'Dreams are my reality' - poem based on 'Streetcar named Desire' - by Alessandra Cestaro

Dreams are My Reality – Alessandra Cestaro

When eyes close, conscience fades away,

c’est seulement une belle rève tonight.

But suddenly darkness turns to light

And this is my betray.

People see me, think they know me, but they only see my dream.

This show I live until at me shoots that beam.

They discover me as my fragile heart’s crystals splinter to the floor.

My illusion is now broken just as a violated mirror would be.

I can’t see my reflection anymore,

I can only face reality.

A question rises in me:

‘Who am I now?’

creative writing - extra scene in Shakespeare's Othello by Alessandra Cestaro

ACT I, SCENE I a) (extra scene between Act I Scene I and Scene II)

[Enter OTHELLO and DESDEMONA]

OTHELLO:           Oh good Fortune, alas’ you greet our souls!

                               Fate is consenting to this marriage,

                               To this everlasting sacrament which

                               Makes thee my heart’s only guardian angel.

                               Sweet Desdemon, why is the night so brief?

DESDEMONA: My Lord, I pray for time to stop right now

                               So that our wedding night may delay dawn.

OTHELLO:           And under the witnessing stars I would

                               Sing my travels to thee as if they were

                               Lullabies to charm your ears. I love thee.

                               I love thy ears’ hungry curiosity.

                               I love the divine smile you exhibit

                               When I make my past into tales for thee.

DESDEMONA: I prithee, surprise me with your tales,

                               Until you take all of my breath away…

OTHELLO:           If only I were less primitive and

                               My speech was less rude, I would entertain

                               My truly beloved wife and honour

                               Her presence. For these thick lips cannot play

                               Fair melodies, they shall content thee with

                               A kiss.

[OTHELLO kisses DESDEMONA]

DESDEMONA: Don’t blame yourself so harshly. Rude in speech?

                               ‘Tis not so and even if it were true,

                               It would be since these arms of yours have used

                               Their dearest action in the tented field

                               And made thee the most valiant server to

Venice. You are the Duke’s hope for Cyprus.

OTHELLO:           What your fair lips speak is most true. Venice

                               Trusts in me to bring the infidel Turks

                               Far away from our possessions in Greece.

                               ‘Tis my job to maintain Christianity’s

                               Purity. ‘Tis my job to keep the dark

Turk stain from the perfect order Venice

has installed. The civilization we

                               Have brought about has to be preserved.

[pause]

                               Sweet wife, if the Duke calls me to duty,

                               I must eagerly lend myself. I must

                               Be ready to depart for Cyprus. But,

                               Know my heart is always in thy gentle

                               Candid hands. This wedding binds our lives.

                               And when I’ll be at sea, your love will save

                               Me from whatever tempest. Either from

A tempest at sea or a tempest of

Jealousy. Desdemon, you will keep me

living, you will keep me loving, when I’m

far away.

DESDEMONA: My Lord, you worry for no reason. If

                               The Duke desires you oversea, I

                               Shall come with thee. Nobody will object.

                               The Duke and my father will understand.

                               Othello, you are my husband, and so

                               Much duty as my mother showed to my

                               father, preferring him before her own,

So much I challenge that I may profess

Due to you, my lord. If I’m left behind,

A moth of peace, and you go to war,

The rites for which I love thee are bereft me.

Thus, no jealousy shall arise in thee

For my faults. I’ll love thee reverently.

I know what I want. I know for sure.

My heart is committed to being yours.

OTHELLO:           Seeing these words exit your mouth fills me

                               With great joy. Our love is stronger than this

                               War. Our will to be together will be

                               Certainly comprehended by Venice

                               And its most important men. The Duke and

                               The State owe my service respect. And your

                               Father loves me as he often invites

                               Me and still questions me the story of  

                               My life. They will allow me to carry

                               You beside me.

                               Venice will feast at our return as one.

                               Let’s worry no more, let’s enjoy our night,

                               Light is absent. Vision is impeded.

                               Darkness will hide our love. The night is ours.

DESDEMONA: This night is ours. It has wed me to you.

                               Now, my lord, I’m yours.

[Lights out. Exeunt





Rationale:

Considering the main themes and the drama’s development in Othello, I wrote an extra scene which portrays a conversation between Othello and Desdemona just after their escape and marriage. In Shakespeare’s ‘Othello’ Act I Scene I denounces Othello and Desdemona’s escape through a conversation between Iago and Roderigo. Othello’s character is indirectly presented, to the audience, as an old, immoral and ‘lascivious Moor’ by Iago. This rough image of Othello’s character is only partly negated in Scene II when Othello physically appears on stage.

                My purpose was to introduce the extra scene between Act I Scene I and II in order to immediately introduce Othello, with his noble qualities, to the play. Moreover, I believe that Othello and Desdemona’s marriage is central to the play as it is the event that will trigger all the action further on.

                In my scene I included the main themes of the play: the importance of fate, religion, love and jealousy, racism, war, the Venetian society’s hierarchy as a sense of order, vision and deception. Moreover I portrayed Othello as a lover: Othello loves Desdemona because she appreciates his stories and his mysterious past in the first place. This attitude explains Othello’s great self confidence. Desdemona, on the other side, commits herself to being obedient to her husband and following him to Cyprus, as in fact will happen.

                Through the use of language I conveyed the dichotomy between Desdemona and Othello. Through this I recalled the themes of racism and religion (dichotomy between heaven and hell).

                To link my scene more closely to the rest of the play and make it plausible and coherent with the rest of the drama I tried to use some of Shakespeare’s techniques. I used dramatic irony at times (lines 49,50, 65,72) , pathetic fallacy and the sea as an important symbol (lines 43 and 44) and foreshadowing: ‘Until you take all of my breath away’. Moreover I directly inserted the most pertinent quotes from the play to increase the hypothetical link between my scene and the actual play.

                Finally I decided that to make my scene fit in as best as possible I had to imitate Shakespeare’s language’s rhythm. Therefore I tried my best to write using blank verse. Each verse consisted of ten syllables (except some most important verses or verses with caesuras which break the monotony of the drama. Shakespeare sometimes interrupts the blank verse to ‘shake’ the pace of the drama) and I tried my best to alternate short and long syllables to create an iambus and thus Shakespeare’s typical unrhymed iambic pentameter. I believe that imitating such an extraordinary playwright’s language and style was quite challenging but I shaped my scene well to make it coherent and quite in context with the rest of the play.      

Creative writing: portrait of Fredrick Clegg (protagonist in 'The Collector') - by Alessandra Cestaro

Creative Writing: Portrait of Fredrick Clegg

                Two days ago I met the strangest client, probably, I’ve ever treated in my whole career.

It was dark outside and I was sure my wife was at home waiting for me. Probably dinner was already on the table and, as usual, I was late for it.

                ‘One last client for today, let him in’ I declared to my secretary. It is not at all simple being a psychologist. The alliance of yours and other people’s problems tightens around your neck, in a suffocating manner. Next thing you know: you are the hangman.

                I was too busy moaning about my job to notice the newcomer’s entry. He was sitting on the chair in front of me, but was taking no notice of me being enveloped in his own self, totally self-absorbed. He fiddled non-stop with his  nasty fleshy white pink, female like hands. He did so as if they were two opposite poles of a magnet: impossible to keep apart.

The way he bit his lips was egomaniacal, the battling of his nails was megalomaniac. These minimal gestures created a rhythm (the only sound antagonist to the silence in that moment) which initially appeared muddled. After a while instead I found myself hypnotized by the pattering of his niggling. Unconsciously I was scared by the mysticism of the situation: he had not spoken a word, he had not taken a breath, but I felt I had understood loads about the character situated in front of me.

                He lifted his too long, alien-shaped, visage and stared at me, still inevitably indulgent, and challenged me with his two black murky dungeons. They say the eyes are the mirror of the soul. Having encountered this man’s eyes has made me completely devoted and witness to this statement. If Dante Alighieri would have seen those eyeballs he would have described them when having to depict hell. 

                I penetrated right through him. His mind was a gymnast, an ungraceful and traumatized one however. It was terrified, incapable of walking on a beam: totally unbalanced. I am not an exorcist and it is not my business to free the devil out of the madman.

                ‘Shall I speak about myself?’ he murmured in a macabre chant, turning the room into an obscure, haze reality. His words were thick with mist, mysterious, menacing and they immobilized me. I don’t usually let clients speak at first. His eagerness to speak, however, showed her dagger-like fangs menacingly. It daunted at me monstrously and I was forced to let him vocalize. I muttered a ‘Yes’ to find the shock had deprived my lungs of air at its arrival.

                He started decanting irrationally. He was mindless, totally in a delirium. In front of me, I had an extremely vainglorious specimen. He justified every little bit of his existence, every action, every choice he’d ever taken.

                He was not all that strange, I confabulated with myself: the classic fanatic ‘ It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it purposefully’. I was starting to calm down encouraged that the victim I had in front of me only suffered from common complexes of inferiority and insecurity. I walked right behind his stream of consciousness as it marched on. I understood he’d certainly had an uneasy family situation, which is quite fashionable these days; I was not worried, not a bit. He was making his closing remarks when I got wind of: ‘ I had her as a guest for some months, then she died, I wanted to avoid that, but she didn’t. She didn’t like life and I did not want to go against her will. I loved her.’

                The black murky dungeons he had as eyes had now been lit by smoke blackened lamps. He continued with his self-commiserating mission for a while.  I could picture him embracing his own self so tight he would almost bring himself to bleed.  Pure ego-centrism and victim-attitude that was.

                I could not forget the phrase he’d said about himself being so kind in hosting this girl, (‘M’, for all I knew, was her name) who had then died. I went passed that and let him express his aberration. He lectured me about morality and I paid attention: it was as if he was vacuously reciting the Bible to me: reading it upside down, however. I’d never understood diffraction in my science classes back in college, but now it appeared so clear: this phenomenon was represented by his view of morality. He emptied his mind for the next hour: nothing much filled my room as he appeared to me as being bird-brained, blank, drained, void, completely inane.

                He appeared to me as a 2D character, totally flat. I could not accept this vision however, I knew he was hiding something, I saw it in his look: his soul was covered in scars of disturbia.  Delirium was devouring him. He was undextrous and unproficient, clumsy and cumbersome, gauche and gawky. He was just that piece that puzzle piece that fits nowhere within the great frame of society: he was an exclusion, he was different, incongruous, totally. He continued with his theatre production where he’d cast himself as the victim and one and only character.

                Outside the sun had fired itself for the day: everything was black, creating a perfect habitat for his dull black hair and eyes. My office has become so sinister that it would have suited perfectly as setting for a horror movie, and I myself was actually starting to feel part of one together with… I did not know his name, I thought to myself; I interrupted rapidly and asked him.

The leaves were rustling outside whilst the wailing wind tortured them. The door of my small old closet, behind me, creaked whilst the flames, in the fireplace of my bureau, crackled. The man in front of me spoke in assonance with the squealing of the closet’s door and began to lower his pace. He would not find peace in speaking of the dead girl. Suddenly he stopped. The brakes of a car in the distance screeched suddenly.

He whispered: ‘Ferdinand. No, excuse me, my name is Frederick Clegg’.

I was stunned, I had already heard about this murderous, lunatic, deranged, mean-spirited killer and kidnapper. I had heard of him from another client: Mrs Grey, she’d told me all a range of strange episodes concerning this character, who used to be her family’s neighbour. I managed to hold the twitches in my face and invited him to speak again. 

He spoke again about pictures he had taken of the dead girl. He was obsessed with photography and with his own style of pursuing this art. I stared for a second, unconsciously, at the saliva dripping from his mouth. It was similar to an animal’s, a hungry animal’s one. He looked as if he was possessed by Satan in that moment, as if he wanted to get the dead girl back to life and violate her in that moment. He was an unsatisfied animal. I could see that from the maliciousness evaporating from every single pore of his skin. F.C was mad at life and mad full-stop.

If I were to described his pathology I would say he was totally took over by senselessness and preposterousness, because the complexity of these two words reflect Frederick’s. If I was to draw his folly, I would illustrate a yawning mouth that envelops his brain and transforms his mind into a humid prison cell.

I was meditating on the subject I had in front of me and did not take care of the fact that silence had fallen: his malevolent voice was no longer describing his maladjusted mind.

‘ That’s all for today, I am tired’. He ordered. I gave my consensus with a minimal nod of my head. He stood up: he was tall, about six feet, but as I said before he was totally unbalanced. No gracefulness in his walk, he stomped towards the door, waving his tyrannical gangly arms right and left. I watched, disgusted, the invertebrate shifting his presence out of my office, finally. I had ingested much more hysteria than my usual daily ration and I was full, it had gone over the top. I gave a sigh of relief ,watching this last neurotic’s backside leave my room, when suddenly he turned at me again and questioned me randomly:

‘Are you father of a family?’

I had no more energy to seek the source of the crazy question. I answered automatically:

‘Yes, two girls: Melissa and Michaela’

‘Oh, what two wonderful names’ echoed his thundering speech.  

'Les Aveugles' de C.P. Baudelaire - comment de Alessandra Cestaro

Il est vrai que les poèmes de Baudelaire sont tous beaux à lire, car le poète en tant que personne a exprimé à travers ses écrits, et sa conception, le refus du monde matériel, et de la bourgeoisie qui s'installe en France pendant le 19e siècle. Le poème que je lis et relis est « Les Aveugles » qui fait part de la section ‘Tableaux Parisiens’.

A travers ce poème, le poète exprime toute sa solidarité par les ‘exclus’ de la société. Il semble partager avec eux, contre la ville qui est décrit comme superficielle, comme irrespectueuse vers ‘les aveugles’.  Aussi on peut voir clairement le dégoût qui le poète éprouve vers l’attachement des gens aux choses matérielles ; leur méchanceté, leur égoïsme.   

Initialement, Baudelaire sent un peu de peur en regardant les aveugles, mais de toute façon il les regarde avec ‘son âme’ pas avec ses yeux normalement et donc il partage avec eux affectueusement. En les regardant avec son âme, dans lui , il éprouve automatiquement un sentiment de solidarité.

Cette contemplation plus profonde de leur permet à Baudelaire d’en y trouver une beauté différente, spirituelle : il en y trouve un moyen pour s’évader, pour achever l’Idéal.

Ils représentent un moyen pour arriver au Idéal parce que ils n’ont pas la possibilité de voir, ils ont un sens active moins de tous les autres : par conséquence ils vivent moins la sensualité, la matérialité du monde réel et ils trouvent beaucoup plus facile d’en échapper, de fuyr du Spleen dévorant le monde et de se libérer en trouvant l’Idéal : « Leurs yeux […] restent levés au ciel ; on ne les voit jamais vers les pavés. »

Baudelaire l’ils voit comme supérieurs, comme plus puissants parce qu’ils échappent au Spleen du monde parce qu’ils n’en peuvent pas voir les horreurs. Ils sont décrit comme plus puissant : « Ils traversent ainsi le noir illimité, ce frère du silence éternel. » Ils ont tellement beaucoup de savoir, des connaissances que leurs yeux sont comparé aux « globes ténébreux ».  Leurs yeux semblent recueillir toutes les connaissances du globe.

Baudelaire se partage avec eux, contre la ville qui se burle d’eux parce qu’ils sont affreux au apparence physique. Baudelaire d’autre part trouve en eux la beauté spirituelle , la sublimité de l’Idéal. Le poète dénonce la matérialité et la superficialité des gens, de la société qui est réellement, seulement envie. Il comprendre, il a estimé pour les aveugles, pour les exclus de société plus généralement parce qu’ils ne sont pas victimes du vice, du perversion, du superficialité, du méchanceté. J’aime beaucoup ça réflexion de Baudelaire qui est exprimé merveilleusement à mon avis en ça poème : pour celles raisons j’aime bien, plus des autres peut-être le poème : ‘Les Aveugles’.      

Commento alla lirica 'Canto d'Autunno' di Charles Baudelaire - by Alessandra Cestaro

La lirica ‘Canto d’Autunno’ fa parte della sezione ‘Spleen et Ideal’ della raccolta ‘I fiori del male’. La collocazione della poesia premette automaticamente che al suo interno si potranno trovare sfumature dei temi, polarmente opposti, dell’Ideale o dello Spleen; tipicamente Baudelariani.

Lo Spleen è il malessere che rende tale ed unica la condizione dell’essere umano, è l’angoscia di vivere compenetrante la noia che affligge l’esistenza di questi. Baudelaire descrive la sensazione, con meticolosa definizione dei dettagli, nella lirica ‘Spleen LXVIII’. Inoltre, denuncia l’inevitabile sottomissione dell’uomo a questa ed il suo essere incapace di avvertirla consciamente. Lui stesso, differentemente dagli altri, è consapevole del dominio che lo ‘Spleen’ ha sulla vita umana e manifesta l’angoscia portatagli da tale situazione attraverso le sue opere.

In ‘Chante d’Autumne’ è resa evidente l’associazione, a questa stagione, di un’ identità in sè antistante: l’autunno come lo sbiadirsi del ricordo lontano dell’estate assieme al suo acclamare l’inverno incombente.  E’ quest’ultimo attributo dell’Autunno ad essere introdotto per primo alla lirica, dando così maggiore importanza all’angoscia, al mistero che arriverà con l’inverno. Minor rilievo è dato alla piacevolezza del ricordo (relativo all’estate) che assume le vesti di una nostalgia pungente, quasi fastidiosa.

L’antitesi dell’argomento trattato è evidente a priori nel titolo stesso. La parola ‘Canto’ non è preceduta da alcun articolo ed in questo modo vi è attribuita esclusività ed universalità, quasi ad indicare che è l’unica versione esistente di ‘canto’. Quest’ultimo, inoltre, è strettamente legato all’area semantica dell’udito, della musica che racchiude in sè le caratteristiche di armonia, di arte, di talento. Queste facoltà sono proprie anche della poesia, poichè essa origina proprio dalla musica. ‘Canto’ quindi si riferisce ad un componimento di forma ritmata che ha una funzione espressiva. La melodicità, la pace e la piacevolezza sono però in contrasto con le caratteristiche dell’Autunno. Questa stagione porta la morte della natura, è caratterizzato dalla carenza di luce, l’oscurità e la sensazione di avvilimento e cupezza ch’esse implicano.

L’antitesi ‘Canto d’Autunno’ implica quindi una partizione tra conformità ed avvilimento. Inoltre, l’assenza di un articolo a priori di ‘Canto’ porta a descrivere l’esistenza di quest’ultimo come possibile soltanto se trattante l’Autunno. L’idea trasmessa è quella di eritmia come fenomeno dipendente dalla desolazione. Il titolo introduce un componimento che avrà un fine espressivo di sensazioni quali il disagio, la malinconia, l’afflizione; nonchè costituenti dello ‘Spleen’.

Quest’angoscia è costante nella poesia ed immediatamente introdotta attraverso l’utilizzo del pronome quantitativo ‘poco’ nel primo verso. Questo indica la scarsità, che porta insoddisfazione, relativa al tempo mancante all’inverno (che è imminente). Inoltre, ‘ancora un poco’ allarma di un urgente arrivo, richiamando così l’attenzione del lettore una prima volta, per poi esagerare l’immedesimazione di questi all’interno della composizione. Questo avviene per mezzo dell’utilizzo della prima persona plurale come soggetto sottointeso: ‘c’immergeremo’. Per lo piu’, il verbo ‘immergersi’ è riflessivo, implicando così l’attività del soggetto nel compiere l’azione dello ‘sprofondare’, dell’ ‘affondare’, essendo quindi qualcosa di comunque difficilmente irriversibile e quindi di imprigionante, che avvolge interamente e con forza. L’inevitabilità di questo evento è sottolineata dalla scelta del verbo al futuro che la presenta come una premonizione, una visione.

La destinazione dell’inabissarsi precoce e premeditato è : ‘le fredde tenebre’. La sinestesia corrispondente a questo luogo accresce la partecipazione del lettore. L’aggettivo ‘fredde’ indica una percezione data dal tatto mentre ‘le tenebre’, nonostante la loro proprietà di oscurità sono associate all’area semantica della vista. La percezione avviene, quindi, attraverso una combinazione di sensi che ne migliora così l’efficienza. Le tenebre inoltre sono astratte poichè corrispondenti ‘al buio’ ma vi è data una delimitazione quantitativa dalla loro rappresentazione al plurale :’fredde tenebre’. Vengono, di conseguenza, avvertite come una molteplicità, una collettività di astrattaggine.  Inoltre non sono esperibili empiricamente e di conseguenza non portano ad alcun tipo di conoscenza. Quest’immagine da origine alla sensazione del mistero, tema importante che si sviluppa nella lirica. Questo motivo porta al radicarsi della sensazione dell’angoscia: le ‘fredde tenebre’ hanno come unica caratteristica attribuitavi, la gelidità (che porta disagio e fastidio) e l’astrattaggine (che rappresenta l’incomprensione e l’impossibilità di conoscenza). Il provare disagio e non comprenderne l’origine porta ad una sensazione di angoscia elevatissima.

                La ‘luce’ nel II° verso possiede le connotazioni di brillantezza, è sinonimo di conoscenza, di chiarezza ed è descritta come ‘viva’. L’antitesi che si forma tra questa e ‘le tenebre’ è evidente; per lo piu’ rendendo quest’ultime la rappresentazione della morte. Altri elementi soggiungono ad evidenziare il contrasto tra il tema della vita e quello della morte: l’estate (‘troppo breve’) corrispondente alla prima e l’inverno, a sua volta, alla seconda. Il ciclo delle stagioni è congruente con il ciclo esistenziale. Baudelaire estrapola da questo lo stato d’animo travagliato che è nesso all’arrivo della morte. Giunge ad una conclusione chiara: l’uomo è affannato dal decesso.

                Nonostante la netta opposizione tra vita e morte, questi due temi sono spesso accostati l’uno all’altro: l’elemento del legno riappare piu’ volte e non è altro che un albero abbattuto e quindi natura (sinonimo di vita) ormai morta. Ad accentuare lo spegnersi della vita che lascia spazio alla morte è la caduta del legno. Questo movimento è di tipo verticale: dall’alto verso il basso, ed è un lasciarsi andare, un darsi pervinti, un arrendersi innanzi alla morte (superiore al suo opposto) in questo caso. Il medesimo movimento verrà ripreso nel IX° verso: ‘ceppo che cade’ rendendo piu’ evidente l’abbattimento che è avvenuto dell’albero (un ceppo è parte di un tronco che è stato abbacchiato) e quindi sottolineando il sorpasso che la morte ha sulla vita.

                Grazie a questo concetto essenziale ,costituente il tema principale, si  crea un climax. Le immagini relative al legno sono quelle de: ‘la legna’, ‘ogni ceppo’, ‘dell’ariete’ ed infine ‘della bara’. Il ceppo sottolinea la demolizione dell’albero, l’ariete è un’arma da guerra che quindi ha la funzione di provocare la morte e la bara è semplice simbolo di una morte avvenuta. Il climax quindi, ha l’effetto di un avvicinarsi graduale (con la progressione della lirica) alla morte; si evidenzia così l’angoscia che avanza in modo lento e regolare ed è quindi piu’ sofferta e cruda. A rinforzare l’ascesa verso la morte vi è l’asindeto dei versi V e VI che descrivono le caratteristiche piu’ esiziali dell’ estinguersi della vita.

                Inoltre la similitudine tra ‘inverno’ ed ‘inferno polare’ è data dall’accostamento ad entrambe della medesima caratteristica: il freddo; ed anche dall’assonanza e la parziale consonanza (‘hiver’ , ‘enfer’ ) tra le due parole. Oltretutto, l’inverno rappresenta la morte,                attraverso tutta la lirica, e così anche l’inferno (semplicemente per sua natura). Le evidente corrispondenze di significato e le somiglianze tra varie parole, che riportano al concetto di morte, dimostrano che quest’ultima è onnipresente ed invincibile: non vi è via di scampo; ancora,  s’incrementa così l’angoscia. Inoltre ‘inferno polare’ è un ossimoro che descrive la morte sia come ardente (tramite l’immagine relativa dell’inferno) ed anche ‘polare’ e quindi gelida. Cosi’ facendo la morte è vestita di caratteristiche estremamente opposte e acquisisce moltissima importanza poichè sembra ricoprire tutto (da un’estremità all’altra), essere ovunque. Questa stessa immagine è già presente nei versi precedenti (VII e VIII) che descrivono anche il cuore del poeta stesso come sia rosso (quindi fuocoso, scottante) sia gelido. Il cuore risulta quindi corrispondente all’ ’inferno polare’ (che non è altro che la morte stessa). Così, Baudelaire, denuncia la sensazione di morte dentro di sè, nel suo cuore. Una morte talmente forte da esser capace di divampare nel cuore: simbolo dell’essenza vitale per antonomasia. Questa forza è accentuata e resa molto piu’ concreta, ‘viva’ in qualche modo, poichè ‘il mio cuore sarà solo un blocco rosso e gelido’ è una collettività di:  una metafora, un’ossimoro ed una sinestesia. La sovrapposizione di cotante figure retoriche esagera incredibilmente la sensazione di morte, quasi tritonica, ch’egli prova in sè.

                Inoltre, l’onnipresenza della morte è resa insistente attraverso il ritmo e la fonetica della lirica. Innanzi tutto i versi riferiti alla vita sono molto piu’ brevi e terminano con suoni netti, rispetto a quelli che trattano l’elemento contrastante (notabile soprattutto nel I° verso). E’ evidente che Baudelaire preferisce accordare rumori secchi, lugubri ‘coups’ e ‘chocs’ alla sua poesia. Oltretutto, la ripetizione della presenza di un’eco, prima nominata nel verso X e poi ripresa con un expolitio nel verso XVI (viene fatto un ritocco e viene aggiunto un dettaglio per meglio descrivere il suono : ‘un’eco di trapasso’.) accentua l’onnipresenza e l’imminenza della ‘fine’.

                Baudelaire prova immensa solidarietà per la condizione umana, che è inoltre la sua medesima, dominata dallo Spleen. La lirica ‘Chant d’Automne’ ha una grande musicalità se letta in lingua originale, e sembra quasi essere un inno, una venerazione. Il poeta fa molte previsioni quanto all’inverno imminente, rappresentante la morta. Egli sembra invocare la morte, quasi come se questa fosse l’unico vero mezzo d’evasione reale, l’unica vera via di liberazione contro lo Spleen. L’angoscia espressa costantemente ed ossessivamente attraverso il ritmo, i simboli, la fonetica, le immagini si scopre poi esser relativa alla condizione esistenziale, alla vita stessa. Baudelaire vede la vita come un susseguirsi di stagioni: un ciclo continuo che illude, sembra offrire cambiamenti, liberazione , ma è soltanto ingannevole. La forza, la superiorità, l’onnipresenza della morte nella poesia permette di capire la visione del poeta: la morte è presente in ogni stagione, continuamente, inesorabilmente, poiché la morte è la vita stessa. È morte quella condizione esistenziale che è ‘ennui’, condanna eterna alla noia: la morte è la condizione di vita umana affetta dallo Spleen.