Guillaume Apollinaire
How beautiful are these rockets that light up the night
They climb to their own peaks and lean down to
look
They are ladies who dance with their gaze for
eyes arms and hearts
I recognized your smile and your vivacity
It is also the daily apotheosis of all my Berenices
whose hair has become comets
These golden dancers belong to all times
and all races
They suddenly give birth to children who only have
time to die
How beautiful are all these rockets
But it would be much more beautiful if there were even more
If there were millions of them that would have a complete
and relative meaning like the letters of a book
Yet it is as beautiful as if life itself came from the
dying
But it would be even more beautiful if there were even more
However
I look at them like a beauty that offers itself
and vanishes immediately
It seems to me that I am attending a great feast lit up at giorno
It is a banquet that the earth offers itself
It is hungry and opens long pale mouths
The earth is hungry and here is its feast of
cannibal
Balthasar Who would have said that one could be so cannibalistic
And that it took so much fire to roast the human body
That is why the air has a little empyreumatic taste which
is not unpleasant in my opinion
But the feast would be even more beautiful if the sky ate
with the earth
it only swallows souls
Which is a way of not feeding itself
And is content to juggle with multi-colored fires
But I sank into the sweetness of this war with
all my company along the long guts
A few cries of flame constantly announce my
presence
I dug the bed where I flow by branching into a thousand
little rivers that go everywhere
I am in the front line trench and yet
I am everywhere or rather I am beginning to be everywhere
It is I who begins this thing of centuries to come
It will take longer to realize than not the fable of
flying Icarus
I bequeath to the future the story of Guillaume Apollinaire
Who was at war and knew how to be everywhere
In the happy cities of the rear
In all the rest of the universe
In those who die trampling in the barbed wire
In the women in the cannons in the horses
At the zenith at the nadir at the 4 pointscardinals
And in the unique ardor of this vigil of arms
And it would doubtless be much more beautiful
If I could suppose that all these things in which
I am everywhere
Could occupy me also
But in this sense there is nothing done
For if I am everywhere at this hour there is however
only me who is in me
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Analysis (AI Assisted)
This poem is an intricate tapestry of imagery and reflection, using the brilliance of rockets as a metaphor for the fleeting beauty, destruction, and interconnectedness of life during war. The rockets, described as dancers and comets, evoke a sense of awe and admiration. Yet, beneath their beauty lies the grim reality of conflict—they “give birth to children who only have time to die.” This juxtaposition captures the duality of war: moments of grandeur shadowed by profound loss.
The rockets symbolize both the ephemeral nature of life and the human desire for meaning. The poet yearns for “millions of them” to create a “complete and relative meaning,” likening their fleeting bursts to letters in a book. This metaphor suggests an urge to find coherence amidst chaos, to weave moments of destruction into a narrative that transcends their immediate horror. However, the poet acknowledges the transience of beauty, likening it to a banquet that satiates only briefly before vanishing.
The poem shifts from external observation to personal reflection. The poet identifies with the elements of war—the cries of flame, the trenches, and even the earth itself, which hungers for bodies and devours them in a grotesque feast. The depiction of earth as cannibalistic adds a visceral layer to the poem, emphasizing the dehumanizing aspect of war and the way it consumes everything in its path.
The poet’s presence becomes omnipresent, not confined to a single place but dispersed across the frontlines, the rear, and even the universe. This idea of being “everywhere” speaks to the universality of war’s impact and the interconnectedness of all participants and observers. The mention of “Guillaume Apollinaire” brings an autobiographical dimension to the poem, positioning the poet both as a chronicler of the present and as a figure whose story will be inherited by the future.
The closing lines reveal a tension between the poet’s expansive vision and the inherent solitude of individual experience. While the poet feels connected to everything, there is a poignant realization that “there is however / only me who is in me.” This sentiment underscores the isolation of self-awareness, even amid a shared, collective ordeal.
Ultimately, the poem is a meditation on the complexity of war, blending admiration for its strange beauty with an unflinching acknowledgment of its horrors. It captures the paradox of being human—finding meaning in destruction, seeing beauty in chaos, and seeking connection in isolation. The poet’s voice, rich with imagery and layered reflections, invites readers to confront these contradictions and to find their own place within the universal story of conflict and survival.