Rimbaud in Ethiopia; Harar; The Gates of Harar

Harar Scenes circa 1973-1974:

Harar Catholic Mission Father (mid 1970s)

Using the pendulum for diagnosis of sickness and symptoms

Rimbaud's Supposed House in Harar

"The Bishop of Harar, the famous Monsignor Jerome...turning the name over in his mind, remembered that he had, in fact, known Rimbaud quite well; a young man with a beard, who was in some trouble with his leg; a very serious man who did not go out much; he was always worried about business; not a good Catholic, though he had died at peace with the Church, the bishop understood,at Marseille. He used to live with a native woman in a little house, now demolished, in the square".
Evelyn Waugh, Remote People, 1931.

Verlaine's homage to the dead Rimbaud, a poem on a sketch by Isabelle Rimbaud, of Rimbaud in Ethiopian costume.

Rimbaud, on his Journey to Harar and Abyssinia (in French)

Rimbaud, A Documentary

Isabelle Rimbaud, on her brother (in French)

More about Isabelle Rimbaud

Letter of Isabelle Rimbaud to the Fathers of the Mission at Harar:

Tezeta Ethiopia blog


Arthur Rimbaud, Une saison en enfer:

"Ma journée est faite; je quitte l’Europe…les climats perdus me tanneront.

Je reviendrai, avec des membres de fer, la peau sombre, l’oeil furieux: sur mon masque, on me jugera d’une race forte. J’aurai de l’or: je serai oisif et brutal. Les femmes soignent ces féroces infirmes retour des pays chauds. Je serai mêlé aux affaires politiques. Sauvé.

Maintenant je suis maudit, j’ai horreur de la patrie. Le meilleur, c’est un sommeil bien ivre, sur la grève".


"Alas, what do these ceaseless comings and goings profit me, these adventures, these hardships amongst foreign races, these languages with which I fill my mind?" Rimbaud, Letter to his Mother, 6 May, 1883.

A poem/song I wrote in Harrar (Harar):


"Arthur Rimbaud: The Gates of Harrar"


From the mountains of Troodos

to the hills of Entoto

and down to the Ogaden,

From Soho to Shoa is not very far,

if you've passed through the gates of Harrar.



I met him once in Cyprus,

he just laughed and asked after Verlaine;

I met him again in Harrar,

crying out with a crippling pain.

I met him for the last time in France,

after he'd lost his leg.



"Never again will I ride a horse,

never again shall I spin or dance.

Oh take me back to Harrar,

where I shall not have to beg,

amber and musk must be cheap there now;

I'll make a fortune, then take a wife,

I'll have a son, and teach him all I've learned of life..."



From the mountains of Troodos

to the hills of Entoto

and down to the Ogaden.

From Soho to Shoa is not very far,

if you've passed through the gates of Harrar.

Copyright Jim Potts

Rimbaud Museum in France - Charleville-Mézières


The most notorious gun in French literature, Christie's