20th Century Poetry

The latest (and perhaps the last, but not least) turning point

This last century has been one of the world's most decisive eras. Progress in all fields has been lightning fast and spectacular - another Renaissance, whose technologically "upgraded" alchemy has changed the face of the earth radically and irrevocably. And of course, art and poetry had to reflect all the unavoidable vicissitudes, while also keeping an eye on its equally inescapable archetypal foundations.

1. A Wish

For your eyes I would love the plain
And a forest auburn and green,
Faraway
And sweet
With a translucent blue-skyed horizon,
Or the beautifully curved hills
Lithe, nonchalant, evaporated
Like melting in the mellowness of the air
Either the hills
Or the forest...

I would love it if you could hear
Powerful, vast, profound and tender,
The great hollow voice of the sea
Lamenting on its own
Like love;
And now and then, beside you,
In the meantime,
If only you could hear
Close to your ear
A dove
In the stillness,
And, frail and sweet
Like love,
Partly in the shade,
If only you could hear
The springing of a spring.

I would love blossoms for your hands,
And for your footsteps
A little path of turf and sand,
To climb a while and then descend,
Winding, as if leading
Into the depths of silence,
A tiny path of sand
Lightly marked by your footsteps,
Our footsteps,
Side by side...

Henri de Regnier (1864-1936)
Les Medailles d'Argile (1900)

2. The Plaint of a Little White Horse

The little horse for the worst of weather, oh, how brave he really was!
It was just a little white horse, all behind and he in the front.

Nice weather was never there in that miserable landscape.
Spring was never, never there, neither behind, nor in the front.

But, well, he was always glad to transport the village boys
Through the black rain of the fields, all behind and he in the front.

The cart proceeded chasing his pretty little wild tail.
It was then he was really glad, them behind and he in the front.

But one day in the worst of weather, one day he was oh, so wise,
A white flash of lightning killed him, all behind and he in the front.

He died never having seen nice weather, oh, how brave he really was!
He died never having seen the Spring, neither behind, nor in the front.

Paul Fort (1872-1960)
Ballades Francaises (1922-1958)

3. Soldes

Drunken with liquid blue and having smoked the clouds
I went and slaughtered this city's forest-like crowds
And all the stars born from so many unknown an eye
Wept tears of ideal in the motionless sky

Sometimes on the crossroads guided by their girlfriends
Whose own woolen skirts slapped their thighs before my stare
Blind men gesticulating just like ants
Were mirrored by the rain inside the sidewalk's glare

In stores gloved heroines of all colors and shapes
Prepared their victory but me I was so shy
Their laughters bound together in clusters of grapes
Announced all autumns oh my worn out memory

Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918)
Soldes (Published 1985)