The Penguin Book of French Poetry
Page 60
– “Et si c’était à refaire
Je referais ce chemin…”
La voix qui monte des fers
Parle pour les lendemains.
– ‘And if it were to be done again I would take this road once more…’ The voice that rises from the chains speaks for the days to come.
‘Just one word: the door will yield, it will open and you are out! Just one word: the executioner is dispossessed… Sesame! End your woes!
Just one word, just one lie to transform your destiny… Dream, dream, dream, dream of the sweetness of the mornings!’
– ‘And if it were to be done again I would take this road once more…’ The voice that rises from the chains speaks to the men of tomorrow.
“J’ai dit tout ce qu’on peut dire:
L’exemple du Roi Henri…
Un cheval pour mon empire…
Une messe pour Paris…
Rien à faire.” Alors qu’ils partent!
Sur lui retombe son sang!
C’était son unique carte:
Périsse cet innocent!
Et si c’était à refaire
Referait-il ce chemin?
La voix qui monte des fers
Dit: “Je le ferai demain.
Je meurs et France demeure
Mon amour et mon refus.
O mes amis, si je meurs,
Vous saurez pourquoi ce fut!”
‘I have said all that can be said: the example of King Henry1… A horse for my empire… Paris is worth a mass…
Nothing to be done.’ Then let them go! Let his blood gush over him! It was his only card: perish this innocent man!
And if it were to be done again would he take this road once more? The voice that rises from the chains says: ‘I will do it tomorrow.
I am dying and France remains my love and my refusal. O my friends, if I am dying, you know why it was done!’
Ils sont venus pour le prendre.
Ils parlent en allemand.
L’un traduit: “Veux-tu te rendre?”
Il répète calmement:
-“Et si c’était à refaire
Je referais ce chemin,
Sous vos coups, chargé de fers,
Que chantent les lendemains!”
Il chantait, lui, sous les balles,
Des mots: “… sanglant est levé…”
D’une seconde rafale,
Il a fallu l’achever.
Une autre chanson française
A ses lèvres est montée,
Finissant la Marseillaise
Pour toute l’humanité!
They have come to take him away. They speak in German. One translates: ‘Will you surrender?’ Calmly he repeats:
–‘And if it were to be done again I would take this road once more, under your blows, weighed down with chains, let the days to come sing!’
He sang, that man, under the hail of bullets, words: ‘… bloodstained standard is raised…’1 They had to fire a second burst to finish him off.
Another French song2 rose to his lips, completing the Marseillaise for all humanity!
Robert Desnos
(1900–1945)
Born and brought up in Paris, Desnos worked briefly as a journalist before being called up for military service in Morocco. While on leave in 1922 he met Breton and Aragon, who realized with excitement that Desnos was ahead of them in the transcription of dreams. He already had a remarkable ability to drop into ‘hypnotic sleep’, and to practise ‘automatic’ talking and writing with great immediacy and power. Not only that, but the products of his subconscious also had a strongly lyrical and haunting, incantatory quality.
He is thus a key figure in the early days of Surrealism, his vital role acknowledged by Breton even after Desnos had broken with the movement in 1929–30, unhappy with its growing orthodoxy and with what he felt was an overdone, increasingly literary cult of the image. On a personal level he remained in essence a Surrealist, pursuing liberty and transcendence through love, sustaining an ‘émerveillement sensible’ in his response to experience, finding the surreal in the real. Spontaneous, generous and optimistic, he lived life to the full, and lived the adventure of language to the full in his brilliantly controlled free verse ‘élans’ and hypnotic prose-poems. His poetry is, by his own description, both ‘délirante et lucide’.
Having joined the Resistance in 1940, he was arrested by the Gestapo in 1944 and imprisoned in a series of concentration camps. Just after the Liberation in 1945 he died of typhus and starvation at Terezin in Czechoslovakia.
A good deal of his earliest work is based on untranslatable word-play (‘play’ in terms of physical elasticity as well as in its conventional sense). The best-known example is probably ‘Rrose Sélavy’. Desnos surrenders to sound and spelling as autonomous forces, to a play of phonemes, homonyms and letter-substitution which can of its own accord generate images and concepts. Opinions vary on the artificiality or artistic validity of these productions.
From 1926 onwards love becomes a major theme and an animating force, a means to originality of vision and expression, a stimulus to the surrealistic imagination, as it is with Eluard. There is a tragic element too, in that the woman is often not present in a real sense, and the relationship is often virtual or fantasized rather than actual. But there is no coldness or Laforguian irony in this tension; even in failure Desnos is an enhancer of life.
In the 1930s he consciously sought a more popular and directly communicative mode of poetry, and also broadcast frequently on radio. His wartime verse, though important in its time and still characterized by original images, is more conventional in form and less memorable than the earlier work concentrated mainly in Corps et biens (1930).
Other major volumes: C’est les bottes de sept lieues cette phrase: ‘Je me vois’ 1926, Les Sans Cou 1934, Fortunes 1942, Etat de veille 1943, Contrée 1944, Trente Chantefables pour les enfants sages 1944, Calixto 1962.
J’ai tant rêvé de toi
J’ai tant rêvé de toi que tu perds ta réalité.
Est-il encore temps d’atteindre ce corps vivant et de baiser sur cette bouche la naissance de la voix qui m’est chère?
J’ai tant rêvé de toi que mes bras habitués en étreignant ton ombre à se croiser sur ma poitrine ne se plieraient pas au contour de ton corps, peut-être.
Et que, devant l’apparence réelle de ce qui me hante et me gouverne depuis des jours et des années, je deviendrais une ombre sans doute.
O balances sentimentales.
I Have Dreamed so much of you
I have dreamed so much of you that you are losing your reality.
Is there still time to reach that living body and to kiss on that mouth the birth of the voice that is precious to me?
I have dreamed so much of you that my arms which as they embrace your shadow habitually fold across my breast would not bend to the contour of your body, perhaps.
And so much that, faced with the real appearance of that which has haunted me and ruled me for days and years, I would become a shadow I dare say.
O scales of feeling.
J’ai tant rêvé de toi qu’il n’est plus temps sans doute que je m’éveille. Je dors debout, le corps exposé à toutes les apparences de la vie et de l’amour et toi, la seule qui compte aujourd’hui pour moi, je pourrais moins toucher ton front et tes lèvres que les premières lèvres et le premier front venu.
J’ai tant rêvé de toi, tant marché, parlé, couché avec ton fantôme qu’il ne me reste plus peut-être, et pourtant, qu’à être fantôme parmi les fantômes et plus ombre cent fois que l’ombre qui se promène et se promènera allégrement sur le cadran solaire de ta vie.
I have dreamed so much of you that there is no more time I dare say for me to awaken. I am sleeping on my feet, my body exposed to all the appearances of life and love and you, the only one who matters today for me, I could less readily touch your forehead and your lips than the lips and forehead of the first newcomer.
I have dreamed so much of
you, walked, talked and slept so much with your phantom that all I have left perhaps, after all, is to be a phantom among phantoms and a hundred times more shadow than the shadow that moves and will move joyfully on the sundial of your life.
La Voix de Robert Desnos
Si semblable à la fleur et au courant d’air
au cours d’eau aux ombres passagères
au sourire entrevu ce fameux soir à minuit
si semblable à tout au bonheur et à la tristesse
c’est le minuit passé dressant son torse nu au-dessus des beffrois et des peupliers
j’appelle à moi ceux-là perdus dans les campagnes
les vieux cadavres les jeunes chênes coupés
les lambeaux d’étoffe pourrissant sur la terre et le linge séchant aux alentours des fermes
j’appelle à moi les tornades et les ouragans
les tempêtes les typhons les cyclones
les raz de marée
les tremblements de terre
j’appelle à moi la fumée des volcans et celle des cigarettes
The Voice of Robert Desnos
So like the flower and the draught of air / the water course with its 1 fleeting shadows / the smile glimpsed at midnight on that memorable evening / so like everything like happiness and sadness / it is midnight gone by raising its naked torso above the belfries and the poplars / I summon to me those lost in open country / the old corpses the felled young oaks / the shreds of fabric rotting on the earth and the linen drying around the farms / I summon to me the tornadoes and the hurricanes / the tempests the typhoons the cyclones / the tidal waves / the earthquakes / I summon to me the smoke of volcanoes and that of cigarettes / the smoke rings of extravagant cigars / I summon to me loves and lovers / I summon to me the living and the dead / I summon the gravediggers I summon the assassins / I summon the executioners I summon the pilots the stonemasons and the architects / the assassins / I summon the flesh / I summon the woman I love / I summon the woman I love / I summon the woman I love / midnight triumphant unfolds its satin wings and alights on my bed / the belfries and the poplars bend to my desire / the former crumble the former collapse / those lost in open country find each other by finding me / the old corpses revive at my voice / the felled young oaks clothe themselves in greenery / the shreds of fabric rotting in the earth and on the earth / flap at my voice like the banner of rebellion / the linen drying around the farms dresses adorable women whom I do not adore / who come to me / obey my voice and adore me / the tornadoes whirl in my mouth / the hurricanes redden my lips if that is possible / the tempests roar at my feet / the typhoons dishevel me if that is possible / I receive the kisses of ecstasy of the cyclones / the tidal waves die away as they reach my feet / the earthquakes do not shake me but bring all things crashing down at my command / the smoke of volcanoes clothes me in its vapours / and that of cigarettes perfumes me / and the smoke rings of cigars wreathe me / the lovers and the love so long pursued find refuge within me / the lovers listen to my voice / the living and the dead submit and hail me the first coldly the second in intimacy / the gravediggers abandon the scarcely hollowed tombs and declare that I alone can command their nocturnal toils / the assassins hail me / the executioners invoke the revolution / invoke my voice / invoke my name / the pilots steer by my eyes / the stonemasons are dizzy as they listen to me / the architects set off for the desert / the assassins bless me / the flesh quivers at my summons /
les ronds de fumée des cigares de luxe
j’appelle à moi les amours et les amoureux
j’appelle à moi les vivants et les morts
j’appelle les fossoyeurs j’appelle les assassins
j’appelle les bourreaux j’appelle les pilotes les maçons et les architectes
les assassins
j’appelle la chair
j’appelle celle que j’aime
j’appelle celle que j’aime
j’appelle celle que j’aime
le minuit triomphant déploie ses ailes de satin et se pose sur mon lit
les beffrois et les peupliers se plient à mon désir
ceux-là s’écroulent ceux-là s’affaissent
les perdus dans la campagne se retrouvent en me trouvant
les vieux cadavres ressuscitent à ma voix
les jeunes chênes coupés se couvrent de verdure
les lambeaux d’étoffe pourrissant dans la terre et sur la terre
claquent à ma voix comme l’étendard de la révolte
le linge séchant aux alentours des fermes habille d’adorables femmes que je n’adore pas
qui viennent à moi
obéissent à ma voix et m’adorent
les tornades tournent dans ma bouche
les ouragans rougissent s’il est possible mes lèvres
les tempêtes grondent à mes pieds
les typhons s’il est possible me dépeignent
je reçois les baisers d’ivresse des cyclones
les raz de marée viennent mourir à mes pieds
les tremblements de terre ne m’ébranlent pas mais font tout crouler à mon ordre
la fumée des volcans me vêt de ses vapeurs
et celle des cigarettes me parfume
et les ronds de fumée des cigares me couronnent
les amours et l’amour si longtemps poursuivis se réfugient en moi
les amoureux écoutent ma voix
les vivants et les morts se soumettent et me saluent les premiers froidement les seconds familièrement
les fossoyeurs abandonnent les tombes à peine creusées et
déclarent que moi seul puis commander leurs nocturnes travaux
les assassins me saluent
les bourreaux invoquent la révolution
invoquent ma voix
invoquent mon nom
les pilotes se guident sur mes yeux
les maçons ont le vertige en m’écoutant
les architectes partent pour le désert
les assassins me bénissent
la chair palpite à mon appel
celle que j’aime ne m’écoute pas
celle que j’aime ne m’entend pas
celle que j’aime ne me répond pas.
the woman I love is not listening to me / the woman I love is not hearing me / the woman I love is not answering me.
Destinée arbitraire
à Georges Malkine
Voici venir le temps des croisades.
Par la fenêtre fermée les oiseaux s’obstinent à parler
comme les poissons d’aquarium.
A la devanture d’une boutique
une jolie femme sourit.
Bonheur tu n’es que cire à cacheter
et je passe tel un feu follet.
Un grand nombre de gardiens poursuivent
un inoffensif papillon échappé de l’asile.
Il devient sous mes mains pantalon de dentelle
et ta chair d’aigle
ô mon rêve quand je vous caresse!
Demain on enterrera gratuitement
on ne s’enrhumera plus
on parlera le langage des fleurs
on s’éclairera de lumières inconnues à ce jour.
Mais aujourd’hui c’est aujourd’hui.
Je sens que mon commencement est proche
Arbitrary Destiny
for Georges Malkine
The time of the crusades is approaching. Beyond the closed window the birds persist in speaking like aquarium fish. In a shop front a pretty woman smiles. Happiness you are merely sealing wax and I pass like a will-o’-the-wisp. Numerous warders pursue an inoffensive butterfly that has slipped out of the asylum. It becomes within my hands lace underwear and your eagle flesh O my dream when I caress you! Tomorrow there will be free burials we will get no more colds we will speak the language of the flowers we will be illumined by lights unknown to this day. But today is today. I sense that my beginning is near like corn in June. Constables put the handcuffs on me. The statues turn away without obeying. On
their plinths I will inscribe insults and the name of my worst enemy. In the ocean yonder just beneath the surface the sharks recoil before a woman’s beautiful body. They rise to the surface to admire themselves in the air and dare not bite into the breasts the delectable breasts.
pareil aux blés de juin.
Gendarmes passez-moi les menottes.
Les statues se détournent sans obéir.
Sur leur socle j’inscrirai des injures et le nom de mon pire ennemi.
Là-bas dans l’océan entre deux eaux
un beau corps de femme fait reculer les requins.
Ils montent à la surface se mirer dans l’air
et n’osent pas mordre aux seins
aux seins délicieux.
Desespoir du soleil
Quel bruit étrange glissait le long de la rampe d’escalier au bas de laquelle rêvait la pomme transparente.
Les vergers étaient clos et le sphinx bien loin de là s’étirait dans le sable craquant de chaleur dans la nuit de tissu fragile.
Despair of the Sun
What strange sound went gliding along the banister at whose foot the transparent apple was dreaming.
The orchards were enfolded by night and the sphinx far away from there stretched its limbs in the sand that crackled with heat in the darkness of tenuous fabric.
Ce bruit devait-il durer jusqu’à l’éveil des locataires, ou s’évader dans l’ombre du crépuscule matinal? Le bruit persistait. Le sphinx aux aguets l’entendait depuis des siècles et désirait l’éprouver. Aussi ne faut-il pas s’étonner de voir la silhouette souple du sphinx dans les ténèbres de l’escalier. Le fauve égratignait de ses griffes les marches encaustiquées. Les sonnettes devant chaque porte marquaient de lueurs la cage de l’ascenseur et le bruit persistant sentant venir celui qu’il attendait depuis des millions de ténèbres s’attacha à la crinière et brusquement l’ombre pâlit.