I came across a collection of poetry yesterday by a beloved poet of mine, Guillaume Apollinaire. I first stumbled upon his work in a Master’s course I took a couple of years ago about avant-garde art and literature — a class which, incidentally, changed my life in a lot of ways. Apollinaire is credited with having started the Cubist movement in art and literature. He was the man to introduce Picasso to Braques, and encouraged them to realize their full potential as artists. Much of his poetry is visual and that is part of what draws me to him.
The collection I found is in English so it doesn’t quite have the same ring for me, but it’s nice to have nonetheless. The thing that really bothers me though is that one my ever favourite pieces, “Mirror,” is very poorly translated: “In this mirror I am enclosed alive and real as you imagine angels and not as reflections are.” It’s quite a literal translation and, to me, seems to have lost the poetic finery of “Dans ce miroir je suis enclos vivant et vrai comme on imagine les anges et non comme sont les reflets.”
I was pleased this summer in Paris to discover that “Heart” is on Apollinaire’s gravestone.
“My heart the same as a flame upside down”… again, just doesn’t strike me as much as “Mon coeur pareil à une flamme renversée.” Maybe French is just better.
