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Um Lance de Dados
A tradução de Álvaro Faleiros, trabalho acurado e competente, como exige a dificuldade do poema, propõe como primeira meta o acesso em português ao texto de Mallarmé – este é naturalmente o objetivo de uma tradução. Além disso, porém, estabelece profícuo diálogo com o universo dos trabalhos consagrados ao poema, em que se inclui de modo especial a tradução precedente, realizada por Haroldo de Campos na década de 1970, um marco na apresentação de Mallarmé aos leitores brasileiros. Assim, a tradução realizada por Álvaro Faleiros implica (não apenas no texto em que comenta e esclarece seu trabalho, mas no próprio exercício de traduzir) uma bem-vinda e oportuna renovação e retomada da discussão sobre a constituição e as consequências desse poema, quando desse modo a atividade de tradução se revela também como leitura, interpretação, crítica, criação. -[Júlio Castañon Guimarães]
110 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1897
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About the author
Stéphane Mallarmé
297 books373 followersStéphane Mallarmé (French: [stefan malaʁme]; 18 March 1842 – 9 September 1898), whose real name was Étienne Mallarmé, was a French poet and critic. He was a major French symbolist poet, and his work anticipated and inspired several revolutionary artistic schools of the early 20th century, such as Dadaism, Surrealism, and Futurism.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 47 reviews
March 23, 2025
IS THIS THE REAL LIFE? IS THIS JUST FANTASY?
We may well ask ourselves this question as we work our way through this groundbreaking postmodernist mini-epic. And we are right to ask it.
Stéphane Mallarme even saw HIMSELF as possessing two minds: one, that of an impersonal, abstract artificer, and two, that of the half-spiritual human dreamer eternally feeling ‘son plumage pris par l’horreur du sol’ - his feathers caught in the horror of this planet.
Yes, like the mythical inventor of flight, Dedalus, he sought to provide a means for an escape from hard reality in the free figurative flight of literature.
But, also like Dedalus, he turned into a mythical artificer who watched in impersonal horror as Icarus’ wonderful flying machine caught fire, and killed him in its crash.
To be an IMPERSONAL artificer, you see, was his only escape from that pain. And Mallarme needed the parallel escape of literature as well.
But the price of freedom is absolute terror. And if we choose the gift of freedom we have to pay the price.
So this - his final masterpiece - is Mallarme’s Mount Doom. Do or die.
There are two personages in it: the Master - the artificer - watching a catastrophic event from a great, though dizzily ungrounded, height; and the ancient mariner, grappling with a monumental storm at sea - much like Hemingway’s old man, Santiago, grappling with the Marlin.
There is ultimately no obvious place of refuge for either, from the viewpoint of the Artificer - who is no longer free from the pain of it all.
This, indeed, is ´l’immémorial demon’ of postmodernism.
Mallarme chose vers libre for his idiom, and he seems to have accepted the penalty for this strange last fling of freedom. For without the closure that his sonnets always gave us, here he really leads us out to sea.
It has left out the very human God who wove our painful, ruined human fabric into the tapestry of a stormy world in which there nevertheless ALWAYS remains the hope of Peace - the ‘fulgurante console’ of the earlier works.
But perhaps I am being to harsh on this personally revered poet - the man whom his friend Valery deemed so noble as to dub him Saint Stéphane after his death, a death which occurred not long after this work was written.
And - who knows? - perhaps this man knew within, even then, that peace that is only won by taking the full brunt of the storm of rejection, violence and apathy that this world had to offer him, and by long-suffering forgiveness to gradually find a real and gentle refuge from Terror!
For this long poem DOES end with the sighting of a mysterious constellation - a possible augury of hope and rest for many a beleaguered mariner, perhaps?
Perhaps...
And the name of this refuge is perhaps Eternal Love, the ONLY possible final resting place for our compulsive thinking - a journey’s end for us beleaguered survivors upon this stormy sea of life, ever obsessively casting our dice!
We may well ask ourselves this question as we work our way through this groundbreaking postmodernist mini-epic. And we are right to ask it.
Stéphane Mallarme even saw HIMSELF as possessing two minds: one, that of an impersonal, abstract artificer, and two, that of the half-spiritual human dreamer eternally feeling ‘son plumage pris par l’horreur du sol’ - his feathers caught in the horror of this planet.
Yes, like the mythical inventor of flight, Dedalus, he sought to provide a means for an escape from hard reality in the free figurative flight of literature.
But, also like Dedalus, he turned into a mythical artificer who watched in impersonal horror as Icarus’ wonderful flying machine caught fire, and killed him in its crash.
To be an IMPERSONAL artificer, you see, was his only escape from that pain. And Mallarme needed the parallel escape of literature as well.
But the price of freedom is absolute terror. And if we choose the gift of freedom we have to pay the price.
So this - his final masterpiece - is Mallarme’s Mount Doom. Do or die.
There are two personages in it: the Master - the artificer - watching a catastrophic event from a great, though dizzily ungrounded, height; and the ancient mariner, grappling with a monumental storm at sea - much like Hemingway’s old man, Santiago, grappling with the Marlin.
There is ultimately no obvious place of refuge for either, from the viewpoint of the Artificer - who is no longer free from the pain of it all.
This, indeed, is ´l’immémorial demon’ of postmodernism.
Mallarme chose vers libre for his idiom, and he seems to have accepted the penalty for this strange last fling of freedom. For without the closure that his sonnets always gave us, here he really leads us out to sea.
It has left out the very human God who wove our painful, ruined human fabric into the tapestry of a stormy world in which there nevertheless ALWAYS remains the hope of Peace - the ‘fulgurante console’ of the earlier works.
But perhaps I am being to harsh on this personally revered poet - the man whom his friend Valery deemed so noble as to dub him Saint Stéphane after his death, a death which occurred not long after this work was written.
And - who knows? - perhaps this man knew within, even then, that peace that is only won by taking the full brunt of the storm of rejection, violence and apathy that this world had to offer him, and by long-suffering forgiveness to gradually find a real and gentle refuge from Terror!
For this long poem DOES end with the sighting of a mysterious constellation - a possible augury of hope and rest for many a beleaguered mariner, perhaps?
Perhaps...
And the name of this refuge is perhaps Eternal Love, the ONLY possible final resting place for our compulsive thinking - a journey’s end for us beleaguered survivors upon this stormy sea of life, ever obsessively casting our dice!
March 21, 2020
از بلانشو رسیده بودم به مالارمه؛ و حالا
والتر بنیامین از او سخن میگوید؛ از «ریختن تاس» و او که نوشت:
«هر فکری تاس میریزد»
والتر بنیامین از او سخن میگوید؛ از «ریختن تاس» و او که نوشت:
«هر فکری تاس میریزد»
Read
July 9, 2024(This is a page from the book
Domain of Images
about the pictorial sense of the pages.)
...some pages can be read as a viewer might interpret naturalistic pictures: the passage in which Mallarmé invokes a shipwreck is set in a falling motif, and isolated lines are vignettes of the scenes they describe. The line describing man as “bitter prince of the reef” is itself an atoll, and there are plumes, sails, and other shapes in Mallarmé's images and in his typesetting. Those are, in a way, introductory moments, informing the reader that the poem’s typography is trying to express its grammatical structure. As the reading deepens, the few overtly visual correspondences fade into metaphorical visualizations of rhetorical and grammatical devices. "Jamais," for example, is isolated on its page, where it resounds against the white paper like a single loud word echoing in a silent room.
But in the end such “concrete” devices are only accents on the fundamentally anti–pictorial nature of the entire typographic and expressive project: and that is to represent hasard, the meaningless, chance and momentary “place” or configuration. As the final page declares, the poem itself is a “constellation,” something that seems to have meaning but does not, an act that is intensely deliberated but ends up meaning “nothing.”
Un coup de dés is anti–pictorial in that it forms its picture of arbitrariness by flowing without interruption across frames and pages. It is a beautiful paradox: print, behaving as print always does, forms the best representation, the best picture, of something unrepresentable. Mallarmé’s poem is the most reflective conversation between typographic page and written meaning that has yet been produced, and it demonstrates with great persuasiveness just how close print and pictures are, and yet how difficult it is to ever fuse the two.
2001, revised 2024
...some pages can be read as a viewer might interpret naturalistic pictures: the passage in which Mallarmé invokes a shipwreck is set in a falling motif, and isolated lines are vignettes of the scenes they describe. The line describing man as “bitter prince of the reef” is itself an atoll, and there are plumes, sails, and other shapes in Mallarmé's images and in his typesetting. Those are, in a way, introductory moments, informing the reader that the poem’s typography is trying to express its grammatical structure. As the reading deepens, the few overtly visual correspondences fade into metaphorical visualizations of rhetorical and grammatical devices. "Jamais," for example, is isolated on its page, where it resounds against the white paper like a single loud word echoing in a silent room.
But in the end such “concrete” devices are only accents on the fundamentally anti–pictorial nature of the entire typographic and expressive project: and that is to represent hasard, the meaningless, chance and momentary “place” or configuration. As the final page declares, the poem itself is a “constellation,” something that seems to have meaning but does not, an act that is intensely deliberated but ends up meaning “nothing.”
Un coup de dés is anti–pictorial in that it forms its picture of arbitrariness by flowing without interruption across frames and pages. It is a beautiful paradox: print, behaving as print always does, forms the best representation, the best picture, of something unrepresentable. Mallarmé’s poem is the most reflective conversation between typographic page and written meaning that has yet been produced, and it demonstrates with great persuasiveness just how close print and pictures are, and yet how difficult it is to ever fuse the two.
2001, revised 2024
Read
October 21, 2025Li na tradução do Haroldo
Read
July 9, 2025dizer que eu li isso é uma mera formalidade.
October 29, 2025
Toute Pensée émet un Coup de Dés
franchement top, j'aime trop l'idée
heureusement que sa préface est là pour expliquer la démarche sinon help
puis c'est funny de voir des mots traîner un peu partout quoi
Le nombre existât-il autrement qu'hallucination éparse d'agonie
September 9, 2020
vtnc todo pensamento realmente emite um lance de dados
November 22, 2024
le doy 5 estrellas, pero cada una en una pagina.
separadas
rien n’aura eu lieu que le lieu
separadas
rien n’aura eu lieu que le lieu
August 16, 2017
The title is far better than it is, it's very complex, layered and a bit confusing when it comes to the layout. I'm a big fan of contemporary poetry and realize it's very hard to find. So I'll read anything presented to me. this could have been better I feel, more uniform, but it was still good and the presentation was interesting.
UPDATE: holy shit I read this in 2016 thinking it was written in 2016 but it was literally written in the late 1800s! what the fuck this is the single most avant guard piece of poetry ever.
UPDATE: holy shit I read this in 2016 thinking it was written in 2016 but it was literally written in the late 1800s! what the fuck this is the single most avant guard piece of poetry ever.
July 21, 2020
Amazing. The text is relatively brief, but laid out so artfully in the most impactful fashion conceivable. Truly an exploration stretching the medium to it's fullest capability and exploring what poem can be, spread across a page magnificently. As mixed media and extravagant verse, this is worth owning and perusing. Had I a coffee table, it would be quite comfortable resting and stretching out stylishly upon it! A fine and pleasurable read, highly recommended for certain.
(Be aware the material comprises maybe twenty pages at most. But a spectacular twenty pages they are.*)
(Be aware the material comprises maybe twenty pages at most. But a spectacular twenty pages they are.*)
May 13, 2021
Eu pirei neste poema!
Aquele episódio de Black Mirror em que a gente escolhe o caminho do protagonista, aqui representado em palavras e diversas leituras pela tipografia. (Sim, eu reli várias vezes em todas as possibilidades!)
Apesar da busca do (mestre) poeta em vencer o acaso, o acaso aparece porque a cada nova palavra que surge, a cada leitura, surgem novas significações, novos dados, e tudo se renova no vai e vem da leitura.
O pensamento (ou seria a poesia?) é um lance de dados.
PS: essa edição tem uma discussão muito legal sobre a tradução e os desafios.
Aquele episódio de Black Mirror em que a gente escolhe o caminho do protagonista, aqui representado em palavras e diversas leituras pela tipografia. (Sim, eu reli várias vezes em todas as possibilidades!)
Apesar da busca do (mestre) poeta em vencer o acaso, o acaso aparece porque a cada nova palavra que surge, a cada leitura, surgem novas significações, novos dados, e tudo se renova no vai e vem da leitura.
O pensamento (ou seria a poesia?) é um lance de dados.
PS: essa edição tem uma discussão muito legal sobre a tradução e os desafios.
November 20, 2023
“All Thought is a Roll of the Dice” …. as i was reading this, my brain was all dice in a cup.
reading this was like trying to meditate, lil thoughts rolling in and interrupting. maybe all the white space gave room for my mind to invite in and engage with random blips. had to force myself to recenter every 30 seconds, reread, reengage. was some ship wrecked? did someone get a flake of plankton caught in his beard?
reading this was like trying to meditate, lil thoughts rolling in and interrupting. maybe all the white space gave room for my mind to invite in and engage with random blips. had to force myself to recenter every 30 seconds, reread, reengage. was some ship wrecked? did someone get a flake of plankton caught in his beard?
July 7, 2019
Un jolie ouvrage poétique, bien que court.
January 2, 2020
qué edición tan preciosa
November 2, 2014
J'ai lu le poème de Mallarmé, «Un coup de dés jamais n'abolira le hasard». Je n'aime pas du tout. Quelle satisfaction cet éminent poète a-t-il pu éprouver à pondre ce galimatias? Etait-il souffrant, tombé sur la tête? Cela restera pour moi un mystère, et je ne vais pas passer mon temps à essayer de le percer. Cette oeuvre a au moins une importance historique, on sent en elle pointer les tombereaux d'âneries sans queue ni tête que la poésie d'avant-garde va désormais se sentir tenue de faire pleuvoir à verse et en déluge. Le titre lui-même est presque beau. Il présente l'inconvénient d'être insensé : on ne voit pas comment un coup de dés, qui est l'exemple même du hasard, pourrait abolir ledit hasard. Mais cette absurdité est aussi un avantage, elle doit plaire aux masses culturelles, c'est un gage de succès. Peut-être s'agit-il d'un message codé, dont il faut découvrir la signification cachée. J'ai tenté la voie lacanienne : «Un coude déjà mais nabot …» Cela ne mène pas loin. Je me demande si l'auteur a voulu que ce soit presque un alexandrin, mais avec une syllabe en trop. C'est probable. Pour en obtenir un, il suffirait de mettre le verbe au présent : «Un coup de dés jamais n'abolit le hasard». La signification, ou l'absurdité, serait égale. (24 IX 2014)
http://journaldoc.canalblog.com/archi...
http://journaldoc.canalblog.com/archi...
June 19, 2015
Mallarmé wrote a piece named A Roll Of The Dice (referring to his skepticism on the success of its creation), which harnesses the way letters are put on a page for poetic effect. Instead of printing the text line by line, he places pieces of text here and there, scattered in order to catch the eye.
He was inspired a lot by Wagner, and by listening to orchestra, so like the differing placement of instruments in a performance, position can change the recipients experience.
Mallarmé is notably difficult even for natives, and I feel that this is the kind of poet that is lost tremendously in translation.
Yet from what I've heard, the poetic experience you get from Mallarmé is more important than some ultimate meaning only the native could get access to.
Keeping to this point, we should remember that Mallarmé once said to his good friend Degas:
He was inspired a lot by Wagner, and by listening to orchestra, so like the differing placement of instruments in a performance, position can change the recipients experience.
Mallarmé is notably difficult even for natives, and I feel that this is the kind of poet that is lost tremendously in translation.
Yet from what I've heard, the poetic experience you get from Mallarmé is more important than some ultimate meaning only the native could get access to.
Keeping to this point, we should remember that Mallarmé once said to his good friend Degas:
Poems aren't made of ideas, but of words.
Read
June 13, 2024Quite beautiful even if not understood by me. I am not even 100% sure I read the lines in the right order, or if there is one. I suspect the latter is the case from attempts at variable readings. Besides the typographical instructions of Mallarmé, the graphic layout of the book is itself instructive without being too determinate. Regretted buying this at first because I forgot I had it in a separate poetry collection, but I like this treatment, even if I expected some scholarly context at the front or back.
June 1, 2013
"SI C'ÉTAIT LE NOMBRE CE SERAIT LE HASARD RIEN N'AURA EU LIEU QUE LE LIEU EXCEPTÉ PEUT-ÊTRE UNE CONSTELLATION"
"Toute pensée émet un Coup de Dés" comme si dans cette toute-puissante contingence, nous étions livrés aux flots, aux tourbillons et aux gouffres. Combien de pensées? Combien de coups de dés? Quel Nombre? HASARD. Infini. L'art et la plume. L'Art.
707
"Toute pensée émet un Coup de Dés" comme si dans cette toute-puissante contingence, nous étions livrés aux flots, aux tourbillons et aux gouffres. Combien de pensées? Combien de coups de dés? Quel Nombre? HASARD. Infini. L'art et la plume. L'Art.
707
December 14, 2015
My favorite encounter of the past year & beyond ... Robert Bononno and Jeff Clark's scrupulous, gorgeous translation & (just as important) arrangement/presentation of this key but forbidding Modernist text is a revelation.
November 18, 2016
"Nopanheitto ei koskaan tuhoa sattumaa"
March 11, 2018
Sumamente complejo, requiere tres lectoras como mínimo, y las posibilidades que tiene de interpretación hacen que uno casi enloquezca por saber qué quiso decir el autor
November 13, 2024
Take writing as shipwreck.
“Un Coup de Dés” marks the relinquishment of metrics (numerical order) in favor of spatial arrangement. There is, Mallarmé announced in “Crise de vers” and elsewhere, a crisis of verse – of rhyme and meter (the principle of number – syllables counted arithmetically).
Our languages are characterized by a non-coincidence of thinking and speaking – there is no supreme language where the two coincide. In language we are in the world of chance. That, says Mallarmé, is why poetry is possible: “it, philosophically, makes up for languages’ deficiencies, as a superior complement” (CV).
The Master (maître / metre) emerges from a shipwreck clutching two dice (az-zahr) in his hands. He hesitates (like Hamlet?) to cast the dice, which would produce “the unique Number” (so too Igitur must throw a pair of dice…).
The idea is susceptible to being arithmetically divided, it can be broken down into something that rhymes: “the poetic act consists in seeing suddenly that an idea can be broken up into a certain number of motifs equal in value and grouping them [– meter]; they rhyme; for external seal, their common measure conferred by the final stroke [– rhyme].” (CV)
He may cast the dice, but we are warned – a throw of the dice “even when launched in eternal / circumstances / from the depths of a shipwreck” will not abolish chance (hasard).
“Were the number to exist”, regardless of the result, it would not negate chance but only instantiate it. Chance exists in a space beyond affirmation or negation, “by the identical neutrality of the abyss”. The number is an embodiment of chance.
Verse does not abolish the chance inherent to language.
Valéry will add a temporal index to the equation, describing the poem as a prolonged hesitation (like the Master’s?) between sound and sense.
“Un Coup de Dés” marks the relinquishment of metrics (numerical order) in favor of spatial arrangement. There is, Mallarmé announced in “Crise de vers” and elsewhere, a crisis of verse – of rhyme and meter (the principle of number – syllables counted arithmetically).
Our languages are characterized by a non-coincidence of thinking and speaking – there is no supreme language where the two coincide. In language we are in the world of chance. That, says Mallarmé, is why poetry is possible: “it, philosophically, makes up for languages’ deficiencies, as a superior complement” (CV).
The Master (maître / metre) emerges from a shipwreck clutching two dice (az-zahr) in his hands. He hesitates (like Hamlet?) to cast the dice, which would produce “the unique Number” (so too Igitur must throw a pair of dice…).
The idea is susceptible to being arithmetically divided, it can be broken down into something that rhymes: “the poetic act consists in seeing suddenly that an idea can be broken up into a certain number of motifs equal in value and grouping them [– meter]; they rhyme; for external seal, their common measure conferred by the final stroke [– rhyme].” (CV)
He may cast the dice, but we are warned – a throw of the dice “even when launched in eternal / circumstances / from the depths of a shipwreck” will not abolish chance (hasard).
“Were the number to exist”, regardless of the result, it would not negate chance but only instantiate it. Chance exists in a space beyond affirmation or negation, “by the identical neutrality of the abyss”. The number is an embodiment of chance.
Verse does not abolish the chance inherent to language.
Valéry will add a temporal index to the equation, describing the poem as a prolonged hesitation (like the Master’s?) between sound and sense.
September 2, 2020
ƨтéρнαиɛ мαℓℓαямé-ʋи cσʋρ ∂ɛ ∂éƨ
"𝕷𝖆 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖘 𝖈𝖊𝖘 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘 𝖉𝖚 𝖛𝖆𝖌𝖚𝖊 𝖊𝖓 𝖖𝖚𝖔𝖎 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖙𝖊 𝖑𝖆 𝖗é𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙é 𝖘𝖊 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖙"
🇷🇸
📝𝑬𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂-𝑺𝒍𝒐𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒉 𝒐𝒕𝒌𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂 𝒐𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒃𝒐đ𝒆𝒏 𝒖𝒎
🎭𝑰𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒋𝒂(𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒐𝒗𝒊)-𝑷𝒆𝒔𝒏𝒊𝒌 𝒊 𝒖 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒊 𝒛𝒏𝒂č𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒆
🧙🏼♀️👻🤓𝑽𝒊𝒛𝒊𝒋𝒂(𝒔𝒂𝒏)-"𝑷𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒋𝒊 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒂,𝒂 𝒐𝒏𝒂 𝒊𝒎𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒐 𝒋𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒓š𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒛𝒓𝒂𝒛-𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒛𝒊𝒋𝒖."
🥣𝑼𝒌𝒖𝒔-𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒍
🎧𝒁𝒗𝒖𝒌-𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒋𝒂
💐𝑴𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒔-𝒐𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒋𝒆𝒏 š𝒆ć𝒆𝒓
🎨𝑩𝒐𝒋𝒂-𝒄𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒂
🐙𝑫𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒓-𝒍𝒆𝒕
✒𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒂🔟
🇺🇸
📝𝓔𝔁𝓽𝓻𝓪-𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓮 𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓮
🎭𝓘𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓯𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷(𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼)-𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓸𝓮𝓽 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓼 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝓼𝓹𝓪𝓬𝓮
🤓👻🧙🏼♀️𝓥𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷(𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶)-'𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝔂,𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓲𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷-𝓹𝓸𝓮𝓽𝓻𝔂."
🥣𝓣𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮-𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵
🎧𝓢𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭-𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓱𝓸𝓷𝔂
💐𝓢𝓶𝓮𝓵𝓵-𝓶𝓮𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓾𝓰𝓪𝓻
🎨𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻-𝓻𝓮𝓭
🐙𝓣𝓸𝓾𝓬𝓱-𝓯𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽
✒𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓭𝓮🔟
#7sensesofabook #classicliterature #bookstagram #readingaddict #knjige #literature
"𝕷𝖆 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖘 𝖈𝖊𝖘 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘 𝖉𝖚 𝖛𝖆𝖌𝖚𝖊 𝖊𝖓 𝖖𝖚𝖔𝖎 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖙𝖊 𝖑𝖆 𝖗é𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙é 𝖘𝖊 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖙"
🇷🇸
📝𝑬𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂-𝑺𝒍𝒐𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒉 𝒐𝒕𝒌𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂 𝒐𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒃𝒐đ𝒆𝒏 𝒖𝒎
🎭𝑰𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒋𝒂(𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒐𝒗𝒊)-𝑷𝒆𝒔𝒏𝒊𝒌 𝒊 𝒖 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒛𝒊 𝒛𝒏𝒂č𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒆
🧙🏼♀️👻🤓𝑽𝒊𝒛𝒊𝒋𝒂(𝒔𝒂𝒏)-"𝑷𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒋𝒊 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒂,𝒂 𝒐𝒏𝒂 𝒊𝒎𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒐 𝒋𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒓š𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒛𝒓𝒂𝒛-𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒛𝒊𝒋𝒖."
🥣𝑼𝒌𝒖𝒔-𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒍
🎧𝒁𝒗𝒖𝒌-𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒋𝒂
💐𝑴𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒔-𝒐𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒋𝒆𝒏 š𝒆ć𝒆𝒓
🎨𝑩𝒐𝒋𝒂-𝒄𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒂
🐙𝑫𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒓-𝒍𝒆𝒕
✒𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒂🔟
🇺🇸
📝𝓔𝔁𝓽𝓻𝓪-𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓮 𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓮
🎭𝓘𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓯𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷(𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼)-𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓸𝓮𝓽 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓼 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝓼𝓹𝓪𝓬𝓮
🤓👻🧙🏼♀️𝓥𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷(𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶)-'𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝔂,𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓲𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷-𝓹𝓸𝓮𝓽𝓻𝔂."
🥣𝓣𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮-𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵
🎧𝓢𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭-𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓱𝓸𝓷𝔂
💐𝓢𝓶𝓮𝓵𝓵-𝓶𝓮𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓾𝓰𝓪𝓻
🎨𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓻-𝓻𝓮𝓭
🐙𝓣𝓸𝓾𝓬𝓱-𝓯𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽
✒𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓭𝓮🔟
#7sensesofabook #classicliterature #bookstagram #readingaddict #knjige #literature
November 4, 2021
¿A quién no le gusta o le atrae el azar? Este poemario es la clara representación de ello, además de ligero y algo curioso con sus usuales espacios, no deja de ser una de las obras maestras de Mallarmé. Hay más información en esta edición, como contexto, influencia, notas, etcétera, que lo hacen creer ser extensa su obra, pero con decir que una sola palabra abarca toda una hoja. Sin duda, han sido por esta forma de no imposición lo que me encantó de este libro.
March 26, 2022
Es un libro con mucho poder y sentimiento. Pero no pude visualizarlo leyendo en silencio tienes que leerlo en voz alta. La forma de la lectura de la poesía juega con las pausas y con el tono de voz, con su sonoridad, con sus emociones en cada verso... Me falta más práctica con este tipo de poesía pero estoy más que animada en seguir disfrutando la poesía de los libros y de la vida misma (que viene implícita en los libros de cualquier libro de poesía y de cualquier género).
August 3, 2024
Helena Sinervon johdantoessee on mielenkiintoista luettavaa ja oleellisen tärkeä runon "ymmärtämisen" ja historiallisen kontekstin kannalta. Itse runo on edelleen hyvin moderni ja vaikuttava, muistuttaa lähinnä abstraktia kuvataidetta. Vaatii lukemaan useaan kertaan, koska mahdollisia lukutapoja ja -suuntiakin on useita. En varmastikaan ymmärtänyt, mutta jotenkin myös kauhean vapauttavaa, kun ei tarvitse yrittää ymmärtää ja myös runon voi halutessaan ottaa puhtaasti esteettisenä kokemuksena.
December 9, 2024
El texto reflexiona sobre la figura del poeta Stéphane Mallarmé y su relación con el naufragio como metáfora de la desesperación y la pérdida. Utiliza imágenes poéticas para explorar la lucha interna entre la realidad y la evasión, la posibilidad de sanación a través de la palabra y el simbolismo en el arte.
https://briseidaalcala.com/2024/12/09...
https://briseidaalcala.com/2024/12/09...
Read
May 10, 2025"SEA
que
blanco
el Abismo
parado
furioso
bajo una inclinación
se cierna desesperadamente
ala
la suya
por anticipado recaída de un mal que impide el vuelo
y cubriendo los surtidores
cortando al ras los saltos
muy en lo interior resume
la sombra hundida en la profundidad por esa vela
[alternativa
hasta ajustar
a la arboladura
su estupefacta profundidad en tanto el casco
de un navío
inclinado de una a la otra borda"- Jamás, Stéphane Mallarmé
que
blanco
el Abismo
parado
furioso
bajo una inclinación
se cierna desesperadamente
ala
la suya
por anticipado recaída de un mal que impide el vuelo
y cubriendo los surtidores
cortando al ras los saltos
muy en lo interior resume
la sombra hundida en la profundidad por esa vela
[alternativa
hasta ajustar
a la arboladura
su estupefacta profundidad en tanto el casco
de un navío
inclinado de una a la otra borda"- Jamás, Stéphane Mallarmé
November 27, 2017
The granddaddy of concrete poetry. Real good edition - contains both the translated version and the original French, which is essential. Read the words in English if you have to (I had to), but it's nice appreciate them aesthetically in the original French, because the shape and placement of the words is pretty obviously important to an aesthetic appreciation of the text.
August 18, 2019
Magnifique chef d'oeuvre. Le mystère que dégage de ce superbe poème donne envie de passer des heures à le lire et le relire encore. Je regrette à peine que la couverture de cette édition ne soit pas plus rigide.
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