A Liberdade ou o Amor

by Robert Desnos, Aníbal Fernandes (Tradução e apresentação)

"In those days, my door was open to mystery." So speaks the hero of Desnos' novel: Sanglot the Corsair. Mystery, the marvellous, a city transmuted by love, Sanglot's pursuit of the siren Louise Lame, such are the essential ingredients of this the last masterpiece of early Surrealism to remain untranslated into English. It was originally published in 1924 to immediate and lasting acclaim - except from the public authorities who immediately censored whole sections (here restored).

Impossible to describe a novel of such virtuosity and bravura, and one which consistently refuses to behave as one expects, characters appear and vanish according to whim or desire, they walk underwater, nonchalantly accept astounding coincidences. It's a hymn to the erotic, an adventure story darkly illumined by the shades of Sade, Lautreamont and Jack the Ripper, a dream both violent and tender, an obsession, in fact the perfect embodiment of the Surrealist spirit: at once joyful, despairing, and effortlessly scandalous.

Genres: Poetry, France, French Literature

144 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1927

About the author

Robert Desnos (4 July 1900 – 8 June 1945) was a French surrealist poet who played a key role in the Surrealist movement of his day.

Reviews

[Uroš Đurković · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ovo nije knjiga o razuzdanosti, ovo je razuzdanost sama, koja se cedi, prekomerno, dekadentno, zakučasto. Desnosove halucinacije su napunile sto godina, a mi iskustvo nadrealizma i dalje nismo svarili, teška je to hrana, na koju svaki probavni trakt reaguje različito. Ipak, Desnosov koga avangarda suštinski interesuje, ostaće uskraćen za nešto vrtoglavo podsticajno bez čitanja ove knjige. A o trpezi književnoteorijskih poslastica da ne govorim. Od obznane smrti autora pre smrti autora, do jezičkih kalambura i pametnog (burlesknog!) golicanja tradicije. Poneko bi mogao i da se šokira, što nije nevažno napomenuti, tako da ste upozoreni. A zašto i zbog čega, može se relativno lako proveriti. Prevod je, inače, maestralan, a samo mogu misliti kako je izboriti se sa ovim navalama i isplivati kao pobednik, kao preživeli.

[Steven Godin · Rating 4 out of 5]

'Ineffaceable imprint of love! You sweeten the man's body with a new fragrance, absolutely different from that of virginity, you give the mind a new anxiety when it notices that the unknown is even more unrecognizable after the first meeting than when it is was ridiculously clean from injury. I was Mabel's lover for only a few days, but they were enough to transform my life and endow my dreams with a new sense of smell. Bloody nights, dreamy nights, nights of life, you are now my nights. As soon as the sun has disappeared on the horizon like the counterweight of a clock, I feel the tyrannical presence of the bottles which, with slight clashes, take their customary place on the shelves of my mind. I do not know the name of their content except for one, the amber which already charms the author of these lines and, to see this liquid that generates infinities tremble, my eyes themselves, despite their naturalness. humidity and their resemblance, common to all eyes, to precious bottles, my eyes become more fixed than the algebraic points of space where the planets meet'

[Nate D · Rating 4 out of 5]

For one of those strange breaths of early surrealism that came out of the era of "sleeping fits" -- essentially automatic writing seances -- of the early 20s, this is a an unusually organized and beautiful piece of writing, keeping my attention at novel length where lesser works lose me within three pages. Clearly Desnos was a master at tapping into his subconscious at will (as the detailed account of introduction attests), its mysteriousness and urgency setting this easily above Benjamin Peret's boundless, but somewhat limittingly absurd, inventions. Occasionally falls prey to, um, let's say "youthful indiscretions of runaway desire", enough to have this heavily censored even in France (I can imagine the troubles caused by the reformed eucharist embodied in the Sperm Drinker's Club for instance (incidentally including both male and female emissions under its auspices, and both hetero- and homo-sexual proclivities)). Anyway, it's unexpurgated here, and in the tradition of transgressive literature, it's abuses are arguably more about a general freeing the strange machines of human (albeit here mostly male) desire to candid discussion, than an actual manifesto. Nonetheless, I should hope that Desnos had chance to revise his feelings on love somewhat before his death a Buchenwald at the end of WWII, grim repayment for his years in the French resistance.

[la poesie a fleur de peau · Rating 4 out of 5]

"No amor ainda acredito no maravilhoso, acredito na realidade dos sonhos, acredito nas heroínas da noite, nas belas da noite que penetram nos corações e nos leitos. Vede como estendo as mãos às finas algemas, algemas da mulher eleita, algemas de aço, algemas de carne, algemas fatais. Jovem condenado, é tempo de pôr um número no teu fato de burel e fixar-te ao tornozelo a pesada esfera dos amores sucessivos."

***

8/10

[Piotr · Rating 4 out of 5]

À la Révolution
À l’Amour
À celle qui les incarne

voilà comment commence La Liberté ou l'amour, roman expérimental, allégorie exutoire sur la perte de l'être aimé et la liberté de la passion. toujours les même critiques sur Desnos : du très bon et du beaucoup moins bon (le moins bon s'incarnant dans des scènes honnêtement limites limites et très malvenues btw), il en découle malgré tout, de cet écrit de jeunesse, les prémices du génie poétique de Desnos :

La reproduction est le propre de l’espèce, mais l’amour est le propre de l’individu.

Les conditions de la vie furent changées quant aux relations matérielles, mais l’amour fut toujours de même le privilège de peu de gens, disposés à courir toutes les aventures et à risquer le peu de vie consentie aux mortels dans l’espoir de rencontrer enfin l’adversaire avec lequel on marche côte à côte, toujours sur la défensive et pourtant à l’abandon.

Alors, la pêcheuse, tirant un revolver de son corsage, là où les faibles mettent des billets d’amour : « Je t’adore, ô mon amant ! et voici qu’aujourd’hui, jour choisi par moi seule à cette minute précise, je t’offre la blessure béante de mon sexe et celle sanglante de mon cœur ! »

Quant à Deuil pour Deuil, encore plus expérimental, moins intéressant, la forme toujours aussi alambiquée et surréelle mais d'avantage opaque et obscur quant au fond

Foule qui passes dans cette rue, respecte mon sommeil. Les grandes orgues du soleil te font marcher au pas, moi je m'éveillerai ce soir quand la lune commencera sa prière.

[stenopelmatus · Rating 3 out of 5]

"La libertad o el amor" es una obra en la que la historia no tiene precisamente un trama tradicional, sino una mescolanza de poesía, ensayo, trama, acción, no trama, enredo de ideas, todo y nada. (Ahora comprendo lo que los críticos se referían con 'escritura automática' de Robert Desnos.)

Leerlo no fue pesado ni tedioso, fue más bien un poquito decepcionante, ya que me esperaba otra cosa. No sé por qué tenía la impresión de que sería parecido a "la muerte feliz" de Albert Camus. (Pero nada que ver)

Lo quise leer principalmente porque me dejé llevar por la intrigante vida de Robert Desnos; Los años veintes en París, su participación en el movimiento surrealista, su infortunio en el campo de concentración, sus influencias y amistades, su trágica muerte...
También influyó la foto de la hermosa mujer que aparece en la portada (mercadotecnia). Aparte el título es muy atractivo. Qué titulazo! "La libertad o el amor." Quién no lo levantaría para darle una hojeada!

En este tipo de narración, casi nada se apega a la realidad, más bien pareciera un sueño en ejecución, que encontró la manera de transcribirse en papel.
Una idea o una palabra dispara otra idea, y este nuevo tema se incrusta en el párrafo, que de por sí ya estaba bastante enredado, hasta que te pierdes en digresiones que tienen muy poca relación con lo que está pasando. Es un verdadero revoltijo exótico.
Sin embargo, me gustó mucho que entre la locura de esta narración surrealista, aparecen analogías descritas de forma muy poética. Las cuales probablemente tengan que ver con amor, sexualidad, miedo, odio, muerte y otros asuntos del alma.

La edición que conseguí tiene una bonita y elegante presentación, con cubre portada y todo. Las primeras y últimas dos hojas son de un papel negro, muy misterioso, que incluyen una fotografía de Robert Desnos, de cuando tenía unos veintitantos años, en la que pareciera estar drogado o poseído por algo. Su mirada se ve cansada pero aún así es muy penetrante, me quedó grabada en la mente mientras leía su biografía, que se incluye en el libro.
También, no sé por qué, viene un poema de Arthur Rimbaud, llamado "Los vigilantes."

¿Leería otro libro de Desnos? Tal vez, pero uno bien recomendado.

[MT · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Adeus, Mundo! Mas a ti, mulher, seguir-te-ei se for preciso seguir-te-ei até ao abismo! Durante noites e noites vou contemplar os teus olhos brilhantes na escuridão, o teu rosto muito ao de leve iluminado mas visível na clara noite de Paris, graças ao reflexo dos candeeiros públicos nos quartos. Vou contemplar os teus olhos tão meigos, húmidos e enternecedores até à alvorada branca que acorda os condenados à morte com o dedo de um fantasma de chapéu alto, e nos fará lembrar que a hora das contemplações passou e é preciso rirmos, falarmos e suportarmos, não o opressivo sol consolador do meio-dia nas praias desertas, face ao assombro céu que nuvens galhofeiras percorrem, mas a dura lei de constrangimento, o cárcere da elegância, a pseudo-disciplina das relações da vida e os inexprimíveis perigos da fragmentação do sonho da existência utilitária.
E a ti, se for preciso seguir-te, seguir-te-ei até ao abismo!
Não és a que passa, mas a que fica. A noção de eternidade está ligada ao meu amor por ti. Não, não és a que passa nem o estranho piloto que guia o aventureiro através do dédalo do desejo. Abriste-me o verdadeiro país da paixão. Mais certo é perder-me no teu pensamento do que num deserto. E na altura em que escrevo estas linhas ainda não confrontei a tua imagem em mim com a tua <>. Não és a que passa mas, queiras ou não, perpétua amante. Dolorosa alegria da paixão revelada pelo teu encontro. Sofro mas quero ao meu sofrimento; e se por mim eu qualquer estima tiver, é por ter chocado contigo na corrida às cegas para horizontes móveis."

[Quinn Slobodian · Rating 2 out of 5]

Hmm. Trippy. A bit iffy in the s/m'ier parts - fully-realized fantasies of whipping entire boarding schools of teenage girls. Etcetera. Desnos was part of Andre Breton's Surrealist crew in 1920s Paris (he died just after his release from Buchenwald) so it's recommended if you like passages like this: "She passes. A trapper approaches her, loaded with sealskins. He asks her if she knows Mathilde, but she does not. He gives her a homing-pigeon and each of them follow divergent paths. In the laboratory of celestial ideas, a pseudo-Soloman of Cos puts the finishing touches to his plans for a perpetual motion machine. His system, based on the movement of the tides and the sun, occupies forty-eight sheets of Canson paper." Brought Pynchon's new book to mind in its more coherent moments, brought an egomaniac who wrote in trances, in the eye of one of which he tried to kill his friend with a butcher knife, to mind in its lesser ones.

[Enrique Olivares · Rating 5 out of 5]

Pasaje psicodelico hacia la interioridad del amor, aventura y Bibedum. La editorial Cabaret Voltaire consistentemente ha lanzado traducciones excelentes de los textos surrealistas y dadaistas y la noval de Desnos no es excepcion.

[Jack Burnham · Rating 5 out of 5]

Extremely difficult to sum up in any way, this is a virtuoso effort by Robert Desnos, a deep dive into the subconscious that results in much beauty and much transgression. Many passages of startling power emerge through a brilliantly rendered dreamlike haze

[Nathalie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I believe the most beautiful text of surrealism.

[Andrew · Rating 5 out of 5]

Probably the best French surrealist novel that I've read.