talon-like fingernails
can do more damage than the deadliest sword
when lovers lash about with such natural flails.

In a deep ravine haunted by lynxes and panthers,
our heroes roll around in a cozy embrace,
leaving their blood to redden the colorless branches.
This abyss is pure hell; our friends occupy the place.

Come, let us sport and spurt here, cruel Amazon;
let our hatred’s ardor never be over and done!

Keywords/Tags: Baudelaire, translation, French, duel, combatants, duelists, swords, sparks, blood, blades, hearts, teeth, blood, talons, lynxes, panthers, abyss, hell, Amazon, hatred, ardor, furor, passion, fury, anger

The flash of blades across the hall
The cries of “good” that stand for pain
The glint of steel within my grasp
And the smile on my face

These things to me mean happiness

My teacher’s voice soft counsels me
My heart within my chest beats free
My enemy stands across from me
As the marshal calls “lay on”

And I know that I’m alive

The weight of a sword in my black gloved hand
The dance of my feet across the floor
The sound of my blade as it rings it’s challenge
Issued against your own

And I know that I’ve found my home

2/19/20

The sky is old, it is tired.
It is aching.

The sky is bruised.
It is blackest blue and deepest blood purple.
It is tearing and writhing and mashing.
It is molded by someone
who knows not of their own power for desire.

It is being destroyed and created at the same time,
it is being pushed and pulled and grabbed
by hands who have known little of gentleness
and have been overcome by violence
but are trying to be soothing.

Hands made for wielding swords
steadfast give up when attempting to weave flowers together.

But he has not given up.

He is immobilized-
lost in his own despair and pain
as he tries to create.
He is searching through things he doesn't quite understand
searching through himself
and his own power he has left untapped for many a year.

He is trying-
hoping to help build a world
where love knows no bounds
and hate is only as strong as those
feeble hearts who use it.

The End of Time has already passed,
and no one can see past it
no one knows whether he will succeed.
But they do know
that he will continue to try
to press on
until the last whisper of his soul is gone from this world.

I am waiting for the day
when we can all celebrate
as one people
united behind
he who tore the sky
and lifted it up again,
anew.

So here I go
At the hill of Camlann
My Death will arrive soon
I can't talk nor walk.
Due to severe wounds I've got
So i asked Bedevier
To bring this sword
Back to the real owner
To take my immortality
And tell Merlin to bring me
To the garden Avalon.

the  paranoid  King                                    the  adama­nt  Rook
the   soulless  tyrant                                   icon  of   bloodshed
an  empire build on                                    build  on  the  ivory
fright   and  despair                                    fragments of  death  
                                    the   vacant  Knight  
                                    servant   of   demise
                                    the  bearer   of   fate
                                    bound  to the  night
the virulent  Queen                                    the  twisted  ­Bishop
daughter   of  doom                                    preacher   of   battle
the   graceful  terror                                    true worshipper  of    
clad   in  gilt  debris                                    the  god of  carnage