For “Ils espèrent gagner de l’argent dans l’Argentine,” Oliver Bernard offers the prosaic “They hope to make money in the Argentine.” Anne Hyde Greet goes for the more idiomatic “Hoping to strike it rich in Argentina.” But I wanted to preserve the repeated sound of argent (the French word for money rooted in the word for silver), so I chose the alliterative “They’re hoping to gain some argent in the Argentine.”, The celebrated last line of “Zone,” “soleil cou coupé,” contains a brilliant piece of wordplay that resists the translator’s craft. Cubism differs from the old schools of painting in that it is not an art of imitation, but an art of conception which tends towards creation. Le poème Zone est généralement cité en tant que manifeste des idéaux littéraires d’Apollinaire. A notable exception is Samuel Beckett in perhaps the most impressive parts of his translation. His most important works were Alcools: Poems 1898-1913 and Calligrammes: Poems de la paix de la guerre, which experimented with subject matter taken from modern life and forms not seen before in French poetry, including the omission of punctuation and lineating poems to resemble shapes.Â, David Lehman is the author of numerous collections of poetry including New and Selected Poems (Scribner, 2013), When a Woman Loves a Man (Scribner, 2005), and The Daily Mirror (Scribner, 2000). Zone. For Apollinaire, writing no longer had the same role, its status had changed and Apollinaire was one of the first to interrogate this. I have opted for “Let the sun beheaded be,” mainly because of the repetition of sounds in the last words. Even the automobiles are antiques Religion alone remains entirely new … En 1907, il s'établit à Paris. Subtitled "Poems of Peace and War 1913-1916", many of the poems deal with Apollinaire's wartime experience as both an artilleryman and infantry officer. Guillaume Apollinaire : Pásmo Tím starým světem přec jsi znaven nakonec Pastýřko Eiffelko jak bečí stádo mostů dnes Řecký i římský starověk se ti uÅ£ přeÅ£ily Zde antické se zdají být uÅ£ i ty automobily Jen náboÅ£enství zůstalo docela nové jenom ono Zůstalo prosté jak hangáry v přístavu avionů The poem’s title embraces (or blends) the meanings of neighborhood, frontier, slum (and slumming), and the female erogenous zone, all of which come into play. Guillaume Apollinaire (1880--1918) was born Wilhelm Apollinaris de Kostrowitzky in Rome, the illegitimate son of an impoverished Polish woman and an Italian army officer. Alcools, first published in 1913 and one of the few indispensable books of twentieth- century poetry, provides a key to the century's history and consciousness. Friend of Picasso, albeit a sometimes volatile one, inventor of the term 'surrealism' and the poem without punctuation, he advocated a poetry that was direct and intuitive, free of any refined intellectualism. I made a special trip to the Gare St. Lazare with Apollinaire’s stanza about “ces pauvres émigrants” in my brain. Essays on team effectiveness, train journey essay writing, crafting a needs assessment paper, thesis statement on. Apollinaire's first collection of poetry, L'enchanteur pourrissant, was published in 1909, and his reputation as a poet was established in 1913 with the publication of the collection Alcools: Poemes. At last you're tired of this elderly world. And nobility of line: It praises the line that forms the images, marvellous ornaments to this poetic entertainment. This is illustrated by the first line of Alcools, ‘À la fin tu es las de ce monde ancien’ (‘Zone’): the desire for novelty stems from a weariness, not a dislike, of old forms. by Guillaume Apollinaire. A line from his poem “Les Collines” (“The Hills”) is etched into his tombstone at Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris: “Je peux mourir en souriant”—“I can die with a smile on my face.”Â. Apollinaire et les peintres : Laurence Campa > Lien vers Le Monde diplomatique > Lien vers le fichier PDF Vidéos Présentation du tableau de Chirico, Portrait (prémonitoire) d'Apollinaire Étapes LA 1 : Zone Texte LA 2 : La Loreley Texte COURS AUDIO, le lien ouvre une nouvelle fenêtre Première partie (3 premiers distiques) Le poète et la femme aimée ne … This was in 1971 and 1972. 02 - Le Pont Mirabeau download. Guillaume Apollinaire, pseudonym of Guillelmus (or Wilhelm) Apollinaris de Kostrowitzki, (born August 26, 1880, Rome?, Italy—died November 9, 1918, Paris, France), poet who in his short life took part in all the avant-garde movements that flourished in French literary and artistic circles at the beginning of the 20th century and who helped to direct poetry into unexplored channels. Driving with a friend from Deauville to Paris in “La Petite Auto,” Apollinaire writes that “the little car had driven us into a New epoch / and though both of us were grown men / it was as if we had just been born.”, Apollinaire experimented with audacious techniques for generating verse. Images of decapitation and cerebral dissection create a drama of self-fragmentation in Apollinaire’s poem, “Palais” (O. P., pp. Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918) was a key figure in twentieth-century literature and a progenitor of French surrealism. That Hermes Trismegistus writes of in Pimander. Ron Padgett’s “Sun cut throat” cleverly divides the word cutthroat in two. Given the iterations of ancien that immediately follow—antiquité, anciennes, and antique all appear in the next six lines—I felt that “the ancient world” came nearer to Apollinaire’s meaning than “this old world.”, A line about refugee families gathered at a train station can stand for many others in the challenge they present to the translator. Among the foremost poets of the early 20th century, he is credited with coining Apollinaire proclame d’ailleurs d’emblée et explicitement son désir de modernité, dans le poème qui ouvre le recueil et qui ne respecte aucune des règles classiques de la versification : Zone. Other articles where Alcools is discussed: Guillaume Apollinaire: But his poetic masterpiece was Alcools (1913; Eng. He refers to himself sometimes as I, sometimes as you (both tu and vous in French), a habit that held a special appeal for O’Hara and other New York poets. ‘Zone’ by Guillaume Apollinaire is a 155 line poem that greatly varies in line construction, lines per stanza, and line lengths. His latest book is Sinatra’s Century: One Hundred Notes on the Man and His World (HarperCollins, 2015). All rights reserved. Guillaume Apollinaire (French: [É¡ijom apɔlinɛʁ]; 26 August 1880 – 9 November 1918) was a French poet, playwright, short story writer, novelist, and art critic of Polish-Belarusian descent.. Apollinaire is considered one of the foremost poets of the early 20th century, as well as one of the most impassioned defenders of Cubism and a forefather of Surrealism. Apollinaire—whose circle included painters (Picasso, Derain, Vlaminck) and composers (Satie, Poulenc) as well as poets (Blaise Cendrars, Max Jacob, Pierre Reverdy)—was a superb activist and agitator. The poem doesn’t so much praise its objects of futurist desire—the Eiffel Tower, airplanes, a railway terminal—as treat them like pastoral motifs. For his book Calligrammes, he made shaped poems—poems that looked like a mirror, a heart, the rainfall, a pocket-watch. Poetry had to keep up with the technological advances of the day—the cinema, the radio, the motorcar, the flying machine. Organized around a walk in Paris from one sunrise to another—and from one time zone to another—“Zone” is in loosely rhymed couplets, which presents a difficulty that translators tend to evade. “Zone” heralds a striking new direction in Apollinaire’s work. The love of the work sustains the effort.Â, Apollinaire had too little time. Poème liminaire du recueil de poésie Alcools, Zone est une plongée dans Paris et sa modernité. Kenneth Koch appropriates Apollinaire’s rambling couplets in a nostalgic poem whose title is itself a nod to his influence: “A Time Zone.”, “Zone” has been translated many times, a testament to how well-loved it is among Anglo-Saxon Francophiles. Le poème d’Apollinaire est un poème lyrique sur un thème que l’on retrouve chez les poètes de la Renaissance, eux-même inspirés par Pétrarque : le poète pris au piège du regard de la femme aimée. Guillaume apollinaire zone dissertation writing by turkce team member roles essays. “A Zone Is a Zone Is a Zone: The Repeated Unsettlement of Guillaume Apollinaire.” In Understanding French Poetry: Essays for a New Millennium , edited and coauthored by Stamos Metzidakes. I worked on the poem often and carefully, if at long intervals, until three years ago when, as a professor at the New School’s graduate writing program, I supervised MFA candidate Ashleigh Allen’s thesis, which focused on Apollinaire and “Zone.” This happy task spurred me to revise my translation yet again. Born in Rome to a Polish mother in August 1880, Apollinaire never knew his father or his father's name. He is the series editor of Best American Poetry and edited The Oxford Book of American Poetry. About Zone. It’s as if cou (meaning “neck”) is an abbreviated form of coupé (meaning “cut”). Copyright ©2020 The Virginia Quarterly Review. It begins, “A la fin tu es las de ce monde ancien.” Roger Shattuck translates the line as “You are tired at last of this old world”; Ron Padgett improves on this with “You’re tired of this old world at last.” I cast my vote with Beckett, Charlotte Mandell, and William Meredith, in opting for “In the end” as the poem’s first words, not only because this is the literal sense of the French “A la fin,” but because it lays proper stress on Apollinaire’s audacity in starting with “the end.” It also gives a hint of the poem’s ultimate circularity. Within a few years of publishing “Zone,” he suffered head wounds at the front in World War I and died of Spanish flu on November 9, 1918, two days before the armistice that ended the war. , In the end you’ve had enough of the ancient world O Eiffel Tower shepherdess today your bridges are a bleating flock You’ve had it up to here with the Greeks and Romans Here even the automobiles look antique Only religion remains new religion Retains the simplicity of an airport hangar Alone in Europe you are not antiquated O Christianity The most modern man in Europe is you Pope Pius X While you whom the windows watch are too ashamed To enter a church and confess your sins today You read handouts pamphlets posters sing to you from up high There’s your morning poetry and for prose there are the newspapers Paperback police thrillers for twenty-five centimes Portraits of the great a thousand and one titles This morning I saw a pretty little street whose name I forget Clean and new it seemed the clarion of the sun Executives workers and beautiful stenographers Pass this way four times a day from Monday morning to Saturday night Three times each morning a siren whines An angry bell at noon Billboards signs and murals Shriek like parakeets I love the grace of this industrial street In Paris between the rue Aumont-Thiéville and the avenue des Ternes Look how young the street is and you still only a toddler Your mother dresses you in blue and white You are very religious you and your old pal René Dalize You love nothing more than church ceremonies It’s nine o’clock the gas turns blue you sneak out of the dormitory You stay up all night praying in the school chapel Under a globed amethyst worthy of adoration The halo around the head of Christ revolves forever He is the lovely lily that we cultivate The red-haired torch immune to any wind The pale and scarlet son of the mother of many sorrows The evergreen tree ever hung with prayers The twin gallows of honor and eternity The six-pointed star God who dies on Friday and revives on Sunday Christ who climbs heavens higher than any aviator can reach He holds the world’s aviation record Christ pupil of my eye Pupil of twenty centuries he knows what he’s doing And changed into a bird this century like Jesus soars in the air Devils in abysses lift their heads to stare Look they say he takes after Simon Magus of Judea They say he can steal but can also steal away The angels vault past the all-time greatest pole vaulters Icarus Enoch Elijah Apollonius of Tyana Gather around the first airplane Or make way for the elevation of those who took communion The priests rise eternally as they raise the host And the airplane touches down at last its wings outstretched From heaven come flying millions of swallows Ibises flamingoes storks from Africa The fabled Roc celebrated by storytellers and poets With Adam’s skull in its claws the original skull Messenger from the horizon the eagle swoops and screams And from America the little hummingbird From China the long and supple pihis Who have one wing each and fly in pairs Here comes the dove immaculate spirit Escorted by lyre-bird and vain peacock And the phoenix engendering himself from the flames Veils everything for a moment with his sparkling cinders The sirens leave the perilous seas And sing beautifully when they get here all three of them And all of them eagle phoenix and pihi of China Befriend our flying machine Now you are walking in Paris all alone among the crowds Herds of bellowing buses roll by you Love’s anguish grips you by the throat As if you were fated never again to be loved In the bad old days you would have entered a monastery You feel ashamed when you slip and catch yourself saying prayers You mock yourself your laughter crackles like hellfire The sparks flash in the depths of your life Like a painting in a dreary museum You’ve got to get as close to it as you can Today as you walk around Paris and her bloodstained women It was (and I would just as soon not remember it was) the demise of beauty Surrounded by flames our Lady looked down on me at Chartres The blood of thy sacred heart drowned me in Montmartre I am sick of hearing the blessed words The love I suffer from is a shameful disease And my image of you survives in my anguish and insomnia It’s always near you and then it fades away Now you’re at the Mediterranean shore Under the lemon groves in flower all year long You go sailing with your friends One is from Nice one from Menton two Turbiasques The creatures of the deep terrify us The fish swimming through seaweed is the symbol of our Savior You’re in the garden of a tavern on the outskirts of Prague You’re in heaven a rose is on the table Which you look at instead of writing your poems or your prose You look at the bug asleep in the heart of the rose You recognize yourself in the mosaics of St. Vitus You almost died of grief that day You were Lazarus crazed by daylight In the Jewish quarter the hands on the clocks go backward And you creep forward through the story of your life Climbing to the Hradchin in the evening and listening To the Czech songs in the cafés Here you are in Marseilles amid the watermelons Here at Koblenz at the Hotel of the Giant Here in Rome sitting under a Japanese medlar tree Here you are in Amsterdam with a woman who you think is beautiful but is really ugly She will wed a student from Leyden You can rent rooms by the hour Cubicula locanda I remember the three days I spent there and the three at Gouda You are in Paris summoned before a judge Arrested like a common criminal You journeyed in joy and despair Before you encountered lies and old age Love made you suffer at twenty at thirty I’ve lived like a fool and wasted my time You no longer dare to look at your hands and now I feel like crying Over you over the one I love over everything that has scared you Eyes full of tears you look at the immigrant families They believe in God they pray the women nurse their babies They fill the Gare St. Lazare with their smell Their faith in the stars rivals that of the three magi They’re hoping to gain some argent in the Argentine And return to the old country with a fortune One family takes a red eiderdown with it as you take your heart wherever you go This eiderdown and our dreams are equally unreal Some refugees stay in furnished rooms In the rue des Rosiers or the rue des Écouffes in the slums I have seen them at night walking Like pieces on a chessboard they rarely move Especially the Jews whose wives wear wigs And sit quietly in the back of the shop You stand at the counter of a seedy café A cup of coffee for a couple of sous with the other outcasts At night you go to a famous restaurant These women aren’t cruel they’re just wretched Each even the ugliest has made her lover suffer She is the daughter of a policeman from Jersey I hadn’t noticed the calluses on her hand I feel sorry for her and the scars on her belly I humble my mouth to the poor girl with the horrid laugh You’re alone day breaks The milkmen clink their bottles The night slinks away like a half-breed beauty Ferdine the false Leah on the lookout The brandy you sip burns like your life Your life that you drink like an eau-de-vie You are walking toward Auteuil you intend to walk the whole way home To sleep with your fetishes from Oceania and Guinea There are Christs in different forms and other systems of belief But Christs all the same though lesser though obscure Farewell farewell Let the sun beheaded be, Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918) was a key figure in twentieth-century literature and a progenitor of French surrealism.