A Certain Plume

by Henri Michaux, Richard Sieburth (Translator), Lawrence Durrell (Preface)

Libro usado en buenas condiciones, por su antiguedad podria contener señales normales de uso

Genres: Poetry, Short Stories, Fiction, Surreal, France, 20th Century, Literature

240 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1930

About the author

Henri Michaux was a highly idiosyncratic Belgian poet, writer and painter who wrote in the French language. Michaux is best known for his esoteric books written in a highly accessible style, and his body of work includes poetry, travelogues, and art criticism. Michaux travelled widely, tried his hand at several careers, and experimented with drugs, the latter resulting in two of his most intriguing works, Miserable Miracle and The Major Ordeals of the Mind and the Countless Minor Ones.

Reviews

[Peter Crofts]

Probably the best place to start if you're looking for an introduction to Michaux. The reason I'm saying so is this is a translation of a complete text, one from very early in his career. I may be wrong, but it could very well be the first book he published.

All told, it amounts to roughly 100 pages of prose poems, a handful of free verse and a very odd, very short one act play.

Michaux demands close attention and constant rereading. As you progress through the work you will find yourself gradually calibrating yourself to his interior world and the manner in which he represents it. This is highly claustrophobic, sometimes frenetic, sometimes explosive writing. Yes, there is some humor in this book, but to use a term like "Chaplinesque" to describe it is, in my reading of this work, not really on the mark. Sure, there's the feel of a bewildered character at the mercy of the modern world, but there's a lot more going on here beyond slapstick comedy and absurdist tropes. Some have called Michaux a modern mystic, one with no clear religious affiliation. There's something to that, as he himself claimed, some of his writings are "hygenic" and/or "exorcisms". Whatever is going on here, it is the result of a deep need to express the internal world through language. But this is neither a language of sense or nonsense. It moves back and forth, restlessly, relentlessly, and at times, painfully.

Beyond being all of the Michaux's work associated with Plume, it contains a bizarre 7 page chronology of the author's life, written by him in his late 50s. It's a slight contribution to his output, but like most anything he put his hand to, it's angular, unique and puzzling.

One last thought. If you're a fan of Beckett's mature output you really need to look at Michaux in general, once you've encountered him (along with some other French poets of the first half of the 20th century) Sam will not seem so sui generis.

[Narjes Dorzade]

دیگر نمی‌دانند چه کنند، باز می‌آیند، بر می‌گردند، باز می‌آیند، باز می‌روند، باز می‌روند پیِ آن نگاه منتظر، آن نگاه خیره.

آخر، گم می‌شوند توی شب، و این برایشان آرامش بزرگی است.

هانری میشو

[Amirsaman]

مولف بر اندیشه‌اش آگاه نیست، حتا زمانه‌اش را نمی‌شناسد. و داستان پلوم برای رو شدن چنین نقصانی است. پلوم خودی ندارد، پلوم کسی نیست - هیچ است، دستاورد دنیای ما. پلوم ژست محض است. «هر دانشْ جهلی تازه ‌می‌آفریند. هر آگاهی یک ناآگاهی تازه.» پس این کتاب ناتمام است، چون هم نویسنده و هم ما باید در لابه‌لای خطوطْ زندگی خود را پیش ببریم، و جهان را (به عنوان پس‌زمینه) تجربه کنیم - بجای به پایان بردنِ تجربه‌ی داستان.

[S̶e̶a̶n̶]

The world needs more writers like Henri Michaux. I have nothing to say about this book at the moment that isn't already covered in Peter's excellent review, only to reiterate his advice that this would be a good place to start with Michaux.

Things are a facade, a crust. Only God is. But there is something divine in books.
The world is a mystery, plain things are a mystery, stones and plants. But books might well contain an explanation, a key.
Things are hard, matter and humans are hard, irrevocable.
A book is supple, untrammeled. A book is not a crust. It is a ball of light. The filthiest of books, the thickest of books, a ball of light. Pure. Soulful. Divine. Self-abandoning.

[Alana]

when the asocial surrealist slapstick hits, it pummels. it deadpanhandles off the straight and narrow, until your head comes quite off, and every getaway after each miserable defeat rings in nothing but waves of laughter flat as a scribble. every poet that has put serious effort into not taking themselves seriously, thank you for your service. everyone else can bugger off. every humorist is a sad sexualist but not every sad sexualist is a humorist, and i think that is a shameful trombone in more pits than orchestras, an inexcusable carafe crowding the middle of the table. born tired and born full of holes, i will be raising this prolapsed and postlapsarian flag at the noon service, lest we forget.

then:
“i told alana we
should throw a rave while
you are away, and
she said she is going
to her room to
read poetry.”

“poetry is her rave.”

in both counts equally self-professed and painfully branded as raving mad, this quasi-surgical ablation or alienation of the sovereign ego, this post-Freudian attempt to lance the abscess of the unconscious, surely, should involve pulling one of these 〽️♻️🃏 under a strobe? it is one of many night impediments and disappearances.

[Aslı Can]

Karman çorman şeyleri okumayı seven birisi olan bana, karman çorman geldi. Bi ironi hakim ama niyetini çözemedim. Henri Michaux'u tanıyacağım için bayağı hevesliydim ama hevesimi bir sonraki kitabına saklıyorum.

[Sinem A.]

Değişik bir tarz, değişik bir deneyim kısa bir okuma oldu.

[Luca Rotella]

Come leggere una tela di De Chirico

[Esforçonulo]

ao início o plume não parece ser aquele livro cheio de pujança, que nos fará reconsiderar a nossa vida e relação com a leitura. mas se há escritor em quem somos recompensados por confiar em, é no michaux.

um certo plume é um livro multifacetado, em perpétua mutação. ao início pensa-se que apenas estaremos com os muitos enternecedores e divertidos fascículos da vida de plume, um "homem" conceptual, que não existe. michaux estica o surrealismo a um dos seus expoentes máximos, sem nunca complicar a linguagem: é tudo directo, acessível, aparentemente simples e bonacheirão.

mas depois michaux esmaga as nossas expectativas: há uma peça de teatro onde os personagens são apenas "loucos" que querem criar ilhas, um longo texto de natureza autobiográfica e confessional, poemas...

plume tenta e sucede na tarefa deste "livro total", mas nunca esperamos que tenha 70 páginas. mas de facto, a quantidade de variedade, registos e locais mentais que michaux explora, é completamente incomum. faz rir, e faz chorar, sem algum dia desconfiarmos que isto é henri michaux. o seu estilo tem, dentro de si, muitos.

o maior problema do michaux é que escreve para escritores. a sua inventividade é um tanto dependente de também se participar no ofício e labor que une dois escritores. porque há uma outra camada para a sua leitura, a de quem percebe o quão difícil e engenhoso é este exercício, tanto conceptual (todos os textos são permeados por uma grande ideia de fundo), como estético (a escolha de palavras, o rhythmo, as imagens), como a própria forma de escrita. michaux é tão bom que nem uma má tradução o estraga (ao contrário doutros dos meus mais queridos, como Apollinaire e Maiakovski).
portanto sim, é tudo bom e quem não gosta é uma merda.

[moi, k.y.a.]

neden bilmiyorum, benim bu kitaptan beklentim çok başkaydı. kötü değildi ama ben beklentimin kurbanı olmuş oldum

[jessica]

I wish there is more of Plume, who is reminiscent of Italo Calvino's Marcovaldo (Marcovaldo: or the Seasons in the City). Some sections also remind me of Octavio Paz's Eagle or Sun? -- but less rigorous, perhaps. Personifying, e.g., fortune and misfortune is a hypnotizing strategy to play with the human condition, and yet David Eagleman's Sum: Forty tales from the afterlives seems to be capable of taking it further. Overall, the volume is a hit-and-miss for me.

[Chuck LoPresti]

Very hard to describe what he does but if you've read Renard's Nature Stories and Valery's Teste - you'll be on familiar footing. Like most things informed by a knowledge of Rabelais and Jarry - you can expect originality and intelligence - but Michaux is almost more. Very unique voice, no purple prose but as Sontag said of Walser - a clairvoyant of the small. There's something quite magical here - Michaux sets out to redefine how language works and his quest for some essential is one that you'll find rewarding. Plume is a bit like Panurge meets Chaplin in all the best ways. The intro is worth the book's price alone and this work should make most readers consider their reading experiences bifurcated into pre and post knowledge of Michaux. A peer of Messiaen, Matta, Pound, Cioran and just as strong in his visual output - this is one of the most unique and powerful voices in 20th-C literature. When you're published in New Directions and NYRB - you're worth attention.

[Zbigniew]

Po proza poetycka. Kilkanaście krótkich utworów owianych atmosferą surrealistycznego czarnego humoru. Piórko to postać, która dryfuje od jednej rzeczy do drugiej, nieustannie narażona na zagrożenia ze strony rzeczywistości. Jest uosobieniem wyobraźni, która podlega niezliczonym potknięciom i upokorzeniom, a mimo to pozostaje niezniszczalna. Michaux kreuje bohatera, który w przeciwieństwie do Józefa K. czy przepędzanych zewsząd bohaterów filmów Chaplina jest sam zarażony złem, surrealistycznie okrutny, podstępny i podły. “W naszym wagonie znajdowała się kupa jakiś Bułgarów, mamroczących coś do siebie bez przerwy, nie mogących usiedzieć w miejscu, postanowiliśmy od razu z tym skończyć. Wyciągnęliśmy rewolwery i zaczęliśmy strzelać bardzo prędko, bo nie ufaliśmy im na jotę. Oni wydali się tym nieco zaskoczeni, ale wiecie jak to jest, z Bułgarami nigdy nie wiadomo…”

[Vega Starlight]

A Certain Plume, by Henri Michaux, felt like reading a posthumously compiled volume of every scrap and crumpled paper from the circular file.

I enjoyed a few of the pieces, and I was thrilled to see the English translation alongside the original French; however, I am a strong believer that most poetry is not worth publishing, and as such and despite the few strong pieces, most of this book is not worth reading.

The good pieces are well-balanced snapshots of existential moments. Conversely, the bad pieces are so saturated with existentialism that all meaning is lost. Most of the pieces are nonsensical silliness devoid of any rational thought or purpose.

“Write drunk, edit sober.” - Ernest Hemingway.

[Chris Colegrove]

To personify himself into such a twisted character as Plume is bold work, and that’s exactly what exemplifies Michaux’s brilliance. Plume is uncomfortable. Everything everyone wishes not to be. But that’s what makes his poetry so compelling. Michaux succeeds with what every writer struggles with—to bear oneself without the concerns of a damaged perception of their image or character. Plume makes poetry feel inviting because he shows us that it doesn’t have to be pretty or complicated to be full of beauty or depth. Poetry can be ugly. It can be gritty. As is life. And that’s what makes this collection so good.

[Will Cumbie]

Destructive comedy in the Rimbaud/Jarry vein (Sieburth's afterword brings Kafka and Chaplin forward as other analogues), with an intense emotional core which becomes clearest toward the book's end. Reading this volume it becomes clear why Michaux is so often grouped with the surrealists, with whom he had no formal affiliation. Excellent translation as well, really sings.

[Alicja]

absolutnie nierealne, bardzo ciekawa lektura.
opowiadania z nurtu surrealizmu są fragmentaryczną historią tytułowego Piórka, który pozostaje zupełnie bierny wobec otaczającego go świata, wspaniała zabawa do czytania powierzchownego i pożywka dla umysłu przy czytaniu głębokim.

[Chip]

Excellent surrealist literature! I'm looking forward to reading his book on Ecuador.

[Ernest Mathijs]

As a Belgian, I totally 'get' this, the rhythm, the twists, the logic, the shrugs, the desperation, the comedy. The pieces about 'Bulgarians on a Train' and the visit to Casablanca are sublime.

[Beyza]

İlginç, orijinal bir metin.

[Andrew]

Like Oblomov meeting a bacterial Chaplin.
A masterpiece. Even if you've read the excerpts published in his Selected Writings or Darkness Moves, nothing really compares to the full, gorgeous volume. Also included is a superb intro essay/preface by Lawrence Durrell, good notes, a postscript, appendices and an afterword by Sieburth the translator.
If this doesn't trigger your own imagination or level of insight, so sorry.

Good quotes:

All objects offer a grazeable cheek. Then they eat you up. What’s Plume doing here? He’s shacked up with a pipe. Of the two it is always the object that is in charge[…]He who is firm is a man. But he who is soft is without limits.

There are those who delude themselves when it comes to questions of sustenance. As for the jaguar, the gazelle just disappears into him, leaving nary a trace. The more he eats tender gazelles, the more he proves himself a jaguar.

[Cary Stough]

I bought this for the piece "Postface" (the last in the book), and came away from the whole experience feeling like an orange that had been split open and relished.

It's been far too long since I've eaten a hotdog.

Good way to start 2020! I hope Bernie wins this year. I hope I'm not reading this post in prison later this year!

[Loki]

Bizarre, disturbing, and hilarious, I feel that this book is one I will repeatedly come back to. It's a little reminiscent of Jon Fosse's Scenes From a Childhood, though far more absurd in tone. A series of absurd nightmares that exposes the strange way we humans sometimes process the world.

[Sam]

The actual content is hard for me because it's effing weird and surreal, but aside from that, I hate the translation with a fiery passion.

[nick]

Strangely bluesy and affecting, especially for something mixing ripe surrealism, willful doggerel, Dada drama, modernist pratfalls, and gore dreams—just a very good book about being a person.

[bunny ʚ♡ɞ]

"tereyagindan kil ceker gibi isin icinden siyrilmaya her zaman tesne olan hayat, boylece onu sessizce terk etti."

[bruno ☆]

confusing.

[Elliott C]

I thought this book was hilarious. One of my favorite books that I've read this year.