这铃声响彻一百年后，听惯了它的alan ginsberg曾经向bob dylan 发问：“有没有诗人曾激发你的灵感？”dylan的回答是：“只有两个 人：emily dickinson和rimbaud。”他甚至没有提及让他因之改名的dylan thomas。
民谣歌手dave van ronk回忆到，“有一次，我曾问他（dylan），你 读过法国象征主义的东西吗？他哼的一声……后来，他自己终于有了间屋子，我到了那儿，看到书架上有一整套法国诗歌集，其中包括rimbaud。
的确，从dylan “放任自流”开始，那密集得让人无法喘息的意象和冲撞得让人血液狂奔的激情都只能来自于rimbaud。在《欲望》中，dylan 明示了他的师承，而在此前那标明他心底无比创伤的《路上血迹》中，在《你走了我会孤独》的短促呼啸中，dylan 唱道，“人间关系如此残破，如同verlaine和rimbaud 。”他所经历和歌唱的，仍然是地狱里的一季。
很酷。后来发现他是在引用rimbaud致verlaine的信，觉得他甚至更酷。但还有更死心塌地的人。从dalaware来到大都会的tom miller为了接通美国朋克和上个世 团 洲朋克的频道，把自己的名字改成了tom verlaine，也许他自忖当不了rimbaud，所以作rimbaud最亲密的战友也很过瘾。televison乐队那神经质的吉它和tom那孱弱而怪异的腔调不正让人想起“病态的饥渴，黯淡了我的血管”？
patti smith去工厂干活并不是为了勤工俭学或是体验生活，而是为了几大元能活命的现钞。她是真正的工人阶级。但有些人的夺目是注定不该被掩盖的。在工厂图书室，她发现了一本叫《灵光集》的书，她把作者rimbaud的肖像临摹在了另一本书上，带上他出走到了rimbaud 的故乡。当她最终进入摇滚闯将的行列时，她最不愿放弃的便是为她赢得最初名声的诗歌。而在她的第一本书《第七天堂》中，那些奇异的性幻象也只会源于那个先行者的激励。至于gloria、hey joe和
land of a thousand dance这样的经典，显然是那位先行者热烈美学的再现。当patti把几位对于她最重要的人，比如john cale，都视为又遇到一位rimbaud，你知道她想要表达的是什么。
patti手拿画有rimbaud的书本逃离小城时，心中回响的是light my fire。他无从知晓的是，那个被视为性感偶像的the doors主唱，乃是摇滚史上受rimbaud影响最深的人。
在wallace fowlie这位英语世界最权威的rimbaud译者所译的《兰波全集》付梓后，他共接到了6封信，其中一封来自他无法置信的领域：摇滚乐。他后来知道，这个给他去信的人，便是20世纪的rimbaud－－jim morrison（而另一个morrison－－ van morrison，也曾写过《兰波式泪流》，那是对rimbaud源源不断的灵感的祈求之声）。
无论jim是生是死，都是在rimbaud 的足迹上踏行，他埋在了巴黎，而他一直想去巴黎便是为了rimbaud 。也有人至今还相信jim在非洲，他的精神导师曾经流连过的非洲。在《野孩子》中，听到jim在问：“还记得我们在非洲的日子吗？”
《sahara blue》的精美，其实不是因为群星拱照的阵容。hector zazou 为rimbaud谱曲，第一页引用的却是《不可能》（无可奈何）。
也许是另类熏染带来的偏执，不管是《 路 莉娅》的隽永空灵，还是lisa gerrard怪异的扬琴，都没让我眨一下眼皮，倒是john cale不动声色的念诵《初夜》和《饥饿》，让我肃然。而专辑的结尾竟然是rimbaud濒死时的心境，何等的触目惊心。
kent condon的吉它和christian lechevretel的号声中溢出的冷意，是rimbaud悟透一切后的悲凉吗？
不，不太敢看《total eclipse》，想到连oliver stone这样的天才，都只把jim morrison 拍成了半疯的酒鬼，rimbaud除了被说成是queer先驱还能怎样？同音乐相比，这类电影是何等地缺少诗性。
Arthurs last days
My dear mummy,
God is thousand times blessed! On Sunday I experienced the greatest happiness I can have in this world. This is not any more a poor unfortunate reprobate who will die near me: this is a Just, a Saint, a Martyr, a Chosen!
During the last week, the chaplains had come to see him twice: he had received them, but with so much lassitude and discouragement that they didnt dare to speak to him about death. Saturday evening, all the nuns made prayers together for him to have a good death. Sunday morning, after the High Mass, he seemed to be calmer and fully conscious: one of the chaplains returned and proposed to him to be confessed; and he accepted!
When the priest left, he said to me, looking at me with a disturbed air, a strange air:" Your brother has the faith, my child. What do you thus say to us? He has the faith, and I even never saw faith of this quality!" Me, I kissed the ground while crying and while laughing. O God! What a joy! What a joy, even in death, even by death! What can make me Death, Life, and the entire universe and all the happiness of the would, now that his sol is saved! Lord, soften his agony, and help him to carry his cross, still have pity of him, still have pity, you who are so good! Oh yes, so good─Thank you my God, thank you!
When I returned near Arthur, he was very moved, but did not cry; he was serenely sad, as I never saw him before. He looked me in the eyes as he had never looked me. He wanted that I approach very close, he said to me:" You are of the same flesh and blood than me: do you believe, tell me, do you believe?" I answered:" I believe; others more erudite than me believed, are believing; and then I am sure now, I have proof, that is!" And it is true, I have proof today!
He still said to me with bitterness:" Yes, they say that they believe, they pretend to be converted, but it is just for us to read what they wrote, it is a speculation!" I hesitated, then I said:" Oh! No, they would earn more money while blaspheming!" He was always looking at me with the sky in his eyes; me too. He insisted to kiss me, then:" We can have the same soul, since we have the same blood. You believe then?" And I repeated:" Yes, I believe, you have to believe." Then he said to me:" All must be prepared in the room, tidied up: he will come back with the sacraments. You will see the candles and the laces will be brought; white linens must be put everywhere. I am so sick thus…" He was anxious, but not desperate like the other days, and I very well saw that he wishes ardently the sacraments, and above all the communion.
Since then, he does not blaspheme anymore; he calls Christ in cross, and he prays. Yes, he prays, him!
But the chaplain could not give him the communion. First, he fears to impress him too much. Then,. Arthur is spitting a lot actually and cannot stand anything in his mouth, so we were afraid of an involuntary profanation. And him, believing that he was forgotten, became sad; but he did not complain.
Death comes with great steps. I told you in my last letter, my dear mummy, that his stump was extremely swollen. Now it is an enormous cancer between the hip and the belly, just in top of the bone. This stump, which was so sensitive, so painful, practically does not make him suffer anymore. Arthur did not see this fatal tumor: he is surprised that everyone comes to see this poor stump that he practically does not feel anymore; and all the doctors (ten are already come since I signaled this terrible ache) remain speechless and terrible in front o this strange cancer.
Now, it is his poor head and his left arm, which make him suffer the most. But he is generally deep into a state of lethargy that is an apparent sleep, during which he senses all the noises with a singular clearness.
For the night, he has a morphine injection. Awaken, he ends his life in a kind of continuous dream: he says odd things very softly, with a voice that would enchant me if it did not cut me to the heart. What he says, these are dreams, however it is not the same thing at all that when he had fevered. You would almost think, and I believe it, he does it in purpose.
As he murmured those things, the nun said to me in a whisper:" He still lost consciousness?" But he heard and blushed deeply; he did not say anything any more, but, when the nun left, he said to me:" They think I am insane, and you, do you believe it?" No, I do not believe it, he is almost an immaterial being and his thought escapes in spite of him. Sometimes he asks the doctors if they see the extraordinary things he sees and he speaks to them and tells them with softness his impressions, in term that I could not render. The doctors look him in the eyes, these beautiful eyes which never have been so beautiful and more intelligent, and they between them:" It is singular." There is in Arthurs case something that they do not understand.
Moreover, the doctor practically do not come any more, because he often cries when speaking to them and that distresses them.
He recognizes everyone. Me, he sometimes calls me Djami, but I know that is because he wants it, and that is part of his dream wanted thus; besides, he mixes all and …with art. We are in Harar. We always leave for Aden, and we have to find camels, to organize the caravan; he walks very easily with the new articulated leg, we ride beautiful richly harnessed mules for some walks; then we have to work, to do the book-keeping, to write letters. Quick, quick, we are awaited, let us pack our bags and leave. Why did we let him sleep? Why I didnt help him get dressed? What will it be said if we do not arrive at the day agreed upon? Nobody will believe him on word anymore, nobody will trust him anymore! And he starts to cry regretting my awkwardness and my negligence: for I ma always with him and it is me who am in charged of all the preparations.
He practically does not eat anymore, and what he eats, it is with an extreme loathing. Therefore has he the thinness of a skeleton and the color of a corpse! And all his poor limbs paralyzed, mutilated dead around him! O God, what a pity!
About you letter and Arthur: do not count at all on his money. After him, and the funeral expenses paid, travels, and so on, his resources will come to others; I am absolutely decided to respect his wills, and nevertheless there would be only me to carry them out, his money and his belongings will go to who he wishes. What I did for him, it was not by cupidity, it is because he is my brother, and abandoned by the whole universe, I did not want to let him die alone and without help. I will be faithful to him after his death like before, and what he will say to make of his money and his clothes to me, I will do it exactly, even if I must suffer from it.
May God assist you and me also: we really need the divine help.
Goodbye, my dear mummy, I kiss you with all my heart,
The Brussels Incident
About two years ago I became acquainted with Verlaine in Paris. Last year, after some disagreements with his wife and with her family, he suggested that I should go aboard with him; we were going to have to make a living somehow or other, because I have no money of my own, and Verlaine only has his what he can got from his work and some money which his mother gives him. We went London. We lived there together until lately, sharing the same lodgings and using everything in common.
Following an argument which we had at the beginning of last week, arising from reproaches which I made to him about his indolence and his behavior toward certain person we knew, Verlaine left me practically without warning, without even telling me where he was going. However I supposed he was going to Brussels, or would pass through it, because he had taken the Antwerp boat. Then I received a letter from him headed "At sea", which I shall hand to you, in which he told me that he was going to ask his wife to him where his was, and he also told me to write to him poste restante at Brussels. Immediately wrote him two letters in which I asked him to come back to London or to consent to my rejoining him I in Brussels, It was then that he sent me a telegram (telling me) to come here, to Brussels. I wanted us to be reunited again, because there was no reason why we should separate.
I left London, therefore, I arrived in Brussels on Tuesday morning, and went to meet Verlaine. His mother was with him. He had no fixed plan: he did not wish to stay in Brussels, because he feared that there would be nothing for him to do in this city; for my part, I did not wish to consent to return to London as he suggested, because our departure had caused too much bad feeling on the part of our friends, and I was determined to back to Paris. Sometimes Verlaine gave me to understand that it was his intention to come with me, in justice, as he put it, to his wife and his wifes family; at other time he refused to come with me, because Paris brought back memories to him which were too painful. He was in a very excitable frame of mind. Nevertheless he was very insistent that I should stay with him: he alternated between despair and rage. There was no coherence in his ideas. On Wednesday evening he had more than enough to drink and became drunk. On Thursday morning he went out at six oclock and did not come back until nearly noon; he was again in a state of intoxication, he showed me a pistol which he had bought, and when I asked him what he intended to do with it, he replied in a joking manner:" Its for you, for me, for everyone!" He was extremely overexcited.
While we together in the bedroom, he went down several more times to drink liqueurs; he still wished to prevent me from carrying into execution my plan of going back to Paris. I remained resolute. I even asked his mother for some money for the journey. Then, at a given moment, he locked the door of the room which gave on to the staircase and sat on a chair against this door. I was standing, leaning me back on wall facing it. He then said to me:" This is for you, then, since youre going!" or words to this effect; he aimed his pistol at me and a shot at me which hit me in the left wrist; the first shot was immediately followed by a second, bur the time the weapon was no longer pointing at me, bur down at the floor.
Verlaine at once expressed the deepest regret for what he had done; he rushed into the adjoining room, which was occupied by his mother, and threw him on the bed. He was like a madman: he put his pistol into my bands and pledged me to fire it at his temple. His attitude was of profound sorrow at what had happened to him.
About five oclock in the afternoon, his mother and he brought me here to be treated. When we got back to the hotel, Verlaine and his mother made the suggestion that I should stay with them and be looked after, or go back to hospital until I was completely healed. The wound did not seem very serious to me, I told them I intended to return to France that very evening; to my mothers in Charleville. This news threw Verlaine into despair again. His mother gave me twenty francs for the journey, and they came out with me to accompany me to the Midi terminus.
Verlaine behaved as if he were mad. He did everything he could to stop me from going; beside which, he kept his hand all the time in the pocket of his jacket where his pistol was. When we arrived at the Place Rouppe, he went a few paces ahead of us, and then he came back toward me. His manner caused me to fear that he might give himself over to new excesses. I turned and ran away. It was then that I asked a police officer to arrest him.
The bullet in my hand has not yet been removed: the doctor here tells me that it will not be possible for two or three days.
Question: What did you live on in London?
Answer: Mainly on the money, which Madame Verlaine used to send to her son. We also had French lessons which we gave together, but these lessons did not earn us very much, about a dozen francs a week, towards the end.
Question: Do you know the reason for the disagreements between Verlaine and his wife?
Answer: Verlaine did not wish his wife to continue to live at her fathers house.
Question: Does she not also name as a cause for complaint your intimacy with Verlaine?
Answer: Yes, she even accuses us of immoral relations; but I do not wish to trouble to give the lie to such calumnies.
（Read, confirmed, and signed:
A.Rimbaud, Th. TSerstevens, C.ligour.）