Ô mon très cher amour, toi mon oeuvre et que j’aime,

A nice love sonnet from Apollinaire in which the poet’s strength of feeling competes for attention with his erudition and somewhat unusual poetic point of view. The erudition comes right up front with the title, and sends the reader to either try and remember a bit of schoolboy Latin, or more likely these days to write a query in Google translate. Whatever the route, we find that the poet’s lover is revealed through the agency of a soothsayer (forsooth…) And the poet’s unconventional point of view is that he has actually created his lover, a bit like a sculptor creates a statue and like a poet creates a magical poem. That reminds me of Shakespeare, in many of whose sonnets he makes the preservation of his lovers youth and beauty the responsibility and achievement of the poet.

Apollinaire

Per te prasentit aruspex

Ô mon très cher amour, toi mon oeuvre et que j’aime,
A jamais j’allumai le feu de ton regard,
Je t’aime comme j’aime une belle oeuvre d’art,
Une noble statue, un magique poème.

Tu seras, mon aimée, un témoin de moi-même.
Je te crée à jamais pour qu’après mon départ,
Tu transmettes mon nom aux hommes en retard
Toi, la vie et l’amour, ma gloire et mon emblème;

Et je suis soucieux de ta grande beauté
Bien plus que tu ne peux toi-même en être fière:
C’est moi qui l’ai conçue et faite tout entière.

Ainsi, belle oeuvre d’art, nos amours ont été
Et seront l’ornement du ciel et de la terre,
Ô toi, ma créature et ma divinité !

From <http://manfred.b.free.fr/apollinaire/apollinaire03.htm&gt;

The first and last lines of the sonnet are symmetrically addressed to the poet’s lover, but both underscore the central role of the poet himself in creating her as if she is a work of art, or a divinity (or a divinity represented in a work of art I suppose. And her role is not just to receive the poet’s homage as an idealised version of herself, but also, and perhaps more importantly, to act as a vehicle conveying Apollinaire’s talent to posterity (lines 6 and 7).

In fact, the idea of the poet’s lover as a woman of flesh and blood, capable of returning his feelings, never takes off here, here existence is solely dependent on the whim and talent of Apollinaire himself.

Somehow I doubt that this was one of her favourite poems.

The Poetry Dude

L’amour est libre il n’est jamais soumis au sort

This poem from Apollinaire is somewhere between a love poem and a war poem, both an expression of his feelings for the poet’s lover, Lou, and a reminder of one of the effects of war, soldiers being parted from their loved ones wondering if they will ever see them again. (And in World War 1, millions from both sides never came back)

The title, Adieu, expresses this uncertainty, it is the word for goodbye used when that goodbye might be definitive, irrevocable, rather than the more usual Au revoir, which is goodbye with the expectation of another meeting soon.

So here we have the poet saying goodbye to his lover, Lou, as they part after time together in Nimes, in the south of France. She is returning to Paris, he to his artillery regiment. It is in February 1915.

Adieu !

L’amour est libre il n’est jamais soumis au sort
O Lou le mien est plus fort encor que la mort
Un cœur le mien te suit dans ton voyage au Nord

Lettres Envoie aussi des lettres ma chérie
On aime en recevoir dans notre artillerie
Une par jour au moins une au moins je t’en prie

Lentement la nuit noire est tombée à présent
On va rentrer après avoir acquis du zan
Une deux trois A toi ma vie A toi mon sang

La nuit mon coeur la nuit est très douce et très blonde
O Lou le ciel est pur aujourd’hui comme une onde
Un cœur le mien te suit jusques au bout du monde

L’heure est venue Adieu l’heure de ton départ
On va rentrer Il est neuf heures moins le quart
Une deux trois Adieu de Nîmes dans le Gard

4 fév. 1915 

From <http://bacdefrancais.net/lou.php&gt;

The first line expresses the intent of the poet to reinforce his message of love – he says love is a product of free will, not of chance or destiny. Since love is a product of choice, it has that much stronger meaning. And the next two lines of this first stanza make that sentiment personal – Apollinaire says his own love is stronger than death; his heart will be with Lou as she travels back to the North.

The second stanza again links the notions of love with the reality of being a serving soldier. The poet asks for her to send him letters, one a day, at least one a day, he begs her. The repetition of “au moins” increases the intensity of feeling, adding urgency and pathos to the end of the line, “je t’en prie”. Anything to remind the soldier that there is a world of love and comfort away from the danger and discomfort of life on the front line.

In the third stanza we return to the scene of parting as the night falls, and the poet dedicates his life and his blood to his lover. I don’t know exactly the meaning of “zan”, but it could mean that they have found new energy or vitality from being together for a short while.

In the fourth stanza Apollinaire repeats the references to the night, now gentle and blonde, rather than dark (perhaps indicating that Lou had blonde hair?). And we get another repetition of the poet’s heart following her, but this time the feeling is deeper as it will follow her to the ends of the earth.

And the final stanza has the moment of parting, presumably as Lou gets on her train back to Paris, at precisely a quarter to nine in the evening, leaving from Nimes in the departement of Gard. The potential finality of this parting is again reinforced with two mentions of the word Adieu in the stanza, echoing the title.

The Poetry Dude

J’ai vu Paris dans l’ombre

Simply entitled Paris, this first world war poem from Apollinaire evokes the sights and atmosphere of the city from the point of view of a soldier on leave from the front line, which was quite close to Paris. We are implicitly invited to imagine the contrast between life in the city and life in the squalor and danger of the trenches.

And then there is the final line of the poem to express the poet’s main preoccupation.

Paris

J’ai vu Paris dans l’ombre
Hypogée où l’on riait trop
Paris une grande améthyste
Ces soldats belges en troupe
Vieilles femmes habillées en Perrette
Après le pot-au-lait
L’officier-pilote raconte ses exploits
J’ai entendu la berloque
Mais quel sourire celui de celui qui eut sursis d’appel illimité
Ombre de la statue de Shakespeare sur le Boulevard Haussmann
Laideur des costumes civils des hommes qui ne sont pas partis
Les peintres travaillaient
Mon cœur t’adore

Guillaume Apollinaire(1880 – 1918)

From <http://www.toutelapoesie.com/poemes/apollinaire/paris.htm&gt;

Once again we can read Apollinaire and come away with an expanded vocabulary. Hypogee, Perrette, berloque.

Hypogee is an underground burial chamber, so yes, Paris with the street lights dimmed or extinguished at night could well suggest this, but then the qualifier – where people laughed too much – is incongruous, suggesting the frivolity of those who managed to stay in the city rather than go and fight on the front line. There are some references to this type of thing in Proust also, of course.

Perrette – a character in a fable by La Fontaine, “La Laitière et le Pot au Lait”, who goes to town to buy milk

“Ayant mis ce jour-là, pour être plus agile,
Cotillon simple, et souliers plats.”

So in this poem the Belgian troops are like old ladies dressed very simply, perhaps because they have not been given proper uniforms and equipment.

Berloque – a drum, used to call soldiers in for meals or a roll-call. When Apollinaire says he has heard the drum, he is saying that he is a soldier, then he immediately goes on to contrast this with the broad smile of someone who has been given an unlimited deferment of being called-up.

So the poem is a direct criticism of the cosy civilian life of those in the city who are carrying on their normal occupations in as much comfort as they can muster, while the soldiers are risking their lives close by, in constant danger and discomfort.

And the final line reminds us of Apollinaire’s constant preoccupation – his love from which he is separated while at the front. His passion is so strong and omnipresent that it bursts through, even in a poem which is more one of social commentary and criticism.

The Poetry Dude

Le mai le joli mai en barque sur le Rhin

Here is a poem for the month of May from Guillaume Apollinaire, appropriately titled, “Mai”. Looks like he was on a springtime cruise down the Rhine when he wrote this. Very nice.

Mai

Le mai le joli mai en barque sur le Rhin
Des dames regardaient du haut de la montagne
Vous êtes si jolies mais la barque s’éloigne
Qui donc a fait pleurer les saules riverains ?
Or des vergers fleuris se figeaient en arrière
Les pétales tombés des cerisiers de mai
Sont les ongles de celle que j’ai tant aimée
Les pétales fleuris sont comme ses paupières
Sur le chemin du bord du fleuve lentement
Un ours un singe un chien menés par des tziganes
Suivaient une roulotte traînée par un âne
Tandis que s’éloignait dans les vignes rhénanes
Sur un fifre lointain un air de régiment
Le mai le joli mai a paré les ruines
De lierre de vigne vierge et de rosiers
Le vent du Rhin secoue sur le bord les osiers
Et les roseaux jaseurs et les fleurs nues des vignes

Guillaume Apollinaire, Alcools, 1913

From <http://www.poetica.fr/poeme-781/guillaume-apollinaire-mai/&gt;

Like many a romantic before him, Apollinaire sees or imagines, women watching over his journey along the river from the overlooking mountains. Are they real or spirits? It really doesn’t matter, as it inspires the poet to look at and appreciate the riverside scenery, the trees, plants and flowers beginning to bloom in the month of May.

Continuing the romantic imagery, we have the gypsy band with its bear, monkey, and dog travelling along the side of the river; and somebody playing a pipe while walking through the vineyards. All very pleasant.

This is a poem entirely without angst or deep thoughts about life, love, death or the questions of philosophy. Its good to have a pleasant, undemanding piece of verse from time to time.

The Poetry Dude

Ma bouche aura des ardeurs de géhenne

Here is another World War One poem from Guillaume Apollinaire, written in the trenches on the western front. The title, “Chef de section”, I guess would be something like platoon sergeant, I’m not sure whether that was the poet’s rank, but it is a detail which is rather immaterial to the rest of the poem. Many poems written in these circumstances focus on the absurdity and brutal suffering of war; some focus on details of the soldier’s direct experience. This poem deals with what can go through a soldier’s head as he is waiting to go over the top – not fear, or rage, or calculation, but escapist, erotic fantasy about a long kiss with his loved one. It has the ring of truth about it, particularly as Apollinaire wrote a whole collection of love poems while he was serving at the front, marrying the experience of a soldier with physical and emotional thoughts of separation and longing.

Chef de section

Ma bouche aura des ardeurs de géhenne
Ma bouche te sera un enfer de douceur et de séduction
Les anges de ma bouche trôneront dans ton cœur
Les soldats de ma bouche te prendront d’assaut
Les prêtres de ma bouche encenseront ta beauté
Ton âme s’agitera comme une région pendant un tremblement de terre
Tes yeux seront alors chargés de tout l’amour qui s’est amassé dans les regards de l’humanité depuis qu’elle existe
Ma bouche sera une armée contre toi une armée pleine de disparates
Variée comme un enchanteur qui sait varier ses métamorphoses
L’orchestre et les chœurs de ma bouche te diront mon amour
Elle te le murmure de loin
Tandis que les yeux fixés sur la montre j’attends la minute prescrite pour l’assaut

Guillaume Apollinaire(1880 – 1918)

From <http://www.toutelapoesie.com/poemes/apollinaire/chef_de_section.htm&gt;

The sensual nature of the poem is captured immediately with the opening words, “ma bouche”, and, just so we don’t forget that this poem is about kissing, “ma bouche” is repeated 6 more times through this relatively short, 12 line poem. Each time it introduces a new metaphor about the kiss which the poet so desires, and which occupies his thoughts. The kiss has elements of infernal suffering alongside elements of ecstasy and pleasure. Great forces are at work in the kiss – angels, priests, an earthquake, an army, a wizard, an orchestra and choir , this is no ordinary kiss, it channels all the energy and emotion of a great, impossible love. Of course, it is not a real kiss, it is the fantasy of a soldier who knows he is about to into harm’s way and might die in the forthcoming attack. The last line of the poem, almost a throwaway, brings us back from the fantasy to that reality, as the poet looks at his watch and waits for the time planned for the next attack. There is a sharp contrast between the neutral, sparse tone of this last line, and the emotionally charged language which precedes it, describing the desired kiss.

Fantasy can help, but ultimately there is no escape from reality.

Another reason I like Apollinaire is that he had such a fabulous vocabulary, I almost always learn a new word or two from his poems. How about “gehenne” in the first line?

 
The Poetry Dude

La fumée de la cantine est comme la nuit qui vient

The First World War was a rich source of poetic inspiration which I revisit today with this poem from Guillaume Apollinaire who fought in the trenches in 1015 and 1916 and was ultimately wounded in the head from the explosion of a shell during a German bombardment. He did not die of his wounds, but succumbed to the Spanish flu epidemic a couple of years later. Other World War 1 poems I have posted here focus on the horrors and futility of war as experienced by the poets and their comrades – I have posted such poems from Sassoon, Yeats and Apollinaire himself. This poem, however, has a somewhat different feel to it, it is more of a wistful evocation of the comradeship of the soldiers and the patriotic imperative which has put them in this situation. It is love of their country which has inspired them to put themselves in danger, to experience the discomforts and terrible consequences of the conflict. And this viewpoint is of course completely compatible with the idea of war as a completely destructive force.

 
La fumée de la cantine est comme la nuit qui vient
Voix hautes ou graves le vin saigne partout
Je tire ma pipe libre et fier parmi mes camarades
Ils partirons avec moi pour les champs de bataille
Ils dormirons la nuit sous la pluie ou les étoiles
Ils galoperont avec moi portant en croupe des victoires
Ils obéiront avec moi aux mêmes commandements
Ils écouteront attentifs les sublimes fanfares
Ils mourront près de moi et moi peut-être près d’eux
Ils souffriront du froid et du soleil avec moi
Ils sont des hommes ceux-ci qui boivent avec moi
Ils obéissent avec moi aux lois de l’homme
Ils regardent sur les routes les femmes qui passent
Ils les désirent mais moi j’ai des plus hautes amours
Qui règnent sur mon cœur mes sens et mon cerveau
Et qui sont ma patrie ma famille et mon espérance
À moi soldat amoureux soldat de la douce France

From <http://www.paradis-des-albatros.fr/?poeme=apollinaire/la-fumee-de-la-cantine-est-comme-la-nuit-qui-vient&gt;

The poem describes a group of soldiers in the evening, enjoying their rations, smoking their pipes, in a moment of relaxation and contentment amidst the ravages of war. The third line reveals the poet’s pride in being part of this comradeship, there is a sense of solidarity which is a glue which makes troops work well together. The next eleven lines all begin with the word “ils”, they, and enumerates the experiences, tasks and deprivations which they will all experience along with the poet – they will all leave for the battlefields, they will all sleep under the rain and stars, they will all obey the same orders, they will all die or suffer alongside the poet. Apollinaire takes comfort from sharing the same fate with all these other ordinary soldiers and this helps him endure the experience of war. They all look at the same women passing by on the road, but then the poet finishes the poem with another love – the love of his country, which is in the deepest sense his family, his homeland and all his hopes – la douce France, sweet France. This is not the jingoistic, mindless patriotism of Sassoon’s general, it is a sense of identity which makes even war worth fighting to preserve.

The Poetry Dude

Sur la côte du Texas

Today’s poem is quite a well-known piece by Guillaume Apollinaire, with a very personal inspiration, as it was written after he split up from one of his lover’s and she moved to the USA. The title “Annie” is the girl’s name.

 
Guillaume Apollinaire ((1880 – 1918)
(from Alcools, 1913; first published Sept. 1912)

Annie

Sur la côte du Texas
Entre Mobile et Galveston il y a
Un grand jardin tout plein de roses
Il contient aussi une villa
Qui est une grande rose

Une femme se promène souvent
Dans le jardin toute seule
Et quand je passe sur la route bordée de tilleuls
Nous nous regardons

Comme cette femme est mennonite
Ses rosiers et ses vêtements n’ont pas de boutons
Il en manque deux à mon veston
La dame et moi suivons presque le même rite

From <http://www.writing.upenn.edu/library/Apollinaire_Annie.html&gt;

This is a short poem, with no obviously consistent structure. There are three stanzas of various lengths, and the lines are also of various lengths. Each stanza has some rhymes, but they are not organized in the same way; the first stanza rhymes the second and fourth lines, and the third and fifth lines. The second stanza rhymes the first and fourth line, and the second and third; the third stanza rhymes the first and fourth lines and then the second and third. Does this irregularity distract from the quality of the poem? Not really, for me I find it focusses attention more on the content and the individual words spoken.

The first couple of lines give a geographical reference – on the coast of Texas, between Mobile and Galveston. Mobile is of course in Alabama, and there is also Louisiana between Alabama and Texas – but there is plenty of Texas coast between Galveston and the border with Louisiana which validates the reference – although New Orleans would have been a closer reference point than Mobile. Then the remainder of the stanza describes a rose garden with a villa, which is also like a rose, or perhaps covered in pink stucco. This is Apollinaire describing, or more likely imagining, the place where his former lover, Annie, has come to live.

The second stanza describes a woman walking alone in this garden, and exchanging glances with the poet when he passes by. This must be purely imaginary, as I don’t think Apollinaire ever visited Texas. Instead it is an expression of how much he misses Annie.

The final stanza becomes even more bizarre as he characterizes the woman as a Mennonite – this is a religion which is somewhat like the Amish. Her clothing has no buttons, like the poet’s, and so the final line creates a connection between them. This is very strange, as I don’t think Annie was a Mennonite, and so there is now a clear distance between the subject of the poem and its title. Perhaps he was trying to emphasise his acceptance of their separation by making the woman in the poem as different as possible from his lover.

To ponder….

The Poetry Dude

La chambre est veuve

Here is a nice poem by Guillaume Apollinaire, writing in the early 1900s, about the type of cheap hotel you can get if you arrive in a strange city, without much money and with no contacts. The hotels in question are probably near the railway station, on a poorly lit back street with a dim sign, just saying “Rooms”. This rings a bell with me, reminding me of travel in Europe when I was a penniless student.

Hôtels

La chambre est veuve
Chacun pour soi
Présence neuve
On paye au mois

Le patron doute
Payera-t-on
Je tourne en route
Comme un toton

Le bruit des fiacres
Mon voisin laid
Qui fume un âcre
Tabac anglais

O La Vallière
Qui boite et rit
De mes prières
Table de nuit

Et tous ensemble
Dans cet hôtel
Savons la langue
Comme à Babel

Fermons nos portes
À double tour
Chacun apporte
Son seul amour

Guillaume APOLLINAIRE, Alcools (1913)
© 1920 Éditions Gallimard

 
From <http://wheatoncollege.edu/academic/academicdept/French/old-ViveVoix/Resources/hotels.html&gt;

The atmosphere of dingy suspicion is established right at the start – the room is like a widow, with no companionship, the hotel owner asks for a month’s payment in advance but in fact is always wondering if his clients can pay.

Boredom, the incursion of noise from the street and the smell of tobacco from the next room; the night-table with one leg shorter than the other, ironically compared to Louis XV’s mistress, Mme La Valliere, who walked with a limp – the room is uncomfortable, somewhat sordid but with outdated remnants of grandeur.

As in the tower of Babel, many languages are spoken in this hotel, as drifters and down and outs from all parts of the world pass through here, trying to eke out their meagre earnings or savings. They are all together in the same boat, but they are all alone. The final stanza is particularly poignant, make sure your door is double-locked, there is no love but for yourself in this hotel.

 
The Poetry Dude

Plus de fleurs mais d’etranges signes

We have already sampled First World War poetry with the work by Siegfried Sassoon, posted here on October 5th. Today we will join the French troops and look at a poem by Guillaume Apollinaire, who fought as an infantryman in the trenches, and was seriously wounded mid-way through the war. His experiences were the source of many poems, and I imagine writing was a way of filling time in the trenches in the long intervals between the assaults and bombardments. This poem is a combination of a love poem dedicated to the poet’s lover, Lou, and a reflection on the horrors of war and life in the trenches.

 

Côte 146

 

By Guillaume Apollinaire

 

Plus de fleurs mais d’étranges signes
Gesticulant dans les nuits bleues
Dans une adoration suprême mon beau ptit Lou que
tout mon être pareil aux nuages bas de juillet
s’incline devant ton souvenir
Il est là comme une tête de plâtre blanche,
éperdument auprès d’un anneau d’or
Dans le fond s’éloignent les voeux qui se retournent quelquefois
Entends jouer cette musique toujours pareille tout le jour
Ma solitude splénétique qu’éclaire seul le lointain
Et puissant projecteur de mon Amour
J’entends la grave voix de la grosse artillerie boche
Devant moi dans la direction des boyaux
Il y a un cimetière où l’on a semé quarante-six mille soldats
Quelles semailles dont il faut sans peur attendre la moisson !
C’est devant ce site désolé s’il en fut
Que tandis que j’écris ma lettre appuyant mon
papier sur une plaque de fibro ciment
Je regarde aussi un portrait en grand chapeau
Et quelques-uns de mes compagnons
ont vu ton portrait
Et pensant bien que je te connaissais
Ils ont demandé :
« Qui donc est-elle ? »
Et je n’ai pas su que leur répondr
Car je me suis aperçu brusquement
Qu’encore aujourd’hui je ne te connais pas bien
Et toi dans ta photo profonde comme la lumière
tu souris toujours.

 
From <http://www.mptmagazine.com/poem/cte-146-372/&gt;

 
The poem begins with an evocation of how Apollinaire is constantly thinking of his lover while in the trenches. He feels his memory of her is watching over him like a plaster bust. However, the subject quickly veers to the harsh and dangerous realities of a soldier’s life as the poem talks of the German artillery and of 46000 fallen soldiers buried in a nearby cemetery.

In the final third of the poet, we see the expression of the poet’s fundamental solitude in the face of his situation and of the absence of his lover. Her picture is pinned up on the side of his trenches and the poet’s fellow-soldiers admire her and ask about her. But the poet realises he cannot really know her from the enigmatically smiling photo and so is placed in front of his fundamental solitude.

The poem brings home a very human side of the experience of the soldier’s life in World War one. It is not just about the horrors, tragedies and violence of war, but also about the more human experience of separation, longing for love and solitude.

See the posts from September 30thand November 2nd for examples of Apollinaire’s peace time poetry,

 
The Poetry Dude

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine

Today we are back in early 20th century Paris with Guillaume Apollinaire’s poem, “Le Pont Mirabeau”. This may be his most famous poem (although how would I know?). It has a personal resonance as, when I first moved to live in Paris, I lived a couple of blocks from the river Seine at the Pont Mirabeau crossing (at the southern end of the Ile des Cygnes, where the 15th arrondissement meets the river), and often used to walk there on a Sunday or in the evening.

Here is the poem

Le pont Mirabeau

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours
Faut-il qu’il m’en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine

Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure

Les mains dans les mains restons face à face
Tandis que sous
Le pont de nos bras passe
Des éternels regards l’onde si lasse

Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure

L’amour s’en va comme cette eau courante
L’amour s’en va
Comme la vie est lente
Et comme l’Espérance est violente

Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure

Passent les jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps passé
Ni les amours reviennent
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine

Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure

 

From <http://unix.cc.wmich.edu/~cooneys/poems/fr/Mirabeau.html&gt;

 
There is a sense of a specific place in this poem, with the River Seine flowing under the Pont Mirabeau, in Paris, but the poet uses this to illustrate the ever-changing nature of life and love, which flow along like the water in the river, and you can never reclaim or relive lost love or past experience. We can think our love is everlasting “les mains dans les mains restons face a face”, but time will pass, things will change and the water will flow under the bridge.

The repeated refrain however draws us back to what is always there – the individual, the poet who has all the experiences of life and love. At any moment we are the sum of our interactions with the world, with our loved ones, with everything that happens in the passage of time or the flow of life’s river. The repetition of these two lines seems to add new meaning at each place in the poem, as the different aspects of the passage of time and the impermanence of love are evoked.

This is a poem to come back to again and again…

 

The Poetry Dude