"I do not dip my pen into an inkwell, but in life"
Young Blaise, a teenager, jumped out the window, catches the first train, where his travels lead him not, random streets, footpaths, cross roads. Out and outbound. The man is so. It's Latin for horse, goes the punt ... and leaves. In Rimbaud enthusiast, Blaise sings the praises of perpetual departure of universal taste, a new rumor still. He died when the clip.
Each of his letters turns a "... and there's still something." is the country that has ... homesick. Evil is membership. Like Gary, Cendrars is the man of inappartenance, including in respect of his work. The Road Warrior has chosen to mix the ashes in his name ... and art. Singular destiny. All life is a poem for this love of wandering.
The fluidity of his writing is the writer-traveler always ready to embark on its next plant in the world as it goes. In his trunk: his manuscripts in his Remington portable, some clothes, two pairs of godasses, kilos of white paper ... Crossing the eighteen days of Pernambuco in Cherbourg. And this crazy dream of charging him with a magnificent anteater nose-shaped banner, bargained to an old negro blind. "Having a fitted like that makes you laugh all day!"
according to his ideal life - on a boat of course - the man will have plenty of time to think about its "seven Wonders of the World all prosaic as possible: the ball bearing, advertising, money, music by his friend Erik Satie ... and neck of a naked woman. Not to mention the wonder of wonders: the gift of creation.
"When you love you must feel from
sing run
Breathe walk pars going into"
Poetry the real, has no country. Pen Cendrars prances. And he is in shirtsleeves, whistling. Or playing with a dictaphone, inventing a friendly voice polyphony. Blaise has a taste for risk. Writing is for him the hardest thing, he admits. Writing is perhaps abdicate. Who wants to listen, he professes a disdain for the written word. Poetry is always involved the image of the poem-riddle-nailed it hid in the back of an attic campaign ... "At the heart of the world" : man "right hand" (d) writing an evening stroll in Paris. Orion is its star, lost his right hand in the war and ascended to heaven. Cendrars starts in its own steps, but the poem refuses him to become this text "antipoetic" which led to the prose, despite its author.
The adventure continues, and new fluid. Blaise is a year in Rome, do ... film. Then landed in Hollywood, where "all streets lead to a studio." Cendrars between fascination for the image and humor naive "I intended to shoot a couple of elephants in the process of coitus. I failed." As for "filming" the Classic Parade lovers kiss, he lists with delight the list of fifty people needed the filming of the scene. Since the two players until ... "producer" . The friend
Doisneau photograph Blaise writing in the old Aix figure of the solitary writer facing a smooth wall, in the light of a bare bulb. Cendrars evokes the rare bird flying in a clearing in the Brazilian jungle: the "Septicolore" , dazed and passive, has the eye of the bird lucid hallucination, and a bit of panache ... the mushroom cloud of Bikini!
The dream is another's journey: "I dreamed I was flying like a bird, flying arms, legs" ... Before being "gutless" upon awakening, he admits, laughing. Blaise is a dream too, you will see, please "naked" on the deck of a boat, paddle when he likes to describe ... for him. Also departing in his head. "Language is one thing that attracted me, trained, perverted. ... Correct wrong, but alive"
"All life is a poem, a movement. I do that a word, a verb, a depth in the direction of the wildest, the most mystical, most alive, " Cendrars wrote in 1913 about The Prose of the Transsiberian . Praise of leaving, ours this time, in the work-world the travel writer.
"Why write?" Because. " Apotheosis of a cryptic language crackling.
Young Blaise, a teenager, jumped out the window, catches the first train, where his travels lead him not, random streets, footpaths, cross roads. Out and outbound. The man is so. It's Latin for horse, goes the punt ... and leaves. In Rimbaud enthusiast, Blaise sings the praises of perpetual departure of universal taste, a new rumor still. He died when the clip.
Each of his letters turns a "... and there's still something." is the country that has ... homesick. Evil is membership. Like Gary, Cendrars is the man of inappartenance, including in respect of his work. The Road Warrior has chosen to mix the ashes in his name ... and art. Singular destiny. All life is a poem for this love of wandering.
The fluidity of his writing is the writer-traveler always ready to embark on its next plant in the world as it goes. In his trunk: his manuscripts in his Remington portable, some clothes, two pairs of godasses, kilos of white paper ... Crossing the eighteen days of Pernambuco in Cherbourg. And this crazy dream of charging him with a magnificent anteater nose-shaped banner, bargained to an old negro blind. "Having a fitted like that makes you laugh all day!"
according to his ideal life - on a boat of course - the man will have plenty of time to think about its "seven Wonders of the World all prosaic as possible: the ball bearing, advertising, money, music by his friend Erik Satie ... and neck of a naked woman. Not to mention the wonder of wonders: the gift of creation.
"When you love you must feel from
sing run
Breathe walk pars going into"
Poetry the real, has no country. Pen Cendrars prances. And he is in shirtsleeves, whistling. Or playing with a dictaphone, inventing a friendly voice polyphony. Blaise has a taste for risk. Writing is for him the hardest thing, he admits. Writing is perhaps abdicate. Who wants to listen, he professes a disdain for the written word. Poetry is always involved the image of the poem-riddle-nailed it hid in the back of an attic campaign ... "At the heart of the world" : man "right hand" (d) writing an evening stroll in Paris. Orion is its star, lost his right hand in the war and ascended to heaven. Cendrars starts in its own steps, but the poem refuses him to become this text "antipoetic" which led to the prose, despite its author.
The adventure continues, and new fluid. Blaise is a year in Rome, do ... film. Then landed in Hollywood, where "all streets lead to a studio." Cendrars between fascination for the image and humor naive "I intended to shoot a couple of elephants in the process of coitus. I failed." As for "filming" the Classic Parade lovers kiss, he lists with delight the list of fifty people needed the filming of the scene. Since the two players until ... "producer" . The friend
Doisneau photograph Blaise writing in the old Aix figure of the solitary writer facing a smooth wall, in the light of a bare bulb. Cendrars evokes the rare bird flying in a clearing in the Brazilian jungle: the "Septicolore" , dazed and passive, has the eye of the bird lucid hallucination, and a bit of panache ... the mushroom cloud of Bikini!
The dream is another's journey: "I dreamed I was flying like a bird, flying arms, legs" ... Before being "gutless" upon awakening, he admits, laughing. Blaise is a dream too, you will see, please "naked" on the deck of a boat, paddle when he likes to describe ... for him. Also departing in his head. "Language is one thing that attracted me, trained, perverted. ... Correct wrong, but alive"
"All life is a poem, a movement. I do that a word, a verb, a depth in the direction of the wildest, the most mystical, most alive, " Cendrars wrote in 1913 about The Prose of the Transsiberian . Praise of leaving, ours this time, in the work-world the travel writer.
"Why write?" Because. " Apotheosis of a cryptic language crackling.
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