They are madmen. These men bend words in ways I never thought was possible. I don't want to speculate about what the poems meant, about themes or w/e. I don't go to muesums to analyze brushstrokes for hidden meanings; I go because the colors are pretty. That's me, and you might disagree, but I just wanted to let you know I don't have a point writing this (other than "I thought these poems were beautiful.").
I loved the language in "Drunken Boat" and in "The Bridges" espeically. I don't know where to begin so I'm going to focus on this particular stanza: "Sweeter than sourest apple-flesh to children,/Green water seeped into my pine-wood hull/And washed away blue wine stains, vomitings,/Scattering rudder, anchor, man's lost rule..." That first line stuck with me, I'm not sure why but I keep comming back to it; the sensory details really sell it for me. I think the reason I like Rimbaud so much is his passionate language and the way he turns emotions into unexpected images. I like that nothing in these lines is expected. Every one of his words is powerful and I think this strong control of words shows that he's a very tallented, very ballsy poet. I love the way he uses a series of objects to set a mood and create an image; like blue-wine stains, vomitings...rudder, anchor, man's lost rule. I'm not saying he only does this in these 4 lines but I'm only writing about these 4 lines at the momment. I love the "sourest apple-flesh" the "green water" and "the blue wine stains" I think that when he uses colors and adjectives it's effective; I mean I think ever word is powerful...
Ok one thing: I love when people uses lists of images. For example, in one poem Paublo Neruda opens with the line "Hot moon, fleshy apple, full woman" and that's just the bomb; it's direct, it's subtle, it wastes no line-space. Neruda uses lists like this quite a bit in his work.
Baudelaire also uses unexpected language in the excerpts from "Paris Spleen." I love music of his work which comes through even in translation, for instance, "Where only the Boucher girls in pale pastels/Can breathe the uncorked scents and faded smells." His stuff is beautiful; I love the line "Slowly the land is rolled/Sleepward under a sea of gentle fire."