Résumés
- Type de publication : Article de revue
- Revue : Constellation Cendrars
2021, n° 5. varia - Pages : 153 à 158
- Revue : Constellation Cendrars
- Thème CLIL : 4027 -- SCIENCES HUMAINES ET SOCIALES, LETTRES -- Lettres et Sciences du langage -- Lettres -- Etudes littéraires générales et thématiques
- EAN : 9782406122814
- ISBN : 978-2-406-12281-4
- ISSN : 2557-7360
- DOI : 10.48611/isbn.978-2-406-12281-4.p.0153
- Éditeur : Classiques Garnier
- Mise en ligne : 27/10/2021
- Périodicité : Annuelle
- Langues : Français, Anglais
“Ladies and gentlemen
blaise cendrars is not dead”
Devenue une icône du rock dès 1975, à la sortie de son album Horses, la chanteuse américaine Patti Smith s’est imposée sur la scène musicale mondiale par son style poétique et énervé, alliant beat et garage rock. Elle se destinait toutefois d’abord à la poésie, publiant des recueils avant d’enregistrer des disques. Grande lectrice, elle cite fréquemment le poète Arthur Rimbaud mais elle s’intéresse aussi à Blaise Cendrars, à qui elle consacre une lecture musicale en printemps 2020. En 1971, pour les dix ans de son décès, elle lui dédie un poème : Ladies and gentlemen Blaise Cendrars is not dead.
Ladies and gentlemen
Blaise Cendrars is not dead
That rummy you buried in such
grave ceremony was his own enemy
True the right arm gone
Blaise slashed it himself
some little Puff Box
run off at the mouth
was jack rolling our hero
with a wicked pack of cards
But Blaise a jack dandy himself
noted the error
(all the chips were on Puff Boxes’ side)
and like the great Hammurabi
Blaise cut him down
right hand for that bad hand of poker
He is alive in every marked deck
every poker chip
He has a pair of slick dice
116and he’ll wheel you straight to hell
When you dial round the black market
you deal with him
It’s our man who drops cigar ash
on the receiving end
It’s him crooning liquid music
and sonorous tin pan
through every cable line
linking every slob sister
swindler two-bit gambler
anyone slightly illegal or angel
has an ash in their vest pocket
and a kodak of that scoundrel
(vainer now one-armed crack face
than this mock hardy youth)
He has dragged me in and out
of every photo booth
praising in bad poetry
the Polaroid sixty second snap
Like a great epic film, we reeled the world
I assisted that cur in a marvelous hoax
in the gentle Midwest
Our wagon rolled in a dry bone state
Blaise posed as Louis Saucer
humble rainmaker prophet in rain boots
but when the clouds cracked
the white rain was liquor
and all of Iowa was soused with tequila
every pour sap that poured to the scene
of the great rain left drenched
and drunk to the teeth
Blaise curled that famous lip
and we laughed and laughed
and caused more mischief since
It was his ticklish fingers
that caused Mick the Jagger
to dance like a fish
117He shot lightning from the theatres
robbed the actors of their shadows
and backstage mirrors
It was his sassy diseased kiss
that laid Miss Universe with the mumps
the recession ? our man’s been pinballing
feeding opium into IBM
and sparing no one the bugger
would rob school children
The dirty shit still spits poetry
between his clicking spaced teeth
tracing aerial views of Greenland
land of the treacherous ice age
and the weeping permafrost
Gold mine dreams in Goat canyon
charting the nuggets where the moon slaps
then drunk with that special glitter
running lyrics in gold dust inks.
A fool hearty documentarian
his choppers have spun the globe
and for want of a straw hat
we were trapped knee deep
in the swamps of Panama
We suffered malaria
and as a result slaughtered
2/3 the mosquito population
in that hot hole
Christ it was a lusty battle
we were sick with laughter
and sick ourselves
runny assed and cunt with clap
hair red with crabs and lice
in our boots and we rolled
our own smokes
twisted up a few Panama reds
plotting the end of that wily insect
We danced to Vulcan
118our private god of flame
and sacrificed a few blood suckers
snapping their heads with our nails
which turned our hero slightly pale
Some years ago, he cried
I bragged the beauty of my hands
I have music beneath these fingernails
And true those fists never failed
to spiel whole logs full of
literature Roman a clef
and now it’s come to this
mosquito death hiss
Christ then it began again
the old fever and thirst for fire
with torches we ran whole lengths
of those Panama fields
and as the brush caught up
I cried out in my most disgusting French
Blaze on Blaise !
and that bastard burnt me with a cigarette !
Patti Smith
2021-1971