Guillaume Apollinaire

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Guillaume Apollinaire was born on August 26, 1880, in Rome, Italy, and died on November 9, 1918, in Paris, France. He was a French poet, writer, and art critic, recognized as one of the most innovative voices in early 20th-century literature. A leading figure in the literary avant-garde, he was associated with Cubism, Surrealism, and other modernist movements, even before they had formal names. His life was as dynamic and varied as his work, and his military service during World War I left a profound mark on his poetry and his legacy.

Born Wilhelm Albert Włodzimierz Apolinary Kostrowicki to a Polish mother, Apollinaire’s mixed heritage gave him a cosmopolitan outlook. Moving to France in his youth, he adopted the name Guillaume Apollinaire and immersed himself in the vibrant artistic and literary circles of Paris. He became friends with many key figures of the time, including Pablo Picasso and Marcel Duchamp. His poetry, which embraced experimentation with form and structure, reflected the innovations of these artists. Works like Alcools (1913) and Calligrammes (1918) broke new ground, mixing traditional themes with bold typographic layouts and free verse.

When World War I broke out in 1914, Apollinaire, though not a French citizen at the time, volunteered to serve in the French army. He joined the artillery and later transferred to the infantry. His wartime experiences profoundly influenced his writing, particularly the collection Calligrammes, which he subtitled “Poems of Peace and War.” This book blends the horrors of battle with the lyricism and visual experimentation that became his trademark. His use of calligrams—poems arranged to form shapes on the page—was a striking way to merge text and visual art, reflecting his deep connection to the Cubist movement.

In 1916, while serving on the front lines, Apollinaire suffered a severe head wound from shrapnel. The injury required trepanation (a surgical intervention on the skull), which left him physically weakened but did not diminish his creative output. He was honorably discharged in 1917 and returned to Paris, where he continued to write and champion the modernist movements he had helped to shape. Despite his injuries, Apollinaire remained a vital presence in the artistic community, coining the term “Surrealism” and influencing countless writers and artists.

Apollinaire’s life was cut short when he succumbed to the Spanish flu pandemic in 1918, just days before the end of World War I. He was 38 years old. His death marked the premature loss of a visionary figure whose work bridged the old and the new, the classical and the experimental.

His legacy lies not only in his poetry but also in his role as a cultural pioneer. Apollinaire helped shape the course of modern art and literature through his advocacy and experimentation. His willingness to take risks—both in life and on the page—has ensured his place as one of the defining artists of his era. Today, he is remembered as a poet who fused the personal and the universal, capturing both the beauty and the brutality of the modern world.

You may learn more at the Poetry Foundation and Wikipedia.

POSTCARD

Guillaume Apollinaire
I am writing to you from under the tent

While this summer day is dying
Where dazzling blossom

THE CHAMPENOIS WINEGROWER

Guillaume Apollinaire
The regiment arrives

The village is almost asleep in the perfumed light
A priest has his helmet on his head

Cotton in the ears

Guillaume Apollinaire
So many explosives on the hot spot!

Write a word if you dare?
The impact points in my soul always at war

SIMULTANEITIES

Guillaume Apollinaire
The cannons thunder in the night

They look like stormy waves
Hearts where a great boredom points

THE CROSSING

Guillaume Apollinaire
Of the pretty boat of Port-Vendres

Your eyes were the sailors
And how tender the waves were

EXERCISE

Guillaume Apollinaire
Towards a village in the rear

Four bombers were leaving
They were covered in dust

WONDER OF WAR

Guillaume Apollinaire
How beautiful are these rockets that light up the night

They climb to their own peaks and lean down to
look

DESIRE

Guillaume Apollinaire
My desire is the region that is in front of me

Behind the Boche lines
My desire is also behind me

ROCKET

Guillaume Apollinaire
The curl of black hair on the nape of your neck is my treasure

My thoughts reach you and yours cross it
Your breasts are the only shells I love

THE FIRES OF THE BIVOUAC

Guillaume Apollinaire
The moving fires of the bivouac

Illuminate dream shapes
And the dream in the interlacing

THE SEASONS

Guillaume Apollinaire
It was a blessed time we were on the beaches

Go away early in the morning barefoot and without a hat
And fast as a toad’s tongue

PARTY

Guillaume Apollinaire
FOR André Rouveyre

ALWAYS

Guillaume Apollinaire
To Madame Faure-Favier

THE SIGHS OF THE DAKAR SERVANT

Guillaume Apollinaire
It is in the log cabin veiled in wicker

Near the gray cannons facing north
That I think of the African village

ECHELON

Guillaume Apollinaire
Frogs and tree frogs

Toads and toads
Asceticism under the poplars and ash trees

JUNE 14, 1915

Guillaume Apollinaire
We can’t say anything

Nothing of what’s happening
But we change Sector

MUTATION

Guillaume Apollinaire
A woman who was crying

Eh! Oh! Ha!
Soldiers who were passing

WAR_

Guillaume Apollinaire
Central branch of combat

Contact by listening
Or pull in the direction of “the noises heard”

Aim

Guillaume Apollinaire
Cherry-colored horses limit of the Zealands

Golden machine guns croak legends
I love you freedom that watches in the hypogea

SP

Guillaume Apollinaire
What do we put in it

In the gun hut
Kind of hairy of my heart

SHADOW

Guillaume Apollinaire
Here you are again near me

Memories of my companions who died in the war
The olive of time

2nd​ GUNNER DRIVER

Guillaume Apollinaire
Here I am, free and proud among my companions

The alarm has rung and in the early morning I greet
The famous Nancy girl whom I never knew

IN NÎMES

Guillaume Apollinaire
To Emile Léonard

FUMES

Guillaume Apollinaire
And while the war

Bloodies the earth
I raise the smells

IT’S RAINING

Guillaume Apollinaire
It’s raining women’s voices as if they were dead even in

memory it’s you too that it cries wonderful encounters of
my life oh droplets and these rearing clouds start to neigh just

May 21, 1913

Guillaume Apollinaire
Ferryman of the dead and the mordonnantes mériennes

Millions of flies fanned a splendor
When a man without eyes, without a nose and without ears

THE HILLS

Guillaume Apollinaire
Above Paris one day

Two great planes fought
One was red and the other black

THE WINDOWS

Guillaume Apollinaire
From red to green all the yellow dies

When the macaws sing in the native forests
Abatis of pihis

LINKS

Guillaume Apollinaire
Ropes made of cries

Sounds of bells across Europe

The Little Car

Guillaume Apollinaire
On the 31st day of August in the year 1914

I left Deauville shortly before midnight
In Rouveyre’s little car

Cote 146 [Hill 146]

Guillaume Apollinaire
No flowers left but strange signs

gesturing down the blue nights
in my prolonged adoration Lou

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