Poetry is often reflective of love and romance, so it only makes sense that the French would excel at it.\u00a0Not only does poetry sound absolutely beautiful in French, but there are also loads of great French poets out there.<\/p>\n
To top it all off, French poetry is a great short form of literature to read if you’re curious about the French language, and can even show you a thing or two about rhyme and meter.<\/p>\n
[fluentu-toc]<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Victor Hugo is basically a king when it comes to French literature.<\/p>\n
In addition to “Les Mis\u00e9rables”<\/em>\u00a0and “<\/em>Notre-Dame de Paris”\u00a0<\/i>(The Hunchback of Notre Dame), Hugo boasts a long list of published poems, novels and even over 4,000 drawings.\u00a0<\/p>\n The following poem, “La tombe dit \u00e0 la rose” <\/em>(The Grave and the Rose), was written after the death of Hugo’s daughter\u00a0L\u00e9opoldine.<\/p>\n Her death took a huge toll on Hugo emotionally and was a subject in his work for years afterward.<\/p>\n This poem personifies both the grave and the rose in conversation.<\/p>\n In general, it’s a discussion of death and the afterlife and can be interpreted as life talking to death.\u00a0<\/p>\n La tombe dit \u00e0 la rose :<\/em> La rose dit : – Tombeau sombre,<\/em> “The Grave says to the Rose” by Victor Hugo Since French and English poems are organized differently, translations aren’t always simple.<\/p>\n Check out this video of a reading of this poem:<\/p>\n This is another of Hugo’s works, once again reflecting his grief over his daughter.\u00a0<\/p>\n It’s made up of three stanzas, each of which is made up of four lines with the rhyme pattern ABAB.<\/p>\n Demain, d\u00e8s l\u2019aube, \u00e0 l\u2019heure o\u00f9 blanchit la campagne,<\/em> Je marcherai les yeux fix\u00e9s sur mes pens\u00e9es,<\/em> Je ne regarderai ni l’or du soir qui tombe,<\/em> “Tomorrow at Dawn” by Victor Hugo Tomorrow at dawn, at the hour when the countryside grows white, I will walk with my eyes fixed on my thoughts, I will not look at the gold of the evening fall, Notice how similar the tone for this poem is to\u00a0“La\u00a0tombe dit \u00e0 la rose.”\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n It’s very somber and sad, demonstrating Hugo’s grief in a beautifully artistic way.<\/p>\n Here’s a video of the poem being read aloud:<\/p>\n Near the end of his life, Renaissance poet Pierre de Ronsard dictated six\u00a0sonnets for his work,\u00a0\u201cSonnets pour H\u00e9l\u00e8ne.\u201d<\/em>\u00a0<\/p>\n The style of the sonnets followed two different models developed by French poets Marot and Pelletier.<\/p>\n This sonnet is of the Marot form.<\/p>\n Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, \u00e0 la chandelle,<\/em> Lors, vous n\u2019aurez servante oyant telle nouvelle,<\/em> Je serai sous la terre et fant\u00f4me sans os :<\/em> Regrettant mon amour et votre fier d\u00e9dain.<\/em> “When You’ll Be Very Old” by Pierre de Ronsard When you are quite old, and sit in the evening by candlelight Then you shall not have such a servant, I will be under the earth and a boneless ghost: Regretting my love and your proud disdain. This poem (and the others in this work) were actually written to Ronsard’s niece when she refused his advances.\u00a0<\/p>\n Ronsard writes to his niece in a way that reminds her that she may regret turning down his love when she is old and alone and he has died.<\/p>\n Check out this video of a reading of this poem:<\/p>\n A prominent poet in 19th century France, Baudelaire had a lot to do with the way literature evolved during and after his time.<\/p>\n The man wrote of romance, topics of industrialization and beauty in his time.<\/p>\n He was also a well-known essayist and critic, and even translated Edgar Allen Poe’s work into French with great success.<\/p>\n Les amoureux fervents et les savants aust\u00e8res<\/em> Amis de la science et de la volupt\u00e9<\/em> Ils prennent en songeant les nobles attitudes<\/em> Leurs reins f\u00e9conds sont pleins d’\u00e9tincelles magiques,<\/em> “The Cats” by Charles Baudelaire Both ardent lovers and austere scholars Friends of learning and sensual pleasure, When they dream, they assume the noble attitudes Their fertile loins are full of magic sparks, The cat in the poem is actually symbolic of women, and is a character that often appears in Baudelaire’s work.<\/p>\n Here’s a video of this poem being read aloud:<\/p>\n Paul \u00c9luard is one of the fathers of the surrealist movement and even became a prominent member of the communist party.<\/p>\n Due to his political nature, much of his work reflects historical events during the time he was an active writer.<\/p>\n This is a surrealist love poem that is about the adoration of a woman.<\/p>\n La courbe de tes yeux fait le tour de mon c\u0153ur,<\/em> Feuilles de jour et mousse de ros\u00e9e,<\/em> Parfums \u00e9clos d\u2019une couv\u00e9e d\u2019aurores<\/em> “The Curve of Your Eyes” by Paul \u00c9luard The curve of your eyes goes around my heart, Leaves of day and scum of dew, Perfumes bloomed from a brood of dawns With a tumultuous love life of his own, both the adoration of women and the woes of love are recurring themes in \u00c9luard’s work.<\/p>\n Notice the colorful imagery that the writer uses to paint a vivid picture of his subject.<\/p>\n Here’s a video of this poem being read aloud:<\/p>\n Paul Verlaine, a prominent figure in French literature, was born in 1844 in Metz, France. He emerged a key poet of the Symbolist movement and the Decadent movement.<\/p>\n “Chanson d’automne”<\/em> by Paul Verlaine is a celebrated French poem renowned for its portrayal of autumn’s beauty. Composed in the late 19th century, Verlaine’s verses resonate with vivid imagery and poignant emotion.<\/p>\n Les sanglots longs<\/em> Tout suffocant<\/em> Et je m\u2019en vais<\/em> “Autumn Song” by Paul Verlaine<\/strong><\/p>\n When a sighing begins Pale as with pain, And I go Watch this video to listen to a reading of the poem:<\/p>\n Jean de la Fontaine is known mostly for his children’s fables.<\/p>\n Most of these stories are centered around animal characters and tend to be rather simple since they are meant for kids.<\/p>\n His stories also usually come with some kind of life lesson.<\/p>\n Ma\u00eetre Corbeau, sur un arbre perch\u00e9,<\/em> “The Crow and the Fox” by Jean de la Fontaine Master Crow, perched on a tree, Notice the animal theme, as this poem follows a crow and a fox.<\/p>\n There is also a beautiful kind of flow to this poem that of course ends with the lesson of being wary of flattery.<\/p>\n Here’s a video of this poem being read aloud:<\/p>\n Guillaume Apollinaire\u00a0was a bold poet, known for his influence on surrealism.<\/p>\n He was a 19th century writer who was an innovator in poetic expression and invented the calligram, a poem in which words are organized to create a picture for the reader.<\/p>\n Read this poem, which is a sad reflection on love.<\/p>\n Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine<\/em> Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure<\/em> Les mains dans les mains restons face \u00e0 face<\/em> Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure<\/em> L’amour s’en va comme cette eau courante<\/em> Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure<\/em> Passent les jours et passent les semaines<\/em> Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure<\/em> “The Mirabeau Bridge” by Guillaume Apollinaire\u00a0 Under the Mirabeau bridge flows the Seine Night comes with the sound of the hour Love goes away like this running water Night comes with the sound of the hour Days pass and weeks pass Night comes with the sound of the hour Notice how Apollinaire uses repetition and a roundabout way of writing to bring everything together.<\/p>\n Check out this video to hear the poem being read:<\/p>\n This poem comes from \u201cLes Fleurs du mal\u201d<\/em> (\u201cThe Flowers of Evil\u201d), the only volume of poetry published before Baudelaire’s death.<\/p>\n The collection is a reflection of the evil in the world, and contains some of the most melodious verses and deeply emotional feelings.<\/p>\n Bient\u00f4t nous plongerons dans les froides t\u00e9n\u00e8bres;<\/em> Tout l’hiver va rentrer dans mon \u00eatre: col\u00e8re,<\/em> J’\u00e9coute en fr\u00e9missant chaque b\u00fbche qui tombe;<\/em> II me semble, berc\u00e9 par ce choc monotone,<\/em> J’aime de vos longs yeux la lumi\u00e8re verd\u00e2tre,<\/em> Et pourtant aimez-moi, tendre c\u0153ur ! soyez m\u00e8re,<\/em> Courte t\u00e2che ! La tombe attend; elle est avide !<\/em> “Autumn Song” by Charles Baudelaire
\n– Des pleurs dont l’aube t’arrose<\/em>
\nQue fais-tu, fleur des amours ?<\/em>
\nLa rose dit \u00e0 la tombe :<\/em>
\n– Que fais-tu de ce qui tombe <\/em>
\nDans ton gouffre ouvert toujours ?<\/em><\/p>\n
\nDe ces pleurs je fais dans l’ombre <\/em>
\nUn parfum d’ambre et de miel.<\/em>
\nLa tombe dit : – Fleur plaintive,<\/em>
\nDe chaque \u00e2me qui m’arrive <\/em>
\nJe fais un ange du ciel !<\/em><\/p>\n
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n
\n“What of the dews of dawn,
\nLove’s flower, what end is theirs?”
\n“And what of spirits flown,
\nThe souls whereon doth close
\nThe tomb’s mouth unawares?”
\nThe Rose said to the Grave. The Rose said, “In the shade
\nFrom the dawn’s tears is made
\nA perfume faint and strange,
\nAmber and honey sweet.”
\n“And all the spirits fleet
\nDo suffer a sky-change,
\nMore strangely than the dew,
\nTo God’s own angels new,”
\nThe Grave said to the Rose.<\/div>\n2. “Demain, d\u00e8s l’aube” <\/em>by Victor Hugo<\/h2>\n
\nJe partirai. Vois-tu, \u00a0je sais que tu m\u2019attends.<\/em>
\nJ\u2019irai par la for\u00eat, \u00a0j\u2019irai par la montagne.<\/em>
\nJe ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nSans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,<\/em>
\nSeul, inconnu, le dos courb\u00e9, les mains crois\u00e9es,<\/em>
\nTriste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nNi les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,<\/em>
\nEt, quand j’arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe<\/em>
\nUn bouquet de houx vert et de bruy\u00e8re en fleur.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nI shall leave. Do you see, I know that you are waiting for me.
\nI shall go by the forest; I shall go by the mountains.
\nI cannot remain far from you any longer.<\/p>\n
\nWithout anything to see outside, without hearing any sound,
\nAlone, unknown, the curved back, the crossed hands,
\nSad, and the day for me will be like the night.<\/p>\n
\nNor the distant sails descending to Harfleur,
\nAnd, when I will arrive, I will place on your grave,
\nA bouquet of green holly and heather.<\/p>\n3. “Quand vous serez bien vieille”\u00a0<\/em>by Pierre de Ronsard<\/h2>\n
\nAssise aupr\u00e8s du feu, d\u00e9vidant et filant, –<\/em>
\nDirez, chantant mes vers, en vous \u00e9merveillant :<\/em>
\nRonsard me c\u00e9l\u00e9brait du temps que j\u2019\u00e9tais belle.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nD\u00e9j\u00e0 sous le labeur \u00e0 demi sommeillant,<\/em>
\nQui au bruit de mon nom ne s\u2019aille r\u00e9veillant,<\/em>
\nB\u00e9nissant votre nom de louange immortelle.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nPar les ombres myrteux je prendrai mon repos :<\/em>
\nVous serez au foyer une vieille accroupie,<\/em><\/p>\n
\nVivez, si m\u2019en croyez, n\u2019attendez \u00e0 demain :<\/em>
\nCueillez d\u00e8s aujourd\u2019hui les roses de la vie.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nNear the fire, rambling and burning out,
\nYou will say, singing my verses and marveling at them:
\nRonsard celebrated me back\u00a0when I was beautiful.<\/p>\n
\nAlready under the half-asleep labor,\u00a0
\nWho at the sound of my name doesn’t awake,
\nBlessing your name of immortal praise.<\/p>\n
\nBy the myrtle shadows I will take my rest:
\nYou will be an old woman,<\/p>\n
\nLive, if you believe me, don’t wait for tomorrow:
\nPick the roses of life today.<\/p>\n4. “Les chats” <\/i>by Charles Baudelaire<\/h2>\n
\nAiment \u00e9galement, dans leur m\u00fbre saison,<\/em>
\nLes chats puissants et doux, orgueil de la maison,<\/em>
\nQui comme eux sont frileux et comme eux s\u00e9dentaires.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nIls cherchent le silence et l’horreur des t\u00e9n\u00e8bres;<\/em>
\nL’\u00c9r\u00e8be les e\u00fbt pris pour ses coursiers fun\u00e8bres,<\/em>
\nS’ils pouvaient au servage incliner leur fiert\u00e9.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nDes grands sphinx allong\u00e9s au fond des solitudes,<\/em>
\nQui semblent s’endormir dans un r\u00eave sans fin;<\/em><\/p>\n
\nEt des parcelles d’or, ainsi qu’un sable fin,<\/em>
\n\u00c9toilent vaguement leurs prunelles mystiques.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nLove in their mature years,
\nThe strong and gentle cats, pride of the house,
\nWho like them are sedentary and sensitive to cold.<\/p>\n
\nThey seek the silence and the horror of darkness;
\nErebus would have used them as his gloomy steeds:
\nIf their pride could let them stoop to bondage.<\/p>\n
\nOf the mighty sphinxes stretched out in solitude,
\nWho seem to fall into a sleep of endless dreams;<\/p>\n
\nAnd particles of gold, like fine grains of sand,
\nSpangle dimly their mystic eyes.<\/p>\n5. “La courbe de tes yeux”<\/em>\u00a0<\/i>by Paul \u00c9luard<\/h2>\n
\nUn rond de danse et de douceur,<\/em>
\nAur\u00e9ole du temps, berceau nocturne et s\u00fbr, <\/em>
\nEt si je ne sais plus tout ce que j\u2019ai v\u00e9cu<\/em>
\nC\u2019est que tes yeux ne m\u2019ont pas toujours vu.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nRoseaux du vent, sourires parfum\u00e9s,<\/em>
\nAiles couvrant le monde de lumi\u00e8re,<\/em>
\nBateaux charg\u00e9s du ciel et de la mer,<\/em>
\nChasseurs des bruits et sources des couleurs,<\/em><\/p>\n
\nQui g\u00eet toujours sur la paille des astres,<\/em>
\nComme le jour d\u00e9pend de l\u2019innocence<\/em>
\nLe monde entier d\u00e9pend de tes yeux purs<\/em>
\nEt tout mon sang coule dans leurs regards.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nA round of dance and sweetness,
\nHalo of time, nocturnal and safe cradle,
\nAnd if I don\u2019t know any more all that I\u2019ve lived through
\nIt\u2019s because I haven\u2019t always been seen by you.<\/p>\n
\nReeds of the wind, perfumed smiles,
\nWings covering the world with light,
\nShips filled with the sky and the sea,
\nHunters of noises and sources of colors,<\/p>\n
\nThat always lies on the straw of the stars,
\nAs the day depends on innocence
\nThe whole world depends on your pure eyes
\nAnd all my blood flows in their looks.<\/p>\n6. “Chanson d\u2019automne”<\/em> by Paul Verlaine<\/h2>\n
\nDes violons<\/em>
\nDe l\u2019automne<\/em>
\nBlessent mon coeur<\/em>
\nD\u2019une langueur<\/em>
\nMonotone.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nEt bl\u00eame, quand<\/em>
\nSonne l\u2019heure,<\/em>
\nJe me souviens<\/em>
\nDes jours anciens<\/em>
\nEt je pleure;<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAu vent mauvais<\/em>
\nQui m\u2019emporte<\/em>
\nDe\u00e7\u00e0, del\u00e0,<\/em>
\nPareil \u00e0 la<\/em>
\nFeuille morte.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nIn the violins
\nOf the autumn-song,
\nMy heart is drowned
\nIn the slow sound
\nLanguorous and long<\/p>\n
\nBreath fails me when
\nThe hours toll deep.
\nMy thoughts recover
\nThe days that are over,
\nAnd I weep.<\/p>\n
\nWhere the winds know,
\nBroken and brief,
\nTo and fro,
\nAs the winds blow
\nA dead leaf.<\/p>\n7. “Le corbeau et le renard” <\/em>by Jean de la Fontaine<\/h2>\n
\nTenait en son bec un fromage.<\/em>
\nMa\u00eetre Renard, par l\u2019odeur all\u00e9ch\u00e9,<\/em>
\nLui tint \u00e0 peu pr\u00e8s ce langage :<\/em>
\n\u00abH\u00e9 ! bonjour, Monsieur du Corbeau.<\/em>
\nQue vous \u00eates joli ! que vous me semblez beau !<\/em>
\nSans mentir, si votre ramage<\/em>
\nSe rapporte \u00e0 votre plumage,<\/em>
\nVous \u00eates le Ph\u00e9nix des h\u00f4tes de ces bois.\u00bb<\/em>
\nA ces mots le Corbeau ne se sent pas de joie ;<\/em>
\nEt pour montrer sa belle voix,<\/em>
\nIl ouvre un large bec, laisse tomber sa proie.<\/em>
\nLe Renard s\u2019en saisit, et dit : \u00abMon bon Monsieur,<\/em>
\nApprenez que tout flatteur<\/em>
\nVit aux d\u00e9pens de celui qui l\u2019\u00e9coute :<\/em>
\nCette le\u00e7on vaut bien un fromage, sans doute.\u00bb<\/em>
\nLe Corbeau, honteux et confus,<\/em>
\nJura, mais un peu tard, qu\u2019on ne l\u2019y prendrait plus.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nHolding in his beak some cheese,
\nMaster Fox, attracted by the smell,
\nTold him something like:
\n“Well, hello Mister Crow.
\nHow beautiful are you! How beautiful you are to me!
\nWithout lying, if your voice
\nIs the same as your feathers,
\nYou are the Phoenix of the hosts of these woods.”
\nAnd to show his beautiful voice,
\nHe opened his big beak, letting his prey fall.
\nThe fox seizes it, and says: “My good sir,
\nLearn that all who flatter
\nLive at the expense of those who listen to them:
\nThis lesson is worth a cheese, without a doubt.”
\nThe crow, ashamed and confused,
\nSwore, but a little late, he wouldn’t be taken again.<\/p>\n8. “Le pont\u00a0<\/em>Mirabeau”<\/i>\u00a0<\/i>by Guillaume Apollinaire\u00a0<\/h2>\n
\nEt nos amours<\/em>
\nFaut-il qu’il m’en souvienne<\/em>
\nLa joie venait toujours apr\u00e8s la peine<\/em><\/p>\n
\nLes jours s’en vont je demeure<\/em><\/p>\n
\nTandis que sous<\/em>
\nLe pont de nos bras passe<\/em>
\nDes \u00e9ternels regards l’onde si lasse<\/em><\/p>\n
\nLes jours s’en vont je demeure<\/em><\/p>\n
\nL’amour s’en va<\/em>
\nComme la vie est lente<\/em>
\nEt comme l’Esp\u00e9rance est violente<\/em><\/p>\n
\nLes jours s’en vont je demeure<\/em><\/p>\n
\nNi temps pass\u00e9<\/em>
\nNi les amours reviennent<\/em>
\nSous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine<\/em><\/p>\n
\nLes jours s’en vont je demeure<\/em><\/p>\n
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nAnd our love
\nMust I remember
\nThe joy would always come after the pain<\/p>\n
\nThe days are gone I stay<\/p>\n
\nLove goes away
\nHow life is slow\u00a0
\nAnd how hope is violent<\/p>\n
\nThe days are gone I stay<\/p>\n
\nWithout time passing
\nWithout love returning
\nUnder the Mirabeau bridge runs the Seine<\/p>\n
\nThe days are gone I stay<\/p>\n9. “Chant d’automne”\u00a0<\/em>by Charles Baudelaire<\/h2>\n
\nAdieu, vive clart\u00e9 de nos \u00e9t\u00e9s trop courts !<\/em>
\nJ’entends d\u00e9j\u00e0 tomber avec des chocs fun\u00e8bres<\/em>
\nLe bois retentissant sur le pav\u00e9 des cours.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nHaine, frissons, horreur, labeur dur et forc\u00e9,<\/em>
\nEt, comme le soleil dans son enfer polaire,<\/em>
\nMon c\u0153ur ne sera plus qu’un bloc rouge et glac\u00e9.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nL’\u00e9chafaud qu’on b\u00e2tit n’a pas d’\u00e9cho plus sourd.<\/em>
\nMon esprit est pareil \u00e0 la tour qui succombe<\/em>
\nSous les coups du b\u00e9lier infatigable et lourd.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nQu’on cloue en grande h\u00e2te un cercueil quelque part.<\/em>
\nPour qui ? \u2014 C’\u00e9tait hier l’\u00e9t\u00e9; voici l’automne !<\/em>
\nCe bruit myst\u00e9rieux sonne comme un d\u00e9part.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nDouce beaut\u00e9, mais tout aujourd’hui m’est amer,<\/em>
\nEt rien, ni votre amour, ni le boudoir, ni l’\u00e2tre,<\/em>
\nNe me vaut le soleil rayonnant sur la mer.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nM\u00eame pour un ingrat, m\u00eame pour un m\u00e9chant;<\/em>
\nAmante ou s\u0153ur, soyez la douceur \u00e9ph\u00e9m\u00e8re<\/em>
\nD’un glorieux automne ou d’un soleil couchant.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAh! laissez-moi, mon front pos\u00e9 sur vos genoux,<\/em>
\nGo\u00fbter, en regrettant l’\u00e9t\u00e9 blanc et torride,<\/em>
\nDe l’arri\u00e8re-saison le rayon jaune et doux !<\/em><\/p>\n