The Voice of Robert Desnos Pat Battstone and Antonella Chionna
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The Voice of Robert Desnos Pat Battstone and Antonella Chionna The Voice of Robert Desnos PAT BATTSTONE & ANTONELLA CHIONNA Surrealist trance session, 1923 Photo by Man Ray The Voice of Robert Desnos Pat Battstone Piano/Vision Antonella Chionna Voice 1 If You Only Knew 9:21 2 Halfway 5:26 3 I Have Dreamed of You so Much 3:21 4 Wifeless, Plump Buck Moonigan 2:55 5 The Voice of Robert Desnos 8:44 6 Les Yeux d’Yvonne George 5:30 7 Chionnese Frantico 2:57 8 Suicide by Night 3:31 9 Spaces Inside Sleep 8:52 10 How Beautiful She 3:09 11 Nightfall 3:36 12 Nature Boy 9:01 All poetry written by Robert Desnos with musical accompaniment by Battstone/Chionna, except 2,4,10 by Chionna, 6 by Battstone, and 12 by Eden Ahbez. Design by Christine Atturio Musical Direction and Production by Pat Battstone Special thanks to Marilyn Crispell for her advice and encouragement during this project. Robert Desnos (1900-1945) Halfway And once again a trio of grandfather clocks chime Robert Desnos ( 1900- 1945 ) the same hour There is a precise moment in time At intervals of several minutes, Robert was a French poet and key participant in the Surrealist movement between 1920 to When a man reaches the exact center of his life, And once again a man passing in the street turns around 1930. Initially a part of the French Dada movement, he encountered Andre Breton and the two A fractional section of a second Because someone has shouted out his name, became friends and collaborators in the surrealist movement. Breton mentions Desnos in his A fleeting fragment of time more abrupt than a Except it turns out he wasn’t the one the woman was book Nadja as well in the First Surrealist Manifesto. However, Breton later condemns Desnon darted glance calling to, for his refusal to accept and follow Breton’s political espousal of Communism. More sudden than the peak of love, And once again a governmental official in full regalia Faster than light. Disagreeably discountenanced by the tension of the his Desnos was particularly known for his “automatic writing”, a summoning of the subcon- And a man is aware of this moment. shirt-trail caught between his trousers and his shorts, scious. With the help of both hypnosis and participation in séances, he was able to achieve Inaugurates an orphanage, trance – like states, under which he could recite his dreams, write, and draw. In this state, vivid Long avenues stretch out between tall walls of foliage And once again, after bouncing off of a speeding vehicle, Leading to the base of a distant tower in whic a lady A marvelous tomato rolls around in the gutter, landscapes of “other worldly places’ were described in the medium of poetry. lies sleeping To be swept up again later on, Yet, in spite of the surreal imagery that was evoked, there was always a central theme that ran Whose beauty resists kisses, resists passing seasons And once again a fire breaks out somewhere on the through his works – that of unrequited love. Desnos was madly in love with a Belgium chan- As a star the wind, a rock the waves. sixth floor of a building And burns at the heart of a silent, indifferent city, teuse named Yvonne George who, though passionate about Desnos, could never reciprocate A ship, shaking and trembling, sinks to the bottom, And once again a great many things, his “delirium” due to her fame as well as her addiction to opium, cocaine, and alcohol. Due to weeping. Many, many other things that a man notices suddenly her abuse, she died an early death in 1930. In The Voice of Robert Desnos, he describes being A flag flaps at the top of a tree. in that moment at the exact center of his life, master of the universe, yet unable to get the attention or affection of “the one I love”. A well-groomed woman, but with stockings falling Many, many other things unfolding at great length in over her shoetops this briefest of earth’s brief moments. Though separate from the Surrealist movement, Desnos continued to collaborate with its Appears at the streetcorner, He savers for awhile the mystery of this moment, of members : Man Ray, Antonin Artaud, Picasso and others. He became involved with jazz and Excited, shaking this fractional section of a second, cinema. A number of his poems were set to music by French composers. Hand shielding a lantern extinguished by still smoking After which he says: “Let’s get rid of all these black thoughts!” During the war, Desnos became involved with the Resistance, writing under an assumed name, And once again a drunken dockworker sings at the And so he gets rid of all these black thoughts. as well as doing radio radio broadcasts. He was eventually arrested by the Nazis and sent to a far end of a bridge And what could he say concentration camp in Czechoslovakia, where he was kept in the an isolated cell block reserved And once again a girl nibbles the lips of her lover, And what could he do for political prisoners. His camp was eventually liberated but he died of typhoid a few days later. And once again a rose-petal drifts downto into That would be better? the empty bed, The Voice of Robert Desnos the ragged remnants which were rotting both in and on the Spaces Inside Sleep Hands which wring themselves sinisterly in the pale earth flap before my voice like banners of revolt wan light and axles which creak along snakily twisting So like a flower of the flowing of the air the bedlinen drying on fences around farms no garbs Here in the night are the seven wonders of the world, roadways. like the running among the flickering shadows in its glare the most adorable women whom I do not adore grandeur and tragedy and crime You are here, no doubt — you, the one I never like a smile just barely glimpsed that celebrated midnight eve but who follow me still Here forests combine to mingle with their own quite recognize, and who therefore I recognize so much like all of happiness and so much like sadness too obedient to my voice and adoring me legendary beasts hidden in the thickets perfectly well here comes midnight now hoisting its naked torso aloft tornadoes whirl around in my mouth You are here. And who, though present in all my dreams, persist above the church steeples and poplar tops hurricanes bring if such a thing is possible color to my lips Here in the night are the steps of man strolling by, in permitting yourself to be sensed in them while now I summon to me all things lost out in this landscape tempests purr at my feet steps of the assassin, steps of the night watchman, never actually appearing. crumbling corpses oak-trees become sawn-off stumps typhoons if such a thing is possible start to paint my portrait the light from a lamp-post and also the light from You who cannot quite be grasped either in dreams remnants of old rags rotting underfoot well as bedlinen I accept the drunket kisses of cyclones some ragpicker’s flashlight. or in reality. drying on fences around farms raging tides crash forward before my feet You are here. You who belong to me by virture of my desire to I summon to me tornadoes and hurricanes the tremors of the earth make me tremble not at all Here in the night trains and boats travel by together possess you in fantasy but whose face never draws tempests cyclones typhoons but cause carnage at my call with the mirages of landscapes lit by the light of day. closer to mine except when I close my eyes tight the tidal washes too volcanic smoke clothes me in wisps The last breath of dusk and initial shivers of the dawn. against both dreams and reality. the tremors of the earth and that from the cigarettes becomes my cologne Notes from a piano, fragments of some voice. You, despite a facile rhetoric in which the tides expire I summon to me the smoke from volcanoes and also while the smoke-rings from cigars create my crown A door slams. A clock. on sandy beaches, in which crows flutter through that coming out of cigarettes love-affairs and even long-sought love itself take refuge Moreover not merely material things and beings and empy factories, in which whole forests rot and crackle the smoke-rings of expensive cigars here with me their sounds. beneath a leaden sun. I summon to me all lovers and love-affairs lovers hearken to my voice But myself as well, chasing myself and then running You who are the solid base of all my dreams yet who I summon to me the quick as well as dead the living and the dead yield to me and greet me the first on endlessly past myself. jolt and upset all my metamorphosis-laden soul and I summon gravediggers I summon assassins quite coldly the second quite familiarity Here you are, the chosen one – you, the one I await. you who leave behind you glove upon my fingertips I summon executioners I summon ship-pilots gravediggers abandon their half-finished holes to announce Sometimes at the moment of slumber strange faces whenever I bend to kiss your hand. construction-workers and architects that I alone can command their nocturnal labors appear, then disappear.