By Guillaume Apollinaire
En 1913, Apollinaire publie Alcools, son most excellent recueil. qui rassemble quinze ans de poésie. S'il est alors influencé par un symbolisme sur le déclin, il s'en démarque par d'audacieuses thoughts : los angeles ponctuation disparaît et des innovations récentes, comme l'avion ou l'automobile, font leur entrée en poésie. Mais Alcools est aussi une oeuvre contrastée, où l. a. journey Eiffel et le pont Mirabeau côtoient des champs de colchiques et des forêts légendaires, où l'agitation du progrès se mêle aux motifs consacrés de l'amour perdu et du temps qui passe. Tantôt clairs comme le son des cloches rhénanes, tantôt sombres comme les geôles de l. a. criminal de l. a. Santé, ces poèmes ouvrent los angeles voie à un nouveau lyrisme. Partagés entre culture et modernité, ils reflètent los angeles créativité bouillonnante d'une époque sur le element de basculer dans le chaos de l. a. Grande Guerre.
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Additional info for Alcools
Imagine deciding the gulley a life will follow as if choosing breakfast over diligent labor. I don't remember my first brush with pollen, yet I've watched words flower sideways across your mouth. In a month we'll be dizzily older. Moths will leave singed paper on the stoop. Is this my design? An ant crosses my shadow so many times looking for its crumb, I think it's me who's needlessly swaying. Its path is busy eloquence while I'm merely armed, like a chair leaving the scent of large things on the breeze.
THE SKIRT OF NICHT A painted tree shadows the river. In a compound eye, nature leans away from struggle, the name is implied. See how he is taken by one hand, or by his leg, a starry gas beating overhead. From the eastern balcony, horizon blinks like a bug. The paradox of counting spreads its ink across the page, a signature more built than drafted. To see or not see. Do you read or hear it? As if by hunger, earth empties its mind. OF WHICH OCCASION I SHAM, TO SI'KAK HAVK AIÏAIN Look at the base, asking to be stolen.
Of course I pity a boy among crows. A spectator trawling for the roundest metaphor to counterweight the stabbing air. What gives, or gave, to get us here, what wired fluorescence? The treelike nerves to become all things. Turned in, reflected, postponed. 4« T I P T O E L I G H T N I N « Tragedy saunters to the pit, swinging its depth charge. If you had X-ray vision you could watch these bones climbing the Mountain Vainglorious without quite touching the ground. Let's ruin our letters, erase all foreign prospect.