Henry Bataille

Henry Bataille Poems

Les trains rêvent dans la rosée, au fond des gares...
Ils rêvent des heures, puis grincent et démarrent...
...


THE trains dream in the dew for hours outside
The stations, then unmoor, and grate, and glide ...
I love the wet trains passing through the fields,
Long caravans of all the country yields;
...

WE have our tears. This is grief's anodyne,
To know that tears a-many are in store.
And hearts did know them faithful, even before
...

I HAVE been watching through grey window panes
This evening falling ... Someone is astray
Along the ditches filled with autumn rains ...
O wearied wanderer upon thy way
...

Henry Bataille Biography

Félix-Henri Bataille (b. April 4, 1872 in Nîmes, France, d. March 2, 1922 in Rueil-Malmaison) was a French dramatist and poet. His works were extremely popular between 1900 and the start of World War I. Bataille's parents died when he was young . He went to the École des Beaux-Arts to study painting, but started writing when he was 14. Henry wrote plays and poems, but after the success of his second play, La Lépreuse, he became a playwright exclusively. Bataille's early works were about the effects of passion on human motivation and how stifling the social conventions of the times could be. For example, Maman Colibri, is about a middle-aged woman's affair with a younger man. Later, Bataille would gravitate towards the theater of ideas and social drama. Henry Bataille was also a theorist of subconscious motivation. While he didn't use his theories in most of his own works, he helped influence later playwrights such as Jean-Jacques Bernard and the "school of silence".)

The Best Poem Of Henry Bataille

Le Beau Voyage

Les trains rêvent dans la rosée, au fond des gares...
Ils rêvent des heures, puis grincent et démarrent...
J'aime ces trains mouillés qui passent dans les champs,
Ces longs convois de marchandises bruissant,
Qui pour la pluie ont mis leurs lourds manteaux de bâches,
Ou qui forment la nuit entière dans les garages...
Et les trains de bestiaux où beuglent mornement
Des bêtes qui se plaignent au village natal...
Tous ces rands wagons gris, hermétiques et clos,
Dont le silence luit sous l'averse automnale,
Avec leurs inscriptions effacées, leurs repos
Infinis, leurs nuits abandonnées, leurs vitres pâles...

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