In Joachim du Bellay completed the first translation of Lucretius into French, twenty-two lines from the beginning of De rerum natura henceforth DRN , for a collection of ancient sources to accompany Louis Le Roy's translation of Plato's Symposium. This translation is one of a set of texts that demonstrates the Pleiade group's wide-ranging engagement with Lucretius, marking not only its first explicit textual manifestation but also its central themes: poetry, desire, and politics.
The other Pleiade poets acknowledged Belleau as the most learned among them. Belleau's poetry provides an excellent case study in how thoroughly sixteenth-century poets responded to Lucretius's demanding vision of poetry's political role.
A shrewd reader of Lucretius, Belleau discerns the implications that DRN's forays into the language of pleasure and the genres of love have for politics and poetry. He combines what at first glance appear to be sharply opposed Lucretian treatments of desire in order to articulate a particular vision of French patrimony. Particularly in the Pierres, Belleau uses desire as a master metaphor for both politics and art, drawing inspiration from DRN's persistently erotic tone. But before moving to Belleau's work, we must address how Lucretius modified his Epicurean sources. De Broca beat solo Deville to the screen in with his pair of manic comedies, Le farceur and Les jeux de l'amour , and I am proud to say I shared the same thought with Jean Douchet before I even read it in his write-up for Cahiers of Ce soir ou jamais when he wrote "Thanks to Michel Deville, we no longer need Philippe de Broca" which is doubly bitter considering de Broca was a friend of Cahiers and worked with several of the Young Turks on their early films.
But these films which also star Jean-Piere Cassel, who will join the Deville fold in the next decade give a strong Goofus to Deville's Gallant, and are strong evidence that quickly paced and relayed comic films of this nature are hard to pull off successfully. The film also contains a tweak on spoken opening credits in the spirit of Le mepris and the Magnficent Ambersons that is simultaneously so intuitive and clever and yet glaringly obvious that you wonder how in the world no one else came up with it first.
Impossible de l'ouvrir. Mon dieu mon dieu! Account type. Les larmes sont en nous. Cazals, etc. Sylvio Lazzari Le Triomphe de la Vie.
He seems to be trying everything here, playing with camera position, movement, blocking, and use of space like a kid playing with a new toy for the first time, absolutely in love with it, and we get to see this new love at work. Even Ce Soir ou Jamais feels restricted by comparison, because it actually follows some sense of rules and logic in form, something keeping the film 'grounded' while remaining playful and free within that logic.
There's a shot at the beginning of Une balle where two characters are talking in a car outside an apartment complex, wondering aloud what the person inside the apartment is doing. As they look up, the camera abruptly pans upwards towards the sky and continues its dizzying vertical somersault until it stops at a table inside said apartment, in what is one of the most bizarre, unexpected, and exhilarating editing choices of a French New Wave film I've seen, which is saying something!
Neupert mentions Deville as a figure worth studying once his films are made available in the first edition of his New Wave study, but this is dropped from the second edition. Other than Douchet giving the man his due in his huge French New Wave coffee table book, no modern sources cite Deville-- but this isn't news or a meaningful metric, since as I've already mentioned several times, most of the directors once considered part of the Nouvelle Vague have been left by the wayside in favor of only the Young Turks and the Left Bank directors, which is a woefully incomplete and inaccurate summation of the actual movement.
Here's the Conseil des dix excerpts for his first two solo features. Note that these are arranged by order of overall score with the most well-liked on top. See how Adorable menteuse , while not a runaway hit with the journal's contributors, still merited the top spot that month which gives you an idea of how free the contributors were with handing out bad scores.
Note that as in all months, however, not all of the invitees to the Conseil were necessarily on staff with Cahiers. Douchet also wrote an effusive review for Cahiers of Ce soir ou jamais that I've already quoted from PS Au prix de sa vie is Dorogoy tsenoy , if anyone's trying to figure that one out. I would also love to read that Douchet review if you feel like going through the process of translating. What begins as an incredibly funny, endearing story of two sisters engaging in quick, witty banter, preceding a similar dynamic in Brigitte et Brigitte , slows down to create liberal levels of narrative space for characters to simply meander and be silly at a picnic for a while in its middle section, much like Rozier, Rivette, and Eustache would master in the early 70s.
Deville then takes a sharp left turn, dipping into the spy thriller briefly before switching gears again to a straight romantic arc. Though even amongst these more dramatic moments the film keeps its breezy light-hearted vibe, with enough gags spliced in to give it a playful touch - often via abrupt New Wave cuts, my favorites being Spoiler Show. The early scene in the woods that kicks off the plot was a confusing and terrifying Kafka-esque nightmare, that became all the more frightening when it turned out to be real.
Despite the heavy-handed seriousness of the situation, Deville still has room for sight gags the shot of four separate policeman looking for Charrier in a chase sequence, rapidly edited over one another with the same background, was an unexpectedly comic breath of fresh air.
As if that wasn't bad enough, her death caused her parents to subsequently kill themselves a few months afterwards. Grim stuff! Speaking of actors, I find it odd that Deville rarely works with an actor more than once there are certainly exceptions in Piccoli, Cassel, et al. That has to be one of the strangest, melancholic, and surprising endings, due to a mixture of psychedelic tone and style as well as content. Both Apollinaire and Poulenc were deeply in love with Paris.
They were also both enthusiasts of modernity and its everyday blessings and conveniences: both were able to find many things poetic that had formerly not been recognized as such. Anything could be the subject of poetry—trains and trams, planes, posters, modern architecture, electricity, machines, cannon and shrapnel, any picturesque curiosity, any unexpected or outlandish juxtaposition. This earthy eclecticism suited Poulenc, the musical magpie, the master of patchwork quilts, to a T; he gobbled up composers, Monteverdi to Malipiero, just as Apollinaire revered Villon to Verlaine, recycling them to his purpose.
Both artists were masters, in their own fields, of the audaciously allusive. In , the abandoned Angelica moved to France with her children; until the age of seven the young Wilhelm spoke only Polish and Italian. The upheavals Apollinaire later effected in French literature, and the insouciance and charm with which these were accomplished, were no doubt symptoms of his disrupted childhood and polyglot background because Apollinaire was naturalized only in , the greatest French poet of the early twentieth century was a citizen of France for only the last thirty-two months of his life.
In , at the age of seventeen, he was already as interested in anarchism as in the prevailing orthodoxy of symbolism—indeed he was destined to become the liquidator of symbolism a Debussy song to an Apollinaire text thus seems an impossible thought, although the two men died in the same year. Striking it lucky in the same year with Vicomtesse Milhau who needed a tutor for her daughter, Apollinaire was whisked off to Germany and discovered the Rhineland at the same time as initiating an affair with Annie Playden, English governess of the Milhau children, a relationship that was to drag on for three years.
In March he took in Prague, Vienna and Munich. He visited London see Hyde Park in the vain hope of persuading Annie to elope with him. During these years poems by Apollinaire appeared in various reviews and newspapers. The woodcuts were by Raoul Dufy, although the poet would have preferred Picasso.
He was an associate of someone who had regularly stolen other artefacts from the museum. At the same time he sincerely professed himself a dyed-in-the-wool Parisian and patriotic Frenchman precisely because he was neither Parisian nor French; like an Indian-born writer bemoaning the end of the British aristocracy, he revelled in a nostalgia for a vieille France that another side of his nature sought to modernize by any and every means, even if his rampages might result in its destruction.
On the outbreak of war in he volunteered immediately but, as a Russian citizen, encountered a barrier of red tape. The following Easter he was sent to the front at Champagne; by November he had been promoted to sub-lieutenant in the 96th regiment and had experienced the horror of the trenches. On 17 March he suffered a head-wound from shrapnel at Berry-au-Bac and underwent a lengthy convalescence and sub-cranial surgery. Although only thirty-six himself, he had already become the idol of a group of younger men who espoused the literary avant-garde—Breton, Tzara, Reverdy and Cocteau.
The poet, weakened by his illnesses, died of Spanish flu on 9 November An actual friendship between Apollinaire and Poulenc might have brought forth even greater things but, as in the case of Schubert and Goethe, we must be grateful for an inspired synthesis of words and music that personal contact could not possibly have improved. Of the forty-two tracks on this disc all but fourteen are devoted to the poetry of Guillaume Apollinaire, a poet we have already encountered in Calligrammes on disc 2.
However, these settings were so well liked by sopranos that they immediately entered the repertoire. We may be sure that this inveterate and suicidal gambler is a displaced Parisienne. It was entirely natural that Poulenc should have wanted to collaborate with this quicksilver spirit who was ruthlessly ambitious and whose talents seemed limitless.
Cocteau was everything and anything he needed to be: playwright, critic, novelist, draughtsman, stage decorator, film director, choreographer. Even in the early days we sense that what Cocteau had to offer the composer in terms of verbal inspiration was not enough. Compact Disc 4 — Fancy Songs — This is a disc for a finale, a dazzling gallimaufry of a programme with Poulenc as time-traveller and stylistic magician. The songs of Francis Poulenc—A personal memoir I experienced the coup de foudre of discovering Poulenc the song composer late in Felicity Lott and myself, fellow-students at the Royal Academy of Music, were simultaneously hooked and enraptured.
In the same year we took part in masterclasses given by Pierre Bernac at the British Institute of Recorded Sound; these were organized by the enchanting Winifred Radford, the soprano daughter of the great British bass Robert Radford. After her retirement she taught the French song class at the Guildhall School.
Winifred was a lifelong friend of the great baritone, and assisted him in the translation into English of his two books. Since then I have never wavered in my admiration for this great duo, who stand next to Pears and Britten in the performance of twentieth-century song. On a trip to Paris I stumbled across a music shop, long-since vanished, in the Rue Lamartine where I purchased second-hand scores of almost all the song collections at ten francs each, copies that serve me still.
Buy Le journal d'une menteuse (French Edition): Read Kindle Store Reviews - halydeskfact.tk C'est le journal personnel de Marie-Agnès Leongran, tiré d'un manuscrit ancien, qui a vécu entre Digne et Nice entre et Elle tient deux journaux.
Many years later I was moved to discover that Sir Lennox Berkeley, a personal friend of Poulenc, had written approvingly about this article in his diary.