Baudelaire was born at Paris and die at the same place. He took a really hard live way due to he used to
drink like a fish and used to get out with some person who weren't a good infuence to him.
So he had to start to drink, and drug to stand living.
Jeanne Duval was his lover for a long time furthermore she was the inspiration for his most famous masterpiece, The flowers of evil ( Le fleurs du mal in French ) in which piece he wrote about the beauty
and the rot both together, that anyone would say:- Baudy, are you crazy?
The answer is obviously not.
Baudelaire has made famous by that, because he mixed all the sentiments up on his poems. He knew
who get the perfect harmony between the ideal landscape and the most disgusting thing. For exemple
on one of his poems he's going with her couple Jeanne for the field and suddenly they find a smelly
carrion and Baudelaire tells her that she will end that way, being a carrion.
That's why Baudelaire has that reputation, not for have written a tender, softly love poems but for have the capacity for take a "normally" feelings (i.e. love) and turn it into something really nasty.
Furthermore Baudelaire was a gotic man who never liked to enjoy the society, and the crowds. He'd
rather to stand all by himself at home writting poems about cliffs, solitude, and shadows.
And here all I think about one of my favourite romantic poets of the 19th century; I hope you liked
and I add so one of my favourite poems of him.
Souvent, pour s'amuser, les hommes d'équipage
Prennent des albatros, vastes oiseaux des mers,
Qui suivent, indolents compagnons de voyage,
Le navire glissant sur les gouffres amers.
À peine les ont-ils déposés sur les planches,
Que ces rois de l'azur, maladroits et honteux,
Laissent piteusement leurs grandes ailes blanches
Comme des avirons traîner à côté d'eux.
Ce voyageur ailé, comme il est gauche et veule!
Lui, naguère si beau, qu'il est comique et laid!
L'un agace son bec avec un brûle-gueule,
L'autre mime, en boitant, l'infirme qui volait!
Le Poète est semblable au prince des nuées
Qui hante la tempête et se rit de l'archer;
Exilé sur le sol au milieu des huées,
Ses ailes de géant l'empêchent de marcher.
Sometimes for sport the men of loafing crews
Snare the great albatrosses of the deep,
The indolent companions of their cruise
As through the bitter vastitudes they sweep.
Scarce have they fished aboard these airy kings
When helpless on such unaccustomed floors,
They piteously droop their huge white wings
And trail them at their sides like drifting oars.
How comical, how ugly, and how meek
Appears this soarer of celestial snows!
One, with his pipe, teases the golden beak,
One, limping, mocks the cripple as he goes.
The Poet, like this monarch of the clouds,
Despising archers, rides the storm elate.
But, stranded on the earth to jeering crowds,
The great wings of the giant baulk his gait.
— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)