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Born in Chaux-de-Fonds, Switzerland, in 1887, Blaise Cendrars ran away from home when he was just fifteen to work for a jewel merchant. He traveled with the merchant through Russia, Persia, and China. Cendrars, who was educated in Naples, Italy, finally settled in St. Petersburg to work as an apprentice to a clockmaker. Fighting for the French in World War I, Cendrars lost his right arm, but taught himself to type left-handed. Cendrars wrote his first long poem, Easter in New York, in the United States. And his first novel, L'Or, which focused on the California gold rush, was eventually made into the American movie Sutter's Gold. Cendrars chronicled his experiences in Hollywood in articles for Paris-Soir; the articles were published as a book, Hollywood: Mecca of the Movies, in 1995. Other Cendrars titles include Christmas at the Four Corners of the Earth, Rhum, and Lice. Cendrars's novels earned him a worldwide reputation and one of France's highest literary honors, the Prix Litteraire de la Ville de Paris. Considered a prime catalyst of the modernist movement, Cendrars also wrote poems, plays, and short stories. Cendrars died in 1961 at the age of 74.
192 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1946
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361 people want to read
About the author
Blaise Cendrars
275 books277 followersFrédéric Louis Sauser, better known as Blaise Cendrars, was a Swiss novelist and poet naturalized French in 1916. He was a writer of considerable influence in the modernist movement.
His father, an inventor-businessman, was Swiss, his mother Scottish. He spent his childhood in Alexandria, Naples, Brindisi, Neuchâtel, and numerous other places, while accompanying his father, who endlessly pursued business schemes, none successfully.
At the age of fifteen, Cendrars left home to travel in Russia, Persia, China while working as a jewel merchant; several years later, he wrote about this in his poem, Transiberien. He was in Paris before 1910, where he got in touch with several names of Paris' bélle époque: Guillaume Apollinaire, Modigliani, Marc Chagall and many more. Cendrars then traveled to America, where he wrote his first long poem Pâques à New-York. The next year appeared The Transsibérien.
When he came back to France, I World War was started and he joined the French Foreign Legion. He was sent to the front line in the Somme where from mid-December 1914 until February 1915. During the attacks in Champagne in September 1915 that Cendrars lost his right arm. He described this war experience in the books La Main coupée.
After the war he returned to Paris, becaming an important part of the artistic community in Montparnasse. There, among others, used to meet with other writers such as Henry Miller, John Dos Passos and Ernest Hemingway.
During the 1920's he published two long novels, Moravagine and Les Confessions de Dan Yack. Into the 1930’s published a number of “novelized” biographies or volumes of extravagant reporting, such as L’Or, based on the life of John August Sutter, and Rhum, “reportage romance” dealing with the life and trials of Jean Galmont, a misfired Cecil Rhodes of Guiana.
La Belle Epoque was the great age of discovery in arts and letters. Cendrars, very much of the epoch, was sketched by Caruso, painted by Léon Bakst, by Léger, by Modigliani, by Chagall; and in his turn helped discover Negro art, jazz, and the modern music of Les Six. His home base was always Paris, for several years in the Rue de Savoie, later, for many years, in the Avenue Montaigne, and in the country, his little house at Tremblay-sur Mauldre (Seine-et-Oise), though he continued to travel extensively. He worked for a short while in Hollywood in 1936, at the time of the filming of Sutter’s Gold. From 1924 to 1936, went so constantly to South America. This life globertrottering life was pictured in his book Bourlinguer, published in 1948.
Another remarkable works apparead in the 40s were L’Homme Foudroyé (1945), La Main Coupée (1946), Le Lotissement du Ciel (1949), that constitute his best and most important work. His last major work was published in 1957, entitled Trop, C’est Trop.
==========
Sources:
- http://www.theparisreview.org/intervi...
- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blaise_...
His father, an inventor-businessman, was Swiss, his mother Scottish. He spent his childhood in Alexandria, Naples, Brindisi, Neuchâtel, and numerous other places, while accompanying his father, who endlessly pursued business schemes, none successfully.
At the age of fifteen, Cendrars left home to travel in Russia, Persia, China while working as a jewel merchant; several years later, he wrote about this in his poem, Transiberien. He was in Paris before 1910, where he got in touch with several names of Paris' bélle époque: Guillaume Apollinaire, Modigliani, Marc Chagall and many more. Cendrars then traveled to America, where he wrote his first long poem Pâques à New-York. The next year appeared The Transsibérien.
When he came back to France, I World War was started and he joined the French Foreign Legion. He was sent to the front line in the Somme where from mid-December 1914 until February 1915. During the attacks in Champagne in September 1915 that Cendrars lost his right arm. He described this war experience in the books La Main coupée.
After the war he returned to Paris, becaming an important part of the artistic community in Montparnasse. There, among others, used to meet with other writers such as Henry Miller, John Dos Passos and Ernest Hemingway.
During the 1920's he published two long novels, Moravagine and Les Confessions de Dan Yack. Into the 1930’s published a number of “novelized” biographies or volumes of extravagant reporting, such as L’Or, based on the life of John August Sutter, and Rhum, “reportage romance” dealing with the life and trials of Jean Galmont, a misfired Cecil Rhodes of Guiana.
La Belle Epoque was the great age of discovery in arts and letters. Cendrars, very much of the epoch, was sketched by Caruso, painted by Léon Bakst, by Léger, by Modigliani, by Chagall; and in his turn helped discover Negro art, jazz, and the modern music of Les Six. His home base was always Paris, for several years in the Rue de Savoie, later, for many years, in the Avenue Montaigne, and in the country, his little house at Tremblay-sur Mauldre (Seine-et-Oise), though he continued to travel extensively. He worked for a short while in Hollywood in 1936, at the time of the filming of Sutter’s Gold. From 1924 to 1936, went so constantly to South America. This life globertrottering life was pictured in his book Bourlinguer, published in 1948.
Another remarkable works apparead in the 40s were L’Homme Foudroyé (1945), La Main Coupée (1946), Le Lotissement du Ciel (1949), that constitute his best and most important work. His last major work was published in 1957, entitled Trop, C’est Trop.
==========
Sources:
- http://www.theparisreview.org/intervi...
- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blaise_...
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April 23, 2013
Amici miei in trincea
La mano mozza è, come dice Cendrars, una cronaca delle avventure dell'autore durante la Grande Guerra. Cendrars infatti si arruolò nella Legione Straniera, fu mandato al fronte nelle trincee della Somme e nel settembre 1915 perse l'avambraccio destro. Il libro è stato scritto al termine di un'altra guerra, nel 1945-46, e la distanza di quasi trent'anni dai fatti narrati si sente. Infatti Cendrars si lascia forse prendere dalla nostalgia di quella che è stata la sua giovinezza, tende secondo me a mitizzare la sua vita militare e la racconta con un tono che sembra dire ad ogni pagina: Era una situazione di m..., ma quanto ci siamo divertiti. Il racconto delle persone, dei compagni di Cendrars e dei vari episodi si snoda come se fosse una chiacchierata tra reduci che si ritrovano davanti a un bicchiere e si ricordano i bei tempi andati.
Proprio per questo tono tra lo scanzonato e lo smargiasso il libro si legge molto volentieri: il periodare è frizzante, ed anche la costruzione per episodi che si intrecciano e si rimandano l'un l'altro contribuisce a farne una lettura estremamente gradevole. Ci si sorprende quindi a gustare anche gli episodi più cruenti, le morti dei compagni che Cendrars racconta come fatti inevitabili o dovuti alla loro stupidità, le sortite in prima linea organizzate per fare uno scherzo ai boches, l'eroismo incosciente che l'autore attribuisce a se stesso.
Allo spirito di corpo che anima la squadra di legionari si contrappone la stupidità di quasi tutti i superiori, che vengono ridicolizzati da Cendrars perché non capiscono, con il loro formalismo regolamentare, lo spirito goliardico con cui i nostri fanno la guerra. Manca nel libro una formale denuncia delle atrocità belliche, ma questa emerge dai fatti, dalla oggettiva distorsione della prospettiva e dell'individualità che la guerra comporta.
In definitiva un libro per certi versi spiazzante, una sorta di tragico Amici miei dove chi schiaffeggia i passeggeri alla stazione rischia seriamente di rimanere sotto il treno.
La mano mozza è, come dice Cendrars, una cronaca delle avventure dell'autore durante la Grande Guerra. Cendrars infatti si arruolò nella Legione Straniera, fu mandato al fronte nelle trincee della Somme e nel settembre 1915 perse l'avambraccio destro. Il libro è stato scritto al termine di un'altra guerra, nel 1945-46, e la distanza di quasi trent'anni dai fatti narrati si sente. Infatti Cendrars si lascia forse prendere dalla nostalgia di quella che è stata la sua giovinezza, tende secondo me a mitizzare la sua vita militare e la racconta con un tono che sembra dire ad ogni pagina: Era una situazione di m..., ma quanto ci siamo divertiti. Il racconto delle persone, dei compagni di Cendrars e dei vari episodi si snoda come se fosse una chiacchierata tra reduci che si ritrovano davanti a un bicchiere e si ricordano i bei tempi andati.
Proprio per questo tono tra lo scanzonato e lo smargiasso il libro si legge molto volentieri: il periodare è frizzante, ed anche la costruzione per episodi che si intrecciano e si rimandano l'un l'altro contribuisce a farne una lettura estremamente gradevole. Ci si sorprende quindi a gustare anche gli episodi più cruenti, le morti dei compagni che Cendrars racconta come fatti inevitabili o dovuti alla loro stupidità, le sortite in prima linea organizzate per fare uno scherzo ai boches, l'eroismo incosciente che l'autore attribuisce a se stesso.
Allo spirito di corpo che anima la squadra di legionari si contrappone la stupidità di quasi tutti i superiori, che vengono ridicolizzati da Cendrars perché non capiscono, con il loro formalismo regolamentare, lo spirito goliardico con cui i nostri fanno la guerra. Manca nel libro una formale denuncia delle atrocità belliche, ma questa emerge dai fatti, dalla oggettiva distorsione della prospettiva e dell'individualità che la guerra comporta.
In definitiva un libro per certi versi spiazzante, una sorta di tragico Amici miei dove chi schiaffeggia i passeggeri alla stazione rischia seriamente di rimanere sotto il treno.
October 28, 2012
Accostare “La mano mozza” a Hemingway o Céline perché tutti e tre parlano della prima guerra mondiale è come dire che “Histoire d’O” e “Madame Bovary” sono simili perché parlano di tradimenti femminili. Sto solo facendo un esempio, non esprimendo un giudizio (detto per inciso, non ho mai sopportato né Hemingway né Céline, mentre non si discute che “Madame Bovary” sia un capolavoro altissimo della letteratura mondiale; “Histoire d’O” è lettura fatta in epoca adolescenziale sulla quale non mi sento certa di esprimere un giudizio valido tuttora, fatto sta che allora l’avevo trovato esaltante).
Cendrars mi ha inchiodata al suo racconto con tutti e cinque i sensi. La percezione sensoriale è il cuore pulsante della sua narrazione: si sta immersi nel fango; l’udito si affina come quello di un animale selvatico; puzza di umido, merda, cadavere; godimento della bevuta che annaffia pane e formaggio. La vista passa in secondo piano, solo per farci subire uno choc più forte quando ci vengono mostrate le morti atroci e improvvise dei personaggi ai quali intanto ci siamo affezionati. Morti estetizzanti, che sbocciano come fiori, come quella mano mozza caduta dal cielo: “ritto fra l’erba come un grosso fiore aperto - un giglio rosso – un braccio umano grondante sangue, un braccio destro strappato netto sopra il gomito, con la mano ancor viva che affondava le dita nella terra come per abbarbicarcisi, e il cui stelo sanguinolento oscillava adagio adagio per poi fermarsi del tutto in equilibrio”. Uomini bruciati da sensazioni forti, che di sensazioni sempre più forti hanno bisogno come assuefatti a una droga. Pronti a pagare “per niente, per la gloria, per ubriachezza, per sfida, per fare una matta risata, per darci una bella botta dentro, perdio, ma soda, ma tosta, giacché ognuno aveva passato le sue, un colpo gobbo di rimbalzo...”. Indimenticabile. Pura poesia la traduzione di Giorgio Caproni.
Cendrars mi ha inchiodata al suo racconto con tutti e cinque i sensi. La percezione sensoriale è il cuore pulsante della sua narrazione: si sta immersi nel fango; l’udito si affina come quello di un animale selvatico; puzza di umido, merda, cadavere; godimento della bevuta che annaffia pane e formaggio. La vista passa in secondo piano, solo per farci subire uno choc più forte quando ci vengono mostrate le morti atroci e improvvise dei personaggi ai quali intanto ci siamo affezionati. Morti estetizzanti, che sbocciano come fiori, come quella mano mozza caduta dal cielo: “ritto fra l’erba come un grosso fiore aperto - un giglio rosso – un braccio umano grondante sangue, un braccio destro strappato netto sopra il gomito, con la mano ancor viva che affondava le dita nella terra come per abbarbicarcisi, e il cui stelo sanguinolento oscillava adagio adagio per poi fermarsi del tutto in equilibrio”. Uomini bruciati da sensazioni forti, che di sensazioni sempre più forti hanno bisogno come assuefatti a una droga. Pronti a pagare “per niente, per la gloria, per ubriachezza, per sfida, per fare una matta risata, per darci una bella botta dentro, perdio, ma soda, ma tosta, giacché ognuno aveva passato le sue, un colpo gobbo di rimbalzo...”. Indimenticabile. Pura poesia la traduzione di Giorgio Caproni.
April 23, 2025
dernier livre de mon corpus universitaire !!
en vrai j’ai apprécié, je n’y serais jamais allée de moi même mais les différentes personnes sont touchantes, il y a beaucoup d’intrigues amusantes en plus de l’humour que Cendrars y glisse. Bref, je suis contente d’en avoir appris un peu plus sur la vie dans les tranchées
en vrai j’ai apprécié, je n’y serais jamais allée de moi même mais les différentes personnes sont touchantes, il y a beaucoup d’intrigues amusantes en plus de l’humour que Cendrars y glisse. Bref, je suis contente d’en avoir appris un peu plus sur la vie dans les tranchées
February 27, 2024
Intriguing book, intriguing author … but I can’t honestly claim to be entirely enthusiastic about this title.
Poet, art critic, linguist, writer, traveller, adventurer, enigma, Cendrars had a Swiss father and Scottish mother: born in Switzerland, educated in German and French, worked for several years in Russia, enlisted in the French Foreign Legion in 1914 when the Great War broke out, his real name was Frédéric Louis Sauser, and his pseudonym Blaise Cendrars is, itself, a work of art, a corruption of the French ‘braise’ (embers) and ‘cendres’ (ashes), capped off with ‘ars’ (art).
A man with a sense of humour, a man with a taste for mischief, a man who could embrace the ridiculous, and, reading this book, a man who clearly despised pomposity and pretension. He also comes across as a man who was full of himself, a man who made few efforts to repress his sense of self-importance. This was a man who may have mixed well with others, but there was an ego there, this was a man who was intent on doing things his way.
This title, “Lice”, is actually the second of an autobiographical quartet (though third to be published in English) – the first, “The Astonished Man” (“L'homme foudroyé”), published 1945, touches on his war experiences but focusses in the main on his world travels, so I chose "Lice" as I’ve been reading autobiographical works by WW1 front-line soldiers - English, German, American … and now a ‘French’ author (he enlisted in the Foreign Legion as a Swiss national, his comrades in arms were all ‘foreigners’, were not French).
And this is very much a book to be approached critically. Written in 1944-45 as France emerged from German occupation, it lacks the immediacy of memoirs kept during the First World War (or shortly after). He tells tales of his comrades (most of whom are killed), he’s unsparing about the fixations of soldiering (finding somewhere to sleep, to shit, getting enough food, and drink, and maybe sex, hating officers, never knowing what the generals will plan next, etc., etc.). There’s no glamour here, the heroics are not romanticised – they’re brutal, matter-of-fact, do what you have to to survive.
But they’re anecdotes and stories written at a distance of thirty years and in a much changed world. I didn’t get a sense of verisimilitude, it felt like reading fiction rather than being drawn into a real world. I’m not suggesting he lied about his experiences (he did actually lose an arm in combat), but I sense he padded them out, made sense of them when, in fact, there was no sense to much of what was occurring.
I’ve only read the English translation – I haven’t been able to compare it with the French original – and I can’t help feeling it has been ‘sanitised’, in places literally made sane.
And I wonder about errors – set in 1914-15, written in 1944-45, at one stage Cendrars escorts a German prisoner back for interrogation … and the translation refers to him complying with the Geneva Convention. The four Geneva Conventions didn’t come into existence until 1949, the year of my birth.
For the first sixteen years of my life I shared a house with a veteran of the First World War. My Uncle Chay wore the uniform of a Scottish regiment from day one of the war in August, 1914 until he was finally shipped back across the Channel and demobbed in 1919. He bore no animosity to the German and Turkish troops he’d fought for four years, they were just ordinary men caught up in the same war, enduring the same horrors … but wearing different uniforms. He killed them, they tried to kill him.
Chay’s body carried the physical scars of his war but he spoke little of his experiences, a few anecdotes, he never really revealed the scars to mind and memory … but in his last years he was cast adrift from reality by the grip of dementia. I’ve often wondered if four years in the Dardanelles, Palestine and the trenches of the Western Front had contributed to that decline.
And I struggle with “Lice”. Anecdotal, but how much is fictionalised? Memories are heavily edited at the best of times. Certainly the conversations Cendrars reports are far too detailed, are too precise to have been remembered for 30 years. They’re dramatised, scenes from a theatre of war. And war tends to happen quickly and suddenly, no matter how long it drags on. There’s no time to make a note of things as they’re happening.
Cendrars casts himself in the starring role – he’s a corporal, he leads his men, he creates a commando unit out of nothing, in places the account seems like a "Boy’s Own" adventure – there’s a lack of tension, a lack of terror, you don’t really absorb the exhaustion and discomfort, that sense of hanging on second by second, minute by minute.
He details the mud and the excrement and the cold and the rain and the noise and the vibrations and shocks, but it comes across as cosmetic rather than as experiential, as ‘real’ atmosphere. Was his record polished as narrative, did the translation sanitise it?
There’s humour there, there’s the sense of the ridiculous, his comrades have flaws, they’re a motley collection of men caught up in horror, trying to stay sane, not just alive.
And there’s a lot to be commended in the book – even if it is episodic, more a confection of short stories and anecdotes than a biographical work. But, for me at any rate, it didn’t quite catch and hold my attention.
[There are four autobiographical works, the third was “Planus” (“Bourlinguer”, 1948), the fourth, “Sky” (“Le Lotissement du ciel”, 1949): they explore, in the main, the author’s travels and experiences. The works appeared in English in the 1970s, translated by Nina Rootes – “Lice” was the third of the four to appear in translation, in 1973.]
Poet, art critic, linguist, writer, traveller, adventurer, enigma, Cendrars had a Swiss father and Scottish mother: born in Switzerland, educated in German and French, worked for several years in Russia, enlisted in the French Foreign Legion in 1914 when the Great War broke out, his real name was Frédéric Louis Sauser, and his pseudonym Blaise Cendrars is, itself, a work of art, a corruption of the French ‘braise’ (embers) and ‘cendres’ (ashes), capped off with ‘ars’ (art).
A man with a sense of humour, a man with a taste for mischief, a man who could embrace the ridiculous, and, reading this book, a man who clearly despised pomposity and pretension. He also comes across as a man who was full of himself, a man who made few efforts to repress his sense of self-importance. This was a man who may have mixed well with others, but there was an ego there, this was a man who was intent on doing things his way.
This title, “Lice”, is actually the second of an autobiographical quartet (though third to be published in English) – the first, “The Astonished Man” (“L'homme foudroyé”), published 1945, touches on his war experiences but focusses in the main on his world travels, so I chose "Lice" as I’ve been reading autobiographical works by WW1 front-line soldiers - English, German, American … and now a ‘French’ author (he enlisted in the Foreign Legion as a Swiss national, his comrades in arms were all ‘foreigners’, were not French).
And this is very much a book to be approached critically. Written in 1944-45 as France emerged from German occupation, it lacks the immediacy of memoirs kept during the First World War (or shortly after). He tells tales of his comrades (most of whom are killed), he’s unsparing about the fixations of soldiering (finding somewhere to sleep, to shit, getting enough food, and drink, and maybe sex, hating officers, never knowing what the generals will plan next, etc., etc.). There’s no glamour here, the heroics are not romanticised – they’re brutal, matter-of-fact, do what you have to to survive.
But they’re anecdotes and stories written at a distance of thirty years and in a much changed world. I didn’t get a sense of verisimilitude, it felt like reading fiction rather than being drawn into a real world. I’m not suggesting he lied about his experiences (he did actually lose an arm in combat), but I sense he padded them out, made sense of them when, in fact, there was no sense to much of what was occurring.
I’ve only read the English translation – I haven’t been able to compare it with the French original – and I can’t help feeling it has been ‘sanitised’, in places literally made sane.
And I wonder about errors – set in 1914-15, written in 1944-45, at one stage Cendrars escorts a German prisoner back for interrogation … and the translation refers to him complying with the Geneva Convention. The four Geneva Conventions didn’t come into existence until 1949, the year of my birth.
For the first sixteen years of my life I shared a house with a veteran of the First World War. My Uncle Chay wore the uniform of a Scottish regiment from day one of the war in August, 1914 until he was finally shipped back across the Channel and demobbed in 1919. He bore no animosity to the German and Turkish troops he’d fought for four years, they were just ordinary men caught up in the same war, enduring the same horrors … but wearing different uniforms. He killed them, they tried to kill him.
Chay’s body carried the physical scars of his war but he spoke little of his experiences, a few anecdotes, he never really revealed the scars to mind and memory … but in his last years he was cast adrift from reality by the grip of dementia. I’ve often wondered if four years in the Dardanelles, Palestine and the trenches of the Western Front had contributed to that decline.
And I struggle with “Lice”. Anecdotal, but how much is fictionalised? Memories are heavily edited at the best of times. Certainly the conversations Cendrars reports are far too detailed, are too precise to have been remembered for 30 years. They’re dramatised, scenes from a theatre of war. And war tends to happen quickly and suddenly, no matter how long it drags on. There’s no time to make a note of things as they’re happening.
Cendrars casts himself in the starring role – he’s a corporal, he leads his men, he creates a commando unit out of nothing, in places the account seems like a "Boy’s Own" adventure – there’s a lack of tension, a lack of terror, you don’t really absorb the exhaustion and discomfort, that sense of hanging on second by second, minute by minute.
He details the mud and the excrement and the cold and the rain and the noise and the vibrations and shocks, but it comes across as cosmetic rather than as experiential, as ‘real’ atmosphere. Was his record polished as narrative, did the translation sanitise it?
There’s humour there, there’s the sense of the ridiculous, his comrades have flaws, they’re a motley collection of men caught up in horror, trying to stay sane, not just alive.
And there’s a lot to be commended in the book – even if it is episodic, more a confection of short stories and anecdotes than a biographical work. But, for me at any rate, it didn’t quite catch and hold my attention.
[There are four autobiographical works, the third was “Planus” (“Bourlinguer”, 1948), the fourth, “Sky” (“Le Lotissement du ciel”, 1949): they explore, in the main, the author’s travels and experiences. The works appeared in English in the 1970s, translated by Nina Rootes – “Lice” was the third of the four to appear in translation, in 1973.]
July 4, 2024
Cendrars usa un linguaggio molto dinamico e contaminato dal parlato, con quindi un registro abbastanza basso; inoltre ha anche la secchezza un po’ volgare da soldato (ad esempio definisce stupido Rossi per come è morta). Insomma è la lingua giusta per raccontare l’ambiente delle trincee: non troppo povera da respingere il lettore ma nemmeno troppo elevata da distanziarlo dal contenuto. La scrittura un po’ brutale di Cendrars è anche figlia del suo tempo per alcune frasi abbastanza discriminanti o stereotipiche, eppure al di là della rudezza, si individua anche una grande tolleranza, come per la tensione incestuosa di Robert.
Il libro è interessante per come racconta con grande efficacia la quotidianità delle trincee e le caratteristiche individuali dei singoli soldati. Non c’è alcuna epica bellica o grandi movimenti collettivi e le morti descritte sono spesso futili o stupide , neppure durante un vero scontro. Cendrars infatti tratta la guerra su due piani divergenti. Il primo è la sua eccezionalità, ma connotata in modo caotico e negativo, rimarcandone l’insensatezza (la guerra “la si vede come qualcosa di troppo stupido e che non sembra obbedire ad alcun piano generale, ma solo al caso”). Il secondo è appunto quello della quotidianità, dell’ordinarietà ricreata in quel contesto in teoria così diverso, con i soldati che pensano prevalentemente al cibo, al bere, al fumare, alle donne e a svagarsi. L’aspetto interessante è la tensione e le contraddizioni che si creano nello spazio tra i due piani, ad esempio con l’agire degli ufficiali che, considerando solo il primo piano (ma in modo non negativo) risultano totalmente insensati e fuori contesto, con decisioni che ignorando il caos, mancano della dovuta flessibilità e si rivelano o inadatte o persino disastrose; oppure con la crudezza delle morti/ferite e delle condizioni della trincea rispetto a questa spinta nel ricreare una routine quotidiana e umana, con la memoria costantemente rivolta a casa. Cendrars sfrutta molto bene queste discrepanze, questo spazio di tensione, per conferire forza alla sua narrazione.
Altra forza del testo è la sua varietà, non così scontata considerando il tema, tanto di situazioni proposte quanto di tono, non solo drammatico (anzi, questo registro non è così presente), ma anche comico o sarcastico (soprattutto nella derisione di quasi tutti gli ufficiali, ritenuti inetti e vigliacchi, concentrati soltanto a fare carriera senza alcuna considerazione per le vite umane e al contempo incapaci di assumersi le proprie responsabilità in quanto sempre tesi a sottrarsi agli scontri; oppure rigidissimi nell’applicare regolamenti ridicoli rispetto alle condizioni del fronte), con episodi che sfiorano l’assurdo. Insomma, quello di Cendrars è uno sguardo interno che svuota dall’interno tutta la retorica bellica e militare, cosicché alla fine rimane solo la nuda realtà della quotidianità dei soldati.
L’unico neo è un certo autocompiacimento ed egocentrismo dell’autore, che per quanto si schermi a più riprese, emerge come abilissimo in tutte le azioni che intraprende, unica figura davvero eccezionale in un panorama umano decisamente imperfetto.
Il libro è interessante per come racconta con grande efficacia la quotidianità delle trincee e le caratteristiche individuali dei singoli soldati. Non c’è alcuna epica bellica o grandi movimenti collettivi e le morti descritte sono spesso futili o stupide , neppure durante un vero scontro. Cendrars infatti tratta la guerra su due piani divergenti. Il primo è la sua eccezionalità, ma connotata in modo caotico e negativo, rimarcandone l’insensatezza (la guerra “la si vede come qualcosa di troppo stupido e che non sembra obbedire ad alcun piano generale, ma solo al caso”). Il secondo è appunto quello della quotidianità, dell’ordinarietà ricreata in quel contesto in teoria così diverso, con i soldati che pensano prevalentemente al cibo, al bere, al fumare, alle donne e a svagarsi. L’aspetto interessante è la tensione e le contraddizioni che si creano nello spazio tra i due piani, ad esempio con l’agire degli ufficiali che, considerando solo il primo piano (ma in modo non negativo) risultano totalmente insensati e fuori contesto, con decisioni che ignorando il caos, mancano della dovuta flessibilità e si rivelano o inadatte o persino disastrose; oppure con la crudezza delle morti/ferite e delle condizioni della trincea rispetto a questa spinta nel ricreare una routine quotidiana e umana, con la memoria costantemente rivolta a casa. Cendrars sfrutta molto bene queste discrepanze, questo spazio di tensione, per conferire forza alla sua narrazione.
Altra forza del testo è la sua varietà, non così scontata considerando il tema, tanto di situazioni proposte quanto di tono, non solo drammatico (anzi, questo registro non è così presente), ma anche comico o sarcastico (soprattutto nella derisione di quasi tutti gli ufficiali, ritenuti inetti e vigliacchi, concentrati soltanto a fare carriera senza alcuna considerazione per le vite umane e al contempo incapaci di assumersi le proprie responsabilità in quanto sempre tesi a sottrarsi agli scontri; oppure rigidissimi nell’applicare regolamenti ridicoli rispetto alle condizioni del fronte), con episodi che sfiorano l’assurdo. Insomma, quello di Cendrars è uno sguardo interno che svuota dall’interno tutta la retorica bellica e militare, cosicché alla fine rimane solo la nuda realtà della quotidianità dei soldati.
L’unico neo è un certo autocompiacimento ed egocentrismo dell’autore, che per quanto si schermi a più riprese, emerge come abilissimo in tutte le azioni che intraprende, unica figura davvero eccezionale in un panorama umano decisamente imperfetto.
December 28, 2023
Comment un homme Suisse, qui s’est déplacé en France, pendant la Première Guerre mondiale, afin de lutter pour cette dernière, aura-t-il perdu sa main droite?
L’œuvre offre plusieurs thèmes liés à la camaraderie et l’amitié qui se développe entre des hommes unis pour lutter avec un objectif commun, c-est-à-dire défendre la France de l’Allemagne, pendant la Première Guerre mondiale, et pas comme des Français vrais et propres, mais plutôt sous la Légion étrangère. Par rapport à beaucoup d’autres œuvres qui se déroulent pendant cette période historique, il y a plus de moments qui peuvent être considérés gais, ou même drôles.
Le protagoniste, qui est l’auteur lui-même, Blaise Cendrars, un citoyen Suisse, au courant de plusieurs langues, y compris le Français (évidemment), mais aussi l’Allemand, décide de s’enrôler dans la Légion étrangère, et, dans ce bouquin, il décrit ses aventures, dont la plupart démontrent son courage et ingéniosité. Il arrive à survivre à la guerre (sinon il n’aurait pas écrit ce livre, bien sûr), mais en perdant sa main droite, et, malheureusement, plusieurs potes aussi.
Parmi les moments que j’ai pu apprécier le plus, il y a celui où Cendrars, avec l’aide de quelques compagnons, réussit à libérer une base (de la présence Allemande) par un rapprochement furtif, mais qui, malgré son succès, lui rapporte plusieurs plaintes par ses supérieurs, et la critique qu’il fait aux pompiers Parisiens, qui s'en fichent tout à fait de la France, car ils sont seulement intéressés à avancer dans leurs carrières.
Le roman est plein de moments variés, donc il propose plusieurs petites histoires, à la fois sérieuses et gaies, condensés dans un seul livre, et qui ne sont pas carrément commandés, donc, par exemple, il est possible de lire des séquences qui se déroulent après la fin de la guerre, même si on n’a lu que la moitié du bouquin. On peut apercevoir quelques phrases écrites dans d’autres langues, surtout l’Allemand pendant le chapitre où Blaise en arrive à rattraper un, donc les polyglottes vont sans doute apprécier la précision linguistique.
Pour conclure, je conseille cette œuvre à tout le monde, car, même s’il a lieu dans un contexte compliqué comme celui de la guerre, on y trouve de nombreux moments amusants et cocasses, qui aident à réduire l’impact provoqué par les morts constantes des compagnons d’armes de l’auteur. Il y a aussi des petites pépites d’histoires qu’on peut apprendre par le bouquin, y compris, et surtout, les nationalités des gens qui s'enroulaient dans la Légion étrangère (donc des Canadiens, Suisses, Italiens, Polonais, et Russes).
L’œuvre offre plusieurs thèmes liés à la camaraderie et l’amitié qui se développe entre des hommes unis pour lutter avec un objectif commun, c-est-à-dire défendre la France de l’Allemagne, pendant la Première Guerre mondiale, et pas comme des Français vrais et propres, mais plutôt sous la Légion étrangère. Par rapport à beaucoup d’autres œuvres qui se déroulent pendant cette période historique, il y a plus de moments qui peuvent être considérés gais, ou même drôles.
Le protagoniste, qui est l’auteur lui-même, Blaise Cendrars, un citoyen Suisse, au courant de plusieurs langues, y compris le Français (évidemment), mais aussi l’Allemand, décide de s’enrôler dans la Légion étrangère, et, dans ce bouquin, il décrit ses aventures, dont la plupart démontrent son courage et ingéniosité. Il arrive à survivre à la guerre (sinon il n’aurait pas écrit ce livre, bien sûr), mais en perdant sa main droite, et, malheureusement, plusieurs potes aussi.
Parmi les moments que j’ai pu apprécier le plus, il y a celui où Cendrars, avec l’aide de quelques compagnons, réussit à libérer une base (de la présence Allemande) par un rapprochement furtif, mais qui, malgré son succès, lui rapporte plusieurs plaintes par ses supérieurs, et la critique qu’il fait aux pompiers Parisiens, qui s'en fichent tout à fait de la France, car ils sont seulement intéressés à avancer dans leurs carrières.
Le roman est plein de moments variés, donc il propose plusieurs petites histoires, à la fois sérieuses et gaies, condensés dans un seul livre, et qui ne sont pas carrément commandés, donc, par exemple, il est possible de lire des séquences qui se déroulent après la fin de la guerre, même si on n’a lu que la moitié du bouquin. On peut apercevoir quelques phrases écrites dans d’autres langues, surtout l’Allemand pendant le chapitre où Blaise en arrive à rattraper un, donc les polyglottes vont sans doute apprécier la précision linguistique.
Pour conclure, je conseille cette œuvre à tout le monde, car, même s’il a lieu dans un contexte compliqué comme celui de la guerre, on y trouve de nombreux moments amusants et cocasses, qui aident à réduire l’impact provoqué par les morts constantes des compagnons d’armes de l’auteur. Il y a aussi des petites pépites d’histoires qu’on peut apprendre par le bouquin, y compris, et surtout, les nationalités des gens qui s'enroulaient dans la Légion étrangère (donc des Canadiens, Suisses, Italiens, Polonais, et Russes).
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 2, 2024
Er zijn zo van die boeken die je meteen bij je nekvel pakken. Dit is er voor mij zo een. Een commandant (korporaal) moet zijn mannen naar en in de loopgraven begeleiden en bevelen uitdelen tijdens de eerste wereldoorlog, in Noord Frankrijk. Hijzelf haat die oorlog, de modder, de stank, de verveling, het bloed. Maar hij voelt bovenal een sterk verantwoordelijkheidsgevoel voor zijn manschappen. Ze sneuvelen, één voor één, en beseffend dat hij daar niks tegen kan ondernemen, probeert hij hen toch zoveel mogelijk tegemoet te komen, in de specifieke noden en gevoeligheden van elk van hen. Hij kent zijn mannen, hij houdt van hen, ondanks hun kleinmenselijkheden, hun gezeur, hun soms onrealiseerbare dromen en wensen. Een diepmenselijke roman, waarbij we in telkens een hoofdstuk, één van de mannen leren kennen. De opeenstapeling van gesneuvelden werkt zowel voor het hoofdpersonage als voor de lezer, afstompend. Waar je aanvankelijk meegaat in de tragiek van de individuen, gaat het stilaan minder zwaar worden. Het boek creëert eelt de ziel van de lezer. Het wordt cynisch, het wordt alledaags. Il faut le faire, Mr Cendrars.
June 30, 2025
I first came across this book back in the seventies when it was republished. My great uncle - who fought in WW1 - had a copy at his house and I picked it up and read a few chapters. I think this where my (slight) obsession with WW1 originated so it was a real stroke of luck to see it advertised in a second hand book site.
To be honest, there aren't too many "horrors" in the book, the chapter I read as a child did contain a rather brutal death (which has remained with me ever since) but the book is mainly about the day to day drudgery, and insanity, of life in the trenches and the various characters the author encounters there. I think that maybe the striking cover image has haunted me as much as the words I read at that time.
I'm glad I finally got to read it in full.
To be honest, there aren't too many "horrors" in the book, the chapter I read as a child did contain a rather brutal death (which has remained with me ever since) but the book is mainly about the day to day drudgery, and insanity, of life in the trenches and the various characters the author encounters there. I think that maybe the striking cover image has haunted me as much as the words I read at that time.
I'm glad I finally got to read it in full.
December 15, 2019
A great read. I'm surprised this does not get mentioned more when talking about classic WW1 memoirs but I'm told it's much more well known in France. I'd highly recommend this read to anyone who enjoys a good memoir or WW1 story. It is told in an interesting fashion, letting you know that a character is killed in action before you are even introduced to them. There moments when Cendrars' talent for writing really shines through, even in translation. For the most part, it reads like someone sitting across from you at the bar telling you war stories as they remember them.
September 4, 2023
This is a quirky memoir. I've recently been reading Spike Milligan's WWII memoirs and this is quite similar. A combination of the sublimely ridiculous, gallows humour and extreme brutality.
April 9, 2014
1914. Blaise Cendrars, jeune poète qui vient de révolutionner les lettres avec sa "Prose du Transsibérien", lance un appel aux étrangers résidant en France et s'engage comme volontaire dans l'armée française. C'est comme légionnaire qu'il mènera cette guerre qui lui coûtera la main droite en septembre 1915.
"La main coupée", deuxième partie de cette tétralogie de souvenirs de Blaise Cendrars est un hommage à tous les camarades avec qui il a partagé les combats. Les seuls survivants semblent être ceux qui ont subi la "bonne blessure" et se retrouvent qui cul-de-jatte, qui manchot, qui aveugle. Les autres sont "tous morts, tous tués, crevés, écrabouillés, anéantis, disloqués, oubliés, pulvérisés, réduits à zéro, et pour rien".
Le récit est dur car Blaise Cendrars, malgré toutes ses critiques de l'armée, de la "pagaïe", de la hiérarchie, de la guerre, de son absurdité, déteste les boches et nous raconte des tueries invraisemblables et parfois presque gratuites, toujours sans honte et sans regrets. Pas de grands élans pacifistes dans ce récit pourtant raconté avec trente ans de recul ; mais aussi au terme de la seconde guerre mondiale qui n'aura guère contribué à l'amour de l'allemand en France.
Blaise Cendrars pose comme une forte tête, un caporal qui refuse de rentrer dans le rang, de recevoir une promotion mais qui est dévoué corps et âmes à ses hommes. "C'est l'éternel malentendu car que reproche-t-on au héros ? de n'être pas sage. Et à l'homme d'action, son action. Sa parole, au poète. Et l'amour, à la courtisane." Un peu trop valorisant pour l'auteur, le propose peu paraître complaisant mais, connaissant la vie aventureuse de Cendrars, il se pourrait peut être que son récit soit en-dessous de la vérité.
Reste des récits de guerre durs, drôles parfois mais surtout cruels et totalement fascinants. Et puis une plume, un style envoûtants qui vous aspirent dans le récit et font revivre, sans grandiloquence mais sans pudeur, l'horreur, l'humour et le quotidien des tranchées.
"La main coupée", deuxième partie de cette tétralogie de souvenirs de Blaise Cendrars est un hommage à tous les camarades avec qui il a partagé les combats. Les seuls survivants semblent être ceux qui ont subi la "bonne blessure" et se retrouvent qui cul-de-jatte, qui manchot, qui aveugle. Les autres sont "tous morts, tous tués, crevés, écrabouillés, anéantis, disloqués, oubliés, pulvérisés, réduits à zéro, et pour rien".
Le récit est dur car Blaise Cendrars, malgré toutes ses critiques de l'armée, de la "pagaïe", de la hiérarchie, de la guerre, de son absurdité, déteste les boches et nous raconte des tueries invraisemblables et parfois presque gratuites, toujours sans honte et sans regrets. Pas de grands élans pacifistes dans ce récit pourtant raconté avec trente ans de recul ; mais aussi au terme de la seconde guerre mondiale qui n'aura guère contribué à l'amour de l'allemand en France.
Blaise Cendrars pose comme une forte tête, un caporal qui refuse de rentrer dans le rang, de recevoir une promotion mais qui est dévoué corps et âmes à ses hommes. "C'est l'éternel malentendu car que reproche-t-on au héros ? de n'être pas sage. Et à l'homme d'action, son action. Sa parole, au poète. Et l'amour, à la courtisane." Un peu trop valorisant pour l'auteur, le propose peu paraître complaisant mais, connaissant la vie aventureuse de Cendrars, il se pourrait peut être que son récit soit en-dessous de la vérité.
Reste des récits de guerre durs, drôles parfois mais surtout cruels et totalement fascinants. Et puis une plume, un style envoûtants qui vous aspirent dans le récit et font revivre, sans grandiloquence mais sans pudeur, l'horreur, l'humour et le quotidien des tranchées.
December 9, 2015
Poeta, scrittore, reporter, sceneggiatore, fondatore di riviste culturali, uomo d'affari, poliglotta, amico di molti altri artisti, Blaise Cendrars (nome d'arte di Frédéric-Louis Sauser), è stata una figura molto importante in Francia, con una forte influenza su tutte le avanguardie artistiche e letterarie di inizio XX secolo.
In questo libro, sia pure a distanza di molti anni, racconta in maniera puntuale, vivida, spesso cruda e sprezzante nei confronti delle gerarchie e dei regolamenti militari, alcuni episodi della sua esperienza durante la Grande Guerra dal dicembre 1914 al febbraio 1915.
Si era arruolato volontario con la Legione Straniera ed era stato destinato sul fronte della Somme (La Grenouillère e Bois de la Vache) a combattere per la Francia al fianco di uomini provenienti da mezzo mondo.
L'esperienza militare s'interruppe brutalmente nel settembre 1915, quando durante un assalto in Champagne una raffica di mitraglia gli portò via l'avambraccio destro e la sua mano di scrittore.
La menomazione e l'esperienza della guerra hanno segnato profondamente molte delle sue opere.
Un libro duro e ironico, che consiglio di leggere.
In questo libro, sia pure a distanza di molti anni, racconta in maniera puntuale, vivida, spesso cruda e sprezzante nei confronti delle gerarchie e dei regolamenti militari, alcuni episodi della sua esperienza durante la Grande Guerra dal dicembre 1914 al febbraio 1915.
Si era arruolato volontario con la Legione Straniera ed era stato destinato sul fronte della Somme (La Grenouillère e Bois de la Vache) a combattere per la Francia al fianco di uomini provenienti da mezzo mondo.
L'esperienza militare s'interruppe brutalmente nel settembre 1915, quando durante un assalto in Champagne una raffica di mitraglia gli portò via l'avambraccio destro e la sua mano di scrittore.
La menomazione e l'esperienza della guerra hanno segnato profondamente molte delle sue opere.
Un libro duro e ironico, che consiglio di leggere.
February 11, 2010
There are at least 4 ways to write one's autobiography. This is my favourite so far.
With Mr Cendrars one never knows and that is just fine with me. This is an excellent translation of a few years from an amazing, astonishing man.
With Mr Cendrars one never knows and that is just fine with me. This is an excellent translation of a few years from an amazing, astonishing man.
May 5, 2014
Great read.
August 4, 2017
La mano mozza, quella dell'autore persa nei combattimenti in trincea durante la prima guerra mondiale. Cendrars l'ho scoperto perche' Miller ne parla nei suoi libri.
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