➹ [Download] ➵ Capitale de la douleur By Paul Éluard ➼ – Papercuts.co

Capital Of Pain, Is Considered One Of The Key Texts Of Surrealism This Is The First New Translation Into English Of This Work In OverYears And The Only Edition Available In The English Language This Edition Presents The Text In Its Entirety In A Bilingual Format, And Includes An Extensive Essay On Eluard S Works By Mary Ann Caws This Book Has Had A Lasting Effect On Poets And Readers Since It Exploded Unto The Literary Scene InAnd Has Never Been Out Of Print In Europe Since


10 thoughts on “Capitale de la douleur

  1. says:

    Etchings by John Thein not the cover that s Picasso And also some color plates, maybe by other artists.


  2. says:

    Currently, I rediscover with happiness the French poets of the early twentieth century Decidedly, the surreal nebula was particularly talented, fruitful and innovative Paul Eluard was one of the greatest, transforming everything he touched into true poetry.Capital of Pain what a beautiful title gathers texts written between 1914 and 1926, generally shorter Some are bolder than others, but all are easy to read Some of them seem small masterpieces, others hang a little less my attention, but almost all sound very good There are flashes and gently suggestive images, which must not be analyzed too rationally.


  3. says:

    Not quite on a par with Last Love Poems for me, but still a stunning piece of work Anyone into the Surrealist movement simply has to read this He makes Andre Breton seem average in my opinion His writings have changed many lives, mine included He Opened the door for me to explore many other poets.


  4. says:

    luard s work is possibly the best introduction to Surrealism, even though it lacks the ideological commitment of Breton s and the daring experimental tendencies of Louis Aragon s luard represents the sunny side of Surrealism, a most intimate dimension of the soul, in which poetry still focuses on feelings and impressions rather than exploiting the intellectual conceptualization of them There is expression than analysis of the self in luard s writing and imagery indeed This collection of poems is centred on the melancholic celebration of Gala, luard s wife, who betrayed him and married the Spanish artist Salvador Dal This charming, dangerously unrealible woman becomes the personification of Desire, both physical and sentimental, fulfilled and frustrated In fact the poet is perfectly aware of her adulterous affairs, and this knowledge sharpens his feelings to the utmost in his eyes, Gala s naked body turns into a living monument to passion and beauty, almost melting with the warm atmosphere of sunset or the soft light of dawn L unique No hatred, no regret Her elusiveness is the spell under which he keeps falling My whole life listens to you and I cannot destroyThe terrible pleasures your love creates for me Nouveaux Po mes , New poems He s perfectly aware that one day she will leave him And yet, a sweet melancholy even stronger than pain makes him look ahead with tenderness and hope If we were to start again, I would meet you without looking for you Au c ur de mon amour , At the core of my love Gala awakens in him opposite bursts of joy and sorrow She masters his body as well as his soul Am I anything else than your strenght the poet asks in Ta foi , Your faith The thing is that Gala is not a woman any she has become the Feminine whose power goes far beyond a merely erotic attraction The poet feels her tantalising power as a sweet burden he cannot rid himself of, lest he loses part of his own enchanted self so that Gala is finally identified with the truest source of his poetry The shape of your heart is chimerical And your love resembles my lost desireOh whispers of amber, dreams, glances Nouveaux po mes These short poems are delicate glimpses, dreamy psychological landscapes, photographs of intimate moments of joy and meditation A deserted beach in the warm light of a summer sunset, a bedroom in the cool glow of a winter starry night Gala, bathing in the sea or lying naked in bed, is the core of all poetic contemplation, the world in which the poet lives and the source of his inner light To be read sitting on a beach at dawn, listening to the surf and watching the gulls fly over the sea or lying in bed, looking at your lover s closed eyes in the first light of the day.


  5. says:

    Paul luard s Capital of Pain may not be the key to grasping what Surrealist texts are like as if such a key exists , but it is a key text of the French Surrealists, and a remarkable text in any context Its poems and prose poems capture the ecstasy of the early Surrealists Indeed, the ecstasy of having survived the First World War The birds that ruffle their murderous feathers, Paris During the War , pg 108 , of having survived the Nihilism that followed in its wake the ecstasy of building a new god to replace the dead one In fact, many of the poems are named after, or dedicated to, luard s fellow Surrealists A wall reveals another wallAnd the shade protects me from my fearful shadow.O tower of my love around my love,Every wall spun out white around my silence.What have you protected Sky unfeeling and pure,Trembling you shielded me Light in reliefAgainst a sky the sun s mirror no longer,Stars by daylight among the green leaves,The memory of those who spoke without knowing,Masters of my weakness and I am in their placeWith eyes of love and hands too loyalTo depopulate a world I am absent from Giorgio de Chirico pg 61 Devoured by feathers and obedient to the sea,He let his shadow pass through the flightOf the birds of freedom.He leftThe ramp to those who fall in the rain,He left their roof to all those who prove themselves true.His body was in order,The body of others came to disruptThis arrangement he keptWhen his blood first marked the earth.His eyes are inside a wallAnd his face is their heavy ornament.Another lie by day,Another night, there are no blind men Max Ernst pg 114 His Eyes are all one sky of tears.Neither his eyelids nor his handsAre a night sufficientFor his pain to hide in.He will go askThe Council of FacesIf he is still ableTo hunt his youthAnd to be in the plainsThe wind s pilot.It s a matter of experience He takes his life by the middle.Solitary, the pans of the balance Among Few Others, to Philippe Soupault pg 119 Sun of prey my head s prisoner,Remove the hill, remove the forest.The sky is lovely than ever.Dragonflies from grapesGive it the precise shapesI scatter with a gesture.Clouds of the first day,Insensitive clouds which nothing sanctions,Their seeds burnIn the misfire o my gaze.Finally, the sky must be as pure as nightTo cover itself with a dawn Joan Mir pg 126 Additionally, many of the poems are named after, or dedicated to, influences appropriated by the Surrealists The man flees, the horse falls,The door does not open,The bird is silent, dig its grave,Put to death by silence.A butterfly on a branchWaits patiently for winter,Its heart is heavy, the branch bends,The branch folds up like a worm.Why cry over the dried flowerAnd why cry over the lilacs Why cry over the amber rose Why cry for the tender thought Why look for the hidden flower If there is no reward Well, for this, that, and the other The Building Game, to Raymond Roussel pg 59 The weapons of sleep have plowed into the nightThe marvelous furrows that separate our heads.Through the diamond every medal is false,Beneath the bursting sky the earth is invisible.The heart s face has lost its coloursAnd the sun looks for us and the snow is blind.If we leave it, the horizon has wingsAnd our sights in the distance scatter mistakes Pablo Picasso pg 97 On the fatal slope the voyager profitsFrom the day s favor, sleet and no pebbles,And the blue eyes of love, discovers his seasonWearing great stars like rings on each finger.The ocean has left its ear on the shoreAnd on the furrowed sand the scene of a fine crime.Punishment is harder for the hangman than the victimThe knives are signs and the bullets tears Paul Klee pg 106 A bird flies away,It flings back the clouds like a useless veil,It has never feared the lightEnclosed in its flight,It has never owned a shadow.Shells of harvest smashed by the sun.All the leaves in the woods say yes,They know only how to say yes,Every question, every replyAnd the dew flows in the depths of this yes.A man with roving eyes describes the sky of love,He gathers its wondersLike leaves in a wood,Like birds in their wingsAnd men in their sleep Georges Braque pg 121 My favourite passages The eyes of singing animalsAnd their songs of boredom or angerHave forbidden me to leave this bed.I will spend my life here In the Heart of My Love pg 52 Smiles and sighs, insults rotIn the mouths of mutes and the eyes of cowards.Take nothing this burns, that flames Your hands are made for your pockets and brows No Hard Feelings pg 68 A handsome weightless bird lively than a speck of dustDrags a headless corpse across a mirrorBalls of sunshine soften its wingsAnd the wind from its flight drives the light insane Mascha Laughed at the Angels pg 73 Why am I so lovely Because my master washes me The Little Just Ones, II pg 78 She is always unwilling to understand, to listen,She laughs to hide her fear of herself.She has always walked beneath the arches of nightsAnd wherever she wentShe leftThe mark of broken things The Little Just Ones, VIII pg 85 She plays the way no one plays and I am alone to watch her It is her eyes which bring her back into my dreams Almost motionless, aimless And this other one that she grabs by the wing of his ears has kept the shape of his haloes In the embrace of her hands, a swallow with straight hair flutters hopelessly It is blind The Ace of Clubs pg 101 Caress the night s horizon, look for the heart of jet the dawn covers over with flesh It would place in your eyes innocent thoughts, flames, wings, and verdures the sun did not invent It is not the night you lack, but its power Night pg 124


  6. says:

    To sleep, with the moon in one eyeand the sun in the other,Love in your mouth,a lovely bird in your hair,Adorned like the fields,the woods, the routes, the sea,around the whole world so lovely and adorned.Flee across the landscapeThrough branches of smoke and all the fruits of the wind,Stone legs with sand stockings,Held by the waist, all the river s muscles,And the last concern on a face transformed.


  7. says:

    Oh, man a beautiful read I became curiouse of Eluard because of Godard s Alphaville, in which lines were frequently quoted.


  8. says:

    Un sonnet surr aliste, est ce possible Oui, r pond luard Intraitable sur la cr ation d images neuves, surprenantes, irrationnelles, telles que les aimait le jeune surr alisme des ann es 20, la recherche de l expression directe de l inconscient, il ne s en montre pas moins, d s Capitale de la douleur ou L Amour la po sie qui fait la deuxi me partie du recueil , un ma tre du vers fran ais, f t il libre Ses allit rations vous font des frissons dans le cou Un ma tre, c est un ma tre, m me trente ans, m me engag dans un trange combat contre une litt rature qu il croit morte et qu il revivifie.


  9. says:

    Graff in Le Port du L gu , Saint Brieuc, France Je chante la grande joie de te chanter,La grande joie de t avoir ou de ne pas t avoir,La candeur de t attendre, l innocence de te connaitre, toi qui supprimes l oubli, l espoir et l ignorance,Qui supprimes l absence et qui me mets au monde,Je chante pour chanter, je t aime pour chanterLe myst re o l amour me cr e et se d livre Celle de toujours, toute Paul luard


  10. says:

    Beautiful insight into a broken man s thought, a stellar path onto which he embarks on the journey to healing his wounds I love Eluard s poetry, no matter how ambiguous, which surprised me since I m not usually one to take a fancy in Surrealism I ve been proved wrong One of the best school reads I ve completed, and now a favourite of mine