Bernard Mathieu describes A Season in Hell as "a terribly enigmatic poem", and a "brilliantly near-hysterical quarrel between the poet and his 'other'." [1] :p.1 He identifies two voices at work in the surreal narrative: "the two separate parts of Rimbaud's schizoid personality—the 'I' who is a seer/poet and the 'I' who is the incredibly hard-nosed widow Rimbaud's peasant son. One voice is wildly in love with the miracle of light and childhood, the other finds all these literary shenanigans rather damnable and 'idiotic'." [1] :pp.1–2 How I suffer, how I scream: I truly suffer. There's nothing I wouldn't contemplate doing now, burdened as I am with the contempt of the most contemptible of hearts." (p12)

I’ve the whitish blue eye of my Gallic ancestors, the narrow skull, and the awkwardness in combat. I find my clothing as barbarous as theirs. But I don’t butter my hair. For I is another. If the brass wakes the trumpet, it’s not its fault. That’s obvious to me: I witness the unfolding of my own thought: I watch it, I hear it: I make a stroke with the bow: the symphony begins in the depths, or springs with a bound onto the stage.If God would grant me celestial, aerial, calm, prayer – like the ancient saints – the Saints! Strong ones! The anchorites, artists for whom there’s no longer need! Yıllar önce okudum ama Paris Sıkıntısı beni ne kadar etkilemişti ve ben o zamanlar onun düzyazı şiiri olduğunu dahi bilmiyordum. haha. A Season in Hell” is infinitely more meaningful, and powerfully sad, after having read the details of Rimbaud’s life and exit from crafting poetry—which he considered himself a failure and reject among his peers at doing. Edmund White’s bio of Rimbaud shows him in full portrait—a restless, rebellious genius known for drinking absinthe and bashing around in cities for weeks on end, and lesser known for his solo travels on foot, walking through war-torn France and Africa hundreds of miles at a time to thrive in business, one time receiving a diagnosis from a doctor that he had walked so much “it caused his ribs to tear through his skin.” Ah, that life of my childhood, the highway in all weathers, supernaturally sober, more disinterested than the finest of beggars, proud of having neither country nor friends, how foolish it was. – And only now do I realise!

A Season in Hell ( French: Une Saison en Enfer) is an extended poem in prose written and published in 1873 by French writer Arthur Rimbaud. It is the only work that was published by Rimbaud himself. The book had a considerable influence on later artists and poets, including the Surrealists. It’s the vision of numbers. We advance towards the Spirit. It’s quite certain: it’s oracular, what I say. I know, and unaware how to express myself without pagan words, I’d rather be mute. I accustomed myself to pure hallucination: I saw quite clearly a mosque instead of a factory, a college of drummers consisting of angels, a salon in the depths of a lake; monsters, mysteries; a vaudeville title conjured up terrors before me.I’ll return with iron limbs; dark skin, a furious look: from my mask I’ll be judged as of mighty race. I’ll have gold: I’ll be idle and brutal. Women care for those fierce invalids returning from hot countries. I’ll be involved in politics. Saved.