POEM OF THE DAY -- "She Looks Into Me..." by Surrealist Paul Eluard

For lovers of Surrealism, here is a brief love poem from French Surrealist Paul Eluard. A member of the original group of Surrealists led by Andre Breton, Eluard is a somewhat tragic figure from the period. Brooding, irreparably influenced and damaged by the war (WWI), and having lost the love of his life (his wife) to his fellow surrealist, the artist Salvadore Dali, the famous Dali painting to the right is especially poingnant when you understand that...

the man pictured is Paul Eluard, as painted by Dali himself.


She Looks Into Me...

By Paul Eluard

She looks into me
The unknowing heart
To see if I love
She has confidence she forgets
Under the clouds of her eyelids
Her head falls asleep in my hands
Where are we
Together inseparable
Alive alive
He alive she alive
And my head rolls through her dreams.


-

Poem of the Day - "Hunted" by Paul Eluard

Hunted

by Paul Eluard



A few grains of dust more or less
On ancient shoulders
Locks of weakness on weary foreheads
This theatre of honey and faded roses
Where incalcuable flies
Reply to the black signs that misery makes to them
Despairing girders of a bridge
Thrown across space
Thrown across every street and every house
Heavy wandering madnesses
That we shall end by knowing by heart
Mechanical appetites and uncontrolled dances
That lead to the regret of hatred

Nostalgia of justice

-

POEM OF THE DAY -- "Five Haiku" by Surrealist Paul Eluard

With this selection for POEM OF THE DAY, we move away from our recent pre-occupation with the poets of the Beat-era (namely Ginsberg, Kerouac, Ferlinghetti) and back to another favorite movement - Surrealism. 

So for the remainder of the week, you can look forward to some poetry and artwork from the likes of Breton, Dali and others to tickle your imagination.

For now, we will start with a little selection of Surrealistic Haikus, each one a bizarre little tidbit of "oh yeah, I get it" delight, in a departure from our norm.

Enjoy the surrealistic master poet himself, Mr. Paul Eluard:

Five Haiku

by Paul Eluard



The wind
Undecided
Rolls a cigarette of air


The mute girl talks:
It is art's imperfection.
This impenetrable speech.


The motor car is truly launched:
Four martyrs' heads
Roll under the wheels.


Ah! a thousand flames, a fire,
The light, a shadow!
The sun is following me.


A feather gives to a hat
A touch of lightness:
The chimney smokes.


-

POEM OF THE DAY -- "Liberty" by Surrealist Paul Eluard

Here we are, day 4 in what has become "Surrealism Week" at eNothing - and really, what a beautiful journey into the Poetry, Art and Politics of the fantastic Surrealist period.  Paul Eluard, friend of Picasso, political outcast and disciple of Breton...with one of his most famous poems -- "Liberte" which was written while in hiding during the Nazi occupation of France.

By the way, the illustration of Eluard, right, is actually a portait of him by Salvadore Dali - his friend and the guy who stole his first wife from him.

And the book (see link below) featured is Capital of Pain - considered his first great work.

Liberty

By Paul Eluard


On my notebooks from school
On my desk and the trees
On the sand on the snow
I write your name

On every page read
On all the white sheets
Stone blood paper or ash
I write your name

On the golden images
On the soldier’s weapons
On the crowns of kings
I write your name

On the jungle the desert
The nests and the bushes
On the echo of childhood
I write your name

On the wonder of nights
On the white bread of days
On the seasons engaged
I write your name

On all my blue rags
On the pond mildewed sun
On the lake living moon
I write your name

On the fields the horizon
The wings of the birds
On the windmill of shadows
I write your name

On the foam of the clouds
On the sweat of the storm
On dark insipid rain
I write your name

On the glittering forms
On the bells of colour
On physical truth
I write your name

On the wakened paths
On the opened ways
On the scattered places
I write your name

On the lamp that gives light
On the lamp that is drowned
On my house reunited
I write your name

On the bisected fruit
Of my mirror and room
On my bed’s empty shell
I write your name

On my dog greedy tender
On his listening ears
On his awkward paws
I write your name

On the sill of my door
On familiar things
On the fire’s sacred stream
I write your name

On all flesh that’s in tune
On the brows of my friends
On each hand that extends
I write your name

On the glass of surprises
On lips that attend
High over the silence
I write your name

On my ravaged refuges
On my fallen lighthouses
On the walls of my boredom
I write your name

On passionless absence
On naked solitude
On the marches of death
I write your name

On health that’s regained
On danger that’s past
On hope without memories
I write your name

By the power of the word
I regain my life
I was born to know you
And to name you

LIBERTY