BAUDELAIRE´S FLOWERS OF EVIL´s CONTEST

By: ~Rowi-Stock and *lugubrum-stock

<img src="http://oliver.bitacoras.com/imagenes/baudelaire1.jpg">


C. Baudelaire, known for his highly controversial, dark poetry, will be the inspiration
for our upcoming contest.

Rowi and I have selected 5 of his poems from "The Flowers of Evil" as reference.
The contest will start on 20 August and meanwhile we need prizes!!! Subscriptions, prints accounts, features, stock packs, prints, manipulations, stamps, avatars...etc.
If you are interested in contributing, send us a note with the subject: "Contest Prizes" to ~Rowi-Stock or *lugubrum-stock
All donations will be very, very welcome!


RULES

The contest start on the 20 August.
the contest end on the 20 of October.
Create a deviantion inspirated in one of the Baudelaire´s poems that we have choose
You have to use 1 (at least) images from ~Rowi-Stock and 1 from *lugubrum-stock (Places and model stock at least)
Your entry have to be a new work made after the 20 August for this contest.
3 entries per deviant.
Techniques accepted: Digital art and tradicional art (drawings and paintings).


IMPORTANT: be creative!



PRIZES (for now)


3 Months subscription from *Rowiel
3 Months subscription from *lugubrum
1 Month feature from *Rowiel
1 Month feature from *lugubrum-stock y *lugubrum
1 Manip from *Rowiel
1 Personalized stamp from *lugubrum
1 Exclusive stock pack from ~Rowi-Stock
1 Exclusive stock pack from *lugubrum-stock

As appetizer, here are the 5 poems that we chose as reference.


THE REMORSE OF THE DEAD


SHADOWY Beauty mine, when thou shalt sleep
In the deep heart of a black marble tomb;
When thou for mansion and for bower shalt keep
Only one rainy cave of hollow gloom;

And when the stone upon thy trembling breast,
And on thy straight sweet body's supple grace,
Crushes thy will and keeps thy heart at rest,
And holds those feet from their adventurous race;

Then the deep grave, who shares my reverie,
(For the deep grave is aye the poet's friend)
During long nights when sleep is far from thee,

Shall whisper: "Ah, thou didst not comprehend
The dead wept thus, thou woman frail and weak"
And like remorse the worm shall gnaw thy cheek.


OBSSESION


Great woods, you frighten me like cathedrals;
You roar like the organ; and in our cursed hearts,
Rooms of endless mourning where old death-rattles sound,
Respond the echoes of your De profundis.


I hate you, Ocean! your bounding and your tumult,
My mind finds them within itself; that bitter laugh
Of the vanquished man, full of sobs and insults,
I hear it in the immense laughter of the sea.


How I would like you, Night! without those stars
Whose light speaks a language I know!
For I seek emptiness, darkness, and nudity!


But the darkness is itself a canvas
Upon which live, springing from my eyes by thousands,
Beings with understanding looks, who have vanished.


OUT OF THE DEPTHS HAVE I CRIED


I beg pity of Thee, the only one I love,
From the depths of the dark pit where my heart has fallen,
It's a gloomy world with a leaden horizon,
Where through the night swim horror and blasphemy;


A frigid sun floats overhead six months,
And the other six months darkness covers the land;
It's a land more bleak than the polar wastes
— Neither beasts, nor streams, nor verdure, nor woods!


But no horror in the world can surpass
The cold cruelty of that glacial sun
And this vast night which is like old Chaos;


I envy the lot of the lowest animals
Who are able to sink into a stupid sleep,
So slowly does the skein of time unwind!



GRIEVING AND WANDERING (Moesta et Errabuenda)

Tell me, does your heart sometimes fly away, Agatha,
Far from the black ocean of the filthy city,
Toward another ocean where splendor glitters,
Blue, clear, profound, as is virginity?
Tell me, does your heart sometimes fly away, Agatha?


The sea, the boundless sea, consoles us for our toil!
What demon endowed the sea, that raucous singer,
Whose accompanist is the roaring wind,
With the sublime function of cradle-rocker?
The sea, the boundless sea, consoles us for our toil!


Take me away, carriage! Carry me off, frigate!
Far, far away! Here the mud is made with our tears!
— Is it true that sometimes the sad heart of Agatha
Says: Far from crimes, from remorse, from sorrow,
Take me away, carriage, carry me off, frigate?


How far away you are, O perfumed Paradise,
Where under clear blue sky there's only love and joy,
Where all that one loves is worthy of love,
Where the heart is drowned in sheer enjoyment!
How far away you are, O perfumed Paradise!


But the green Paradise of childhood loves
The outings, the singing, the kisses, the bouquets,
The violins vibrating behind the hills,
And the evenings in the woods, with jugs of wine
— But the green Paradise of childhood loves,


That sinless Paradise, full of furtive pleasures,
Is it farther off now than India and China?
Can one call it back with plaintive cries,
And animate it still with a silvery voice,
That sinless Paradise full of furtive pleasures?


THE CRACKED BELL

How bitter-sweet it is, through winter's numbing nights,
to listen as the dancing, smoky fire evokes
a vision from the distant past whose muted flights
ascend through swirling fog on tolling vesper's strokes.

Contented are the chimes with energetic throats,
their voice robust in spite of age, alert and hard,
that still pour forth unswerving, conscientious notes,
much like a grizzled sentry at his post on guard.

But as for me, my soul is flawed. When, sick with care,
it strives to fill with mournful plaints the cold night air,
too often nothing but a weakened throat is there,

much like the futile gasps of wounded in despair
left piled one on the other by a lake of gore
who lie in wretched torment till they strain no more.



And the most important: Enjoy !!!