Guillaume Apollinaire
To Mr. Joseph Granié
Here is the pink nipple of the warty spurge
Here is the nose of the invisible soldiers
I, the invisible horizon, sing
Let civilians and women listen to these songs
And here first is the cantilena of the wounded stretcher-bearer
The ground is white at night the azure
Bleeds the crucifixion
While the wound bleeds
Of the soldier of Promission
A dog barked the shell meows
The silent glow has burst forth
To know if war is funny
The masks did not flinch
But what a laugh under the mask
Eternal whiteness of here
Where the dove wears a helmet
And the steel also flies away
I am alone on the battlefield
I am the white trench the green and red wood
The shell meows
I will kill you
Come alive, infantrymen with yellow piping
Great artillerymen red like moles
Royal blue like the Mediterranean gulfs
Velvety of all shades velvet
Or mauve again or horizon blue like the others
Or faded
Come with the pot in mind
Stand up flare
Dance grenadier waving your pine cones
Alidades of the aiming triangles point yourselves at the lights
Dig holes children of 20 dig holes
Sculpt the depths
Fly away swarms of blond planes as well as the
beets
I the horizon I do the wheel like a big Peacock
Listen to the oracles that had ceased being reborn
The great Pan is resurrected
Virile champagne that excites Champagne
Men made young people
Chameleon of the self-guns
And you class 16
Cracking of arrivals or white bloom in
the skies
I was happy yet it burned the eyelid
The captive officers wanted to hide their names
Eye of the wounded Breton lying on the stretcher
And who cried to the dead to the fir trees to the cannons
Pray for me Good Lord I am poor Pierre
Boyaux and rumor of the cannon
On this sea with white waves
Stoic madman like Zeno
Pilot of the heart you zigzag
Small fir forests
The brood awaits its feeding
Does it point rabbit noses
Like the warty spurge
As well as the spurge here
The sun barely buds
I adore it like a Parsi
This tiny autumn sun
An infantryman almost a child
Blue like the day that passes
Beautiful as my triumphant heart
Said while putting on his hood
While we are not there
How many girls become beautiful
Here comes winter and step by step
Their beauty will move away from them
Oh sudden gleams of gunfire
This beauty that I imagine
For want of memories
Draws its origin from you
Because it is nothing but the ardor
Of violent battle
And of the terrible glow
He made himself an ardent muse
He looks at the horizon for a long time
Knives barrels of water
Lit lanterns have crossed
Me the horizon I will fight for victory
I am the invisible who cannot disappear
I am like the wave
Come on open the locks so that I can rush
all
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem unfolds as a surreal and symbolic meditation on the chaos, beauty, and grotesqueness of war. It oscillates between the personal and the universal, often blurring the boundaries between human experience, nature, and the machines of war. The speaker positions themselves as “the horizon,” a pervasive yet intangible presence, representing both an observer and a participant in the unfolding drama of conflict.
The imagery in the poem is vivid and often disorienting. References to the “pink nipple of the warty spurge” and “the nose of the invisible soldiers” establish an interplay between the natural world and the absurdity of war. These descriptions lend a tactile, almost hallucinatory quality to the landscape, where the ordinary becomes strange and the strange becomes ordinary. The surrealism heightens the reader’s sense of the dislocation and unpredictability inherent in the wartime experience.
Throughout the poem, the duality of war is evident. It is at once destructive and creative, terrifying and awe-inspiring. The “cantilena of the wounded stretcher-bearer” juxtaposes the soldier’s suffering with a song-like cadence, suggesting that even in agony, there is a kind of rhythm or order. The lines “The shell meows / The silent glow has burst forth” blend the familiar with the bizarre, underscoring the incomprehensibility of war’s violence.
The poem also explores themes of transformation and rebirth. The resurrection of “the great Pan” and the invocation of nature—”small fir forests” and “the sun barely buds”—suggest a cyclical view of destruction and renewal. The speaker’s identification with the horizon emphasizes this theme. As the horizon, they are ever-present and infinite, yet constantly changing and shaped by the events around them. The horizon symbolizes resilience and continuity, even amidst upheaval.
The soldiers in the poem are portrayed with a mix of reverence and poignancy. The “infantryman almost a child” and the “captive officers” evoke the human cost of war, while their actions—digging trenches, donning hoods—highlight their perseverance and adaptability. The “class 16” and references to specific military elements like “alidades of the aiming triangles” and “self-guns” root the poem in the practical realities of war, grounding its abstract musings in the physical world.
There is also a deep undercurrent of melancholy. The lines “While we are not there / How many girls become beautiful / Here comes winter and step by step / Their beauty will move away from them” reflect on the passage of time and the fleeting nature of youth and beauty. War disrupts lives, separating people from one another and from their former selves.
The poem closes with a defiant assertion of presence and purpose: “I am the invisible who cannot disappear / I am like the wave.” This declaration captures the paradox of war—its participants are often unseen or forgotten, yet their actions leave indelible marks on history and humanity. The speaker, as the horizon, embodies this enduring legacy, bridging the temporal and the eternal.
Ultimately, the poem is an intricate tapestry of sensory detail, philosophical inquiry, and emotional resonance. It invites the reader to confront the complexity of war, where horror and beauty coexist, and where even in the face of devastation, there remains a stubborn assertion of life and identity.