How Marijuana Helps Cataracts

Here, two very representative poems of Baudelaire.

The first To a passerby, is why the poet's encounter with an anonymous woman. In a busy street, the poet meets a woman. It's just an instant, enough to notice the slender and nobility of his person, to capture a gesture, to exchange a glance in which there is evident desire. Quickening moment, a moment of light where beauty is sensed, transient, elusive, behind him, the awareness of what might have been.

The second A carrion, in contrast to the first, relates to the woman he loved with a rotting offal. Is the demystification of what Baudelaire had been singing to the poets to their ladies.

To a passerby
thunderous Street howled around me.
tall, slim, in mourning, with a queen pain
a lady passed, with lavish gesture
collecting, aligning, the returns of their veils;

agilísima and noble, with two marble legs.
suddenly drunk with crazy tension, and in his eyes
livid center thousand tornadoes,
the pleasure that kills, honey paralyzing.

Lightning. Night. Runaway beauty
which made me look, at once, reborn.
"Except for eternity I shall never see you again?

In any case far too late, maybe ever!
Do not know where you fled, or suspect my route,
who have loved you. Oh you, you knew!

A carrion
Remember that object we saw, my soul,
in warm summer morning:
to bend the path, a carcass on a bed infamous
strewn with stones.

legs up, like a female lewd,
distilling a burning poison
opened so lazy and cynical
his belly full of miasma.

burned the sun was shining on that rot,
to finish cooking it, and return
Nature
percent of what once joined;

and watched the sky
skeletal regions expanded as a flower.
stank so strong that you thought the grass
fall unconscious.

flies danced on this putrid womb where thousands

larvae emerged they advanced, thick liquid which
by those living remains. Everything

down, rising like a wave, or torn
cracking;
would seem that the body of a blow animated
multiply and alive. It produced the world

strange music
as wind and water to pass, or the grain
rhythmically agitated and turns
contained in the sieve.

all is vanished and it was only a dream, a sketch
reluctant to emerge on the canvas
forgotten, just the artist finally
through memory.

behind the rocks, a restless dog
looked at us with angry eyes, spying
the moment to go to the skeleton
and rooting in the flesh.

And yet, you'll like this trash,
this horrible infection, Star
my eyes, clear sunshine of my life,
you, my love, my Angel!

Yes! you will be well, oh reina de las gracias,
tras el último viático,
cuando, bajo la tierra y la vegetación,
enraícen tus huesos.

¡Entonces, ¡oh mi bella!, diles a los gusanos
que a besos te devorarán,
que yo guardé la forma y la divina esencia
De mis descompuestos amores!