A Marvelous World: Poems

by Benjamin Péret, Elizabeth R. Jackson (Introduction, Translator)

English, French

Genres: Poetry

97 pages, Hardcover

First published February 1, 1985

About the author

Benjamin Péret (4 July 1899 – 18 September 1959) was a French poet, Parisian Dadaist and a founder and central member of the French Surrealist movement with his avid use of Surrealist automatism.
Benjamin Péret was born in Rezé, France on 4 July 1899. He, as a child, acquired little education due to his dislike of school and he instead attended the Local Art School from 1912. He too, however, resigned soon after in 1913 due to his sheer lack of study and willingness to do so. Afterwards he spent a short period of time in a School of Industrial Design before enlisting in the French army's Cuirassiers during the First World War to avoid being jailed for defacing a local statue with paint. He saw action in the Balkans before being deployed to Salonica, Greece.

Reviews

[M.W.P.M. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Dark teeth climb on the stars
Whats stars
A voice cries out on the lawn bruised
like a buttock
What buttocks
The wind covers the seeds' hair
The seeds will pass on
but your clouds will not
I have one in my pocket
which will rise clear up to my mouth
Then I'll smile at your stars

That's funny huh

- Portrait of Paul Éluard, pg. 17

* * *

He came
he pissed
As he was alone
he left
but he will return
an eye in his hand
an eye in his belly
and will smell a clove
of garlic cloves of garlic
Still alone
he will eat the blue asparagus of official ceremonies

- The Language of Saints, pg. 19

* * *

I
Inside
the catalog was selling live oysters
which were crying and singing
an American tune

II
The fallen leaves
have swept off two taxis
The taxis have knocked over traffic lights
Since the traffic lights have fallen
milk will no longer flow
for the fallen mustache
will no longer grow

III
We are happier than moss
the moss hasn't any hair
and we are wearing hats
Poor hats with frost-covered wings
cigarette smoke excites you
but kerosene
the crafty kerosene that empties ostensories
is lighter on your back
than aluminum chains

IV
Wallow sulamite glances
It's raining It's snowing
Under the sun that hates us
dogs eat shit
sword-belts grow rich from old horse hooves
which with their ears pierced
with luminous bellies
sell their shirts near church doors
without worrying about cachalots and zebus
The fine month of August in zebu month
The zebus have drunk too much
have drunk have drunk and will drink
whoever wants to will drink
but I don't want to
The cerebellum is too ugly
without a smile it runs to the chapel
to telephone the perfumers

V
It is a holy day a sacred day
a sacred day in the hotel
Long live the atlases under boats

VI
Rather than let the cannibals perish
we will demolish the pianos
we will prohibit the harvests
we will stop the tides

VII
Star cover
the wind drives motorcycles
It doesn't believe in salt water
and symbolizes the peoples' aspirations
like war
like clothes

VIII
The cavalry isn't far off
the oscillations aren't either

IX
Up to the July sky
fly oviparous furs
A military locksmith
invents the counterpoint
necessary for feeding bees

X
A motorless elephant
was born without scandal
Green-Handed-Absalom smiled upon him
and hung up the lilies of his viscera
on a pole
on a pin
Watched by scurvy
he'll be a widower some day
when colour will change like heat

XI
A noble heart contemplates collodion
with its feet in its hair
it is bored bored bored
like a bouquet of lilacs
in a suitcase

XII
Mirrors on balconies
balconies on cistern
avoid oars
invite kangaroos
visit sails of windmills
and die like zouaves
without the ocean and without socks
So be it

XIII
Its face rolled in flour
the Tropic of Capricorn is in my hand
which is shaking
which is growing thin and long
which is rolling
and goes far away under a tree
like a sick rat

XIV
Wines and hearth
let's go away
Our feet have their pins
and the calves their mystery
Without a minister or a harpoon
let's go away

XV
It's time to get marries
if you are afraid of rain
old beltless monastery
gray plates
bad-luck

XVI
So from the gutter
an unlatched limb
on which the uncombed name
trickled out over a fish
caught fire without disgust
Its destiny was as short as a sweat
Dear sister
have you seen my pipe
My pipe is dead
and my wide eye is dreary

- A Quarter of a Lifetime, pg. 25-31

* * *

The old dog and the ataxic flea
happened to meet on the tomb of the unknown soldier
The old dog stank like a dead officer
and the flea said
Isn't it too bad to pin little bits of shit with red ribbons
on your chest
Formerly rotten leeks didn't blush about being rotten
coughing and spitting bits of wood
made very respectable hearses
with a poisonous odor of church mushrooms
and the mustache was only used for weeping
Now springs of old hair shoot up between cobblestones
and you simply adore them old general
for they come from the skull of a priest
who hasn't any bones
who hasn't any eyes
and who watches himself dissolving in a holy-water basin

- Halfway, pg. 43

[Gregory Wallace · Rating 5 out of 5]

Peret's poems are relentlessly surreal. A very fine collection. I recommend it to anyone interested in imaginative poetry or surrealism in general.