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The Nature of Things
Poetry. Translated from the French by Lee Fahnestock. First published in 1942 and considered the keystone of Francis Ponge's work, Le parti pris de choses appears here in its entirety. It reveals his preoccupation with nature and its metaphoric transformation through the creative ambiguity of language. "My immediate reaction to Lee Fahnenstock's translation was: this must certainly be 'Ponge's voice in English'...[She] gives us his tones, rhythms, humor...[and] maneuvers his word play with respect and unostentatious discretion"--Barbara Wright, translator of Queneau, Pinget, Sarraute.
52 pages, Paperback
First published June 15, 1942
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1419 people want to read
About the author
Francis Ponge
81 books92 followersFrancis Jean Gaston Alfred Ponge was a French essayist and poet. Influenced by surrealism, he developed a form of prose poem, minutely examining everyday objects.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 106 reviews
December 31, 2014
Une horreur. Un calvaire.
De la pure description qui est bien trop loin de la poésie pour moi.
Aucune beauté, aucun charme.
Un livre qui restera marqué dans ma mémoire pour sa médiocrité.
De la pure description qui est bien trop loin de la poésie pour moi.
Aucune beauté, aucun charme.
Un livre qui restera marqué dans ma mémoire pour sa médiocrité.
February 2, 2017
The Butterfly
When the sugar prepared in the stem rises to the bottom of the flower, like a badly washed cup - a great event takes place on the ground where the butterflies suddenly take off.
Because each caterpillar had it's head blinded and blackened, and it's torso shrunk by the veritable explosion from which its symmetrical wings flamed -
From then on the erratic butterfly no longer alights except by chance of route, or just about.
A flying match, it's flame is not contagious. Furthermore, it arrives too late and can only acknowledge the flowers' blooming. Never mind: in the role of lamplighter, it checks the oil supply in each one, places on the top of the flower the atrophied cocoon it carries, and so avenges it's long, amorphous humiliation as a caterpillar at the stem's foot.
Miniscule airborne sailboat abused by the wind mistaking it for a twice-spawned petal, it gallivants around the garden.
pg. 46
Translated by Beth Archer
When the sugar prepared in the stem rises to the bottom of the flower, like a badly washed cup - a great event takes place on the ground where the butterflies suddenly take off.
Because each caterpillar had it's head blinded and blackened, and it's torso shrunk by the veritable explosion from which its symmetrical wings flamed -
From then on the erratic butterfly no longer alights except by chance of route, or just about.
A flying match, it's flame is not contagious. Furthermore, it arrives too late and can only acknowledge the flowers' blooming. Never mind: in the role of lamplighter, it checks the oil supply in each one, places on the top of the flower the atrophied cocoon it carries, and so avenges it's long, amorphous humiliation as a caterpillar at the stem's foot.
Miniscule airborne sailboat abused by the wind mistaking it for a twice-spawned petal, it gallivants around the garden.
pg. 46
Translated by Beth Archer
January 7, 2016
Il aurait dû appeler ça "Requiem pour une crevette", ouais ! Il devait sacrément mourir d'ennui pour se lancer dans un truc pareil...
September 17, 2023
To što Ponž radi doživljavam kao svoje. Kao sopstvenu poetsku teritoriju - scenu za čuda svakidašnjice. U lirskoj je optici Ponžovoj vaskrsavanje stvari, život predmeta, opredmećenje atmosfere, uz usklik: „Oh, obožavanje materije, ima li ičeg dostojnijeg duhu!” (16). Povratak sebi: povratak stvarima.
Bez obzira da li piše o blatu, muvama, cigareti, kozama, dimnjacima, železničkoj stanici, vodi ili prozoru, uspeva da dočara nešto što nije nadrealistička brbljivost ili metafore natrontane metafizikom, već dolazi do plastike doživljaja, do onoga što poezija jeste, a to je događaj-u-jeziku. Uprkos ponegde trontavoj retoričnosti, pa, sasvim verovatno i zakučastim preterivanjima, Ponžove iskre poetskih dragulja važne su čak i onima kojima je dalek. Oneobičeno sagledavanje neposrednog okruženja od književne drskosti postaće gotovo pa preovlađujući poetski tok, a svakako ključni začin, koji daje različite rezultate. Čitanje skoro svih najvažnijih srpskih pesnika druge polovine XX veka bilo bi osiromašeno bez susreta sa Ponžom: od Pope do Lalića.
A o vezama sa filozofijom da ne govorim! Dovoljno je setiti se Bašlara (a gde je Bašlar, tu je, razume se i Bergson) ili uporedo čitati „Pohvalu ruci” i „Život oblika” Anrija Fosijona i Ponžovu „Prvu skicu čovekove ruke”.
Siguran sam da bi ovi stihovi zvučali još sugestivnije na francuskom. S tim u vezi, mislim da bi prevod Nikole Trajkovića trebalo da se upegla. O preciznosti ne mogu da prosuđujem, ali neki jezički izbori su, prosto, neuredni.
Bez obzira da li piše o blatu, muvama, cigareti, kozama, dimnjacima, železničkoj stanici, vodi ili prozoru, uspeva da dočara nešto što nije nadrealistička brbljivost ili metafore natrontane metafizikom, već dolazi do plastike doživljaja, do onoga što poezija jeste, a to je događaj-u-jeziku. Uprkos ponegde trontavoj retoričnosti, pa, sasvim verovatno i zakučastim preterivanjima, Ponžove iskre poetskih dragulja važne su čak i onima kojima je dalek. Oneobičeno sagledavanje neposrednog okruženja od književne drskosti postaće gotovo pa preovlađujući poetski tok, a svakako ključni začin, koji daje različite rezultate. Čitanje skoro svih najvažnijih srpskih pesnika druge polovine XX veka bilo bi osiromašeno bez susreta sa Ponžom: od Pope do Lalića.
A o vezama sa filozofijom da ne govorim! Dovoljno je setiti se Bašlara (a gde je Bašlar, tu je, razume se i Bergson) ili uporedo čitati „Pohvalu ruci” i „Život oblika” Anrija Fosijona i Ponžovu „Prvu skicu čovekove ruke”.
Siguran sam da bi ovi stihovi zvučali još sugestivnije na francuskom. S tim u vezi, mislim da bi prevod Nikole Trajkovića trebalo da se upegla. O preciznosti ne mogu da prosuđujem, ali neki jezički izbori su, prosto, neuredni.
December 9, 2013
Certains poèmes m'ont emportée mais la majorité m'ont laissée sur le bord du chemin. Je n'ai pas eu beaucoup de plaisir a lire ce recueil, j'en ai commis l'irréparable : remettre le livre inachevé dans ma bibliothèque...
December 2, 2025
Pure. Gorgeous. Prose poems about ordinary things that make them deeply interesting.
Here's "The Cigarette"
First let's set the atmosphere, hazy yet dry, wispy, with the cigarette always placed right in the thick of it, once engaged in its continuous creation.
Then, the thing itself: a small torch, far more perfumed than illuminating, from which, in a number of small heaps set within a chosen rhythm, ashes work free and fall.
Finally, its sacrifice: the glowing tip, scaling off in silvery flakes, while a tight muff formed of most recent ash encircles it.
*
I also love "Ripe Blackberries," ... "a kind of fruit is formed from an agglomeration of spheres, each filled with a drop of ink."
And "Moss," and "Fern Rum," "The Candle," etc etc.
Here's "The Cigarette"
First let's set the atmosphere, hazy yet dry, wispy, with the cigarette always placed right in the thick of it, once engaged in its continuous creation.
Then, the thing itself: a small torch, far more perfumed than illuminating, from which, in a number of small heaps set within a chosen rhythm, ashes work free and fall.
Finally, its sacrifice: the glowing tip, scaling off in silvery flakes, while a tight muff formed of most recent ash encircles it.
*
I also love "Ripe Blackberries," ... "a kind of fruit is formed from an agglomeration of spheres, each filled with a drop of ink."
And "Moss," and "Fern Rum," "The Candle," etc etc.
September 20, 2022
I didn’t actually finish it (just the assigned section for my reading) but whatever. Maybe I will update this if I do ever get the full book.
First poetry book I’ve ever genuinely enjoyed reading. Some made me so happy to exist. Never knew poetry could do that.
Overall just a really beautiful and optimistic collection of prose poems.
First poetry book I’ve ever genuinely enjoyed reading. Some made me so happy to exist. Never knew poetry could do that.
Overall just a really beautiful and optimistic collection of prose poems.
April 23, 2017
J'ai RIEN compris.
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January 2, 2024Le truc le plus compliqué que je n'ai jamais lu. Mais c'était bien. Mais c'était un calvaire. Mais j'ai détesté.
Parfois les mots n'avaient aucun sens pour moi, et bien que par tous les moyens, bien que mes ongles s'y cassaient, je ne pouvais tout bonnement rien y faire. Ça resterait -- restera -- flou. Et à l'inverse d'une poésie lyrique où la compréhension, les sentiments peuvent passer au-delà des mots, ici rien.
Parfois les mots n'avaient aucun sens pour moi, et bien que par tous les moyens, bien que mes ongles s'y cassaient, je ne pouvais tout bonnement rien y faire. Ça resterait -- restera -- flou. Et à l'inverse d'une poésie lyrique où la compréhension, les sentiments peuvent passer au-delà des mots, ici rien.
August 7, 2025
No había leído nada de Ponge, me agradó su reflexividad y esa búsqueda de la poesía en lo cotidiano, atravesada por una palabra siempre sonando alrededor de otro cuerpo, vivo o inanimado.
Me esperaba algo más, pero es un libro estimulante. Veremos qué otra cosa leo de Ponge por allí.
Me esperaba algo más, pero es un libro estimulante. Veremos qué otra cosa leo de Ponge por allí.
November 22, 2013
Ma chi è veramente Ponge? E cosa aspira a trasmettere un titoletto così poco accattivante?
La risposta alla prima delle due domande ambirà forse ad essere banale: Ponge è un poeta: ma davvero?; la seconda infine, illuminante sotto molti aspetti si rivelerà non appena si inumidirà la punta del naso fra le pagine di questo libricino. In barba ai poeti metafisici, di cui, probabilmente, Ponge fu il barbiere, questa raccolta rivolge tutta la propria attenzione alle piccole cose, all'intrinseca mangia della materia disgregante: un'arancia, un mollusco, una porta d'ingresso; le more, una cassetta di legno, quant'altro ancora. E se potrà apparire innecessaria una tanta attenzione indirizzata verso la materia gretta e banale, si provi ad assaporare il linguaggio con cui essa viene descritta e non descritta: si sprigionerà da esso l'infinita dolcezza della materia di cui siamo avvolti e che non credevamo di conoscere.
La risposta alla prima delle due domande ambirà forse ad essere banale: Ponge è un poeta: ma davvero?; la seconda infine, illuminante sotto molti aspetti si rivelerà non appena si inumidirà la punta del naso fra le pagine di questo libricino. In barba ai poeti metafisici, di cui, probabilmente, Ponge fu il barbiere, questa raccolta rivolge tutta la propria attenzione alle piccole cose, all'intrinseca mangia della materia disgregante: un'arancia, un mollusco, una porta d'ingresso; le more, una cassetta di legno, quant'altro ancora. E se potrà apparire innecessaria una tanta attenzione indirizzata verso la materia gretta e banale, si provi ad assaporare il linguaggio con cui essa viene descritta e non descritta: si sprigionerà da esso l'infinita dolcezza della materia di cui siamo avvolti e che non credevamo di conoscere.
July 1, 2015
Un fabuleux petit recueil de poésie qui à l'art de mettre en valeur des objets ou des personnages délaissés. L'auteur reconnaît lui-même qu'il manque de confiance, véritable marque de modestie. Mes préférés sont "Les plaisirs de la porte" et "Escargots". A lire pour découvrir l'invisible dans ce que l'on croyait banal...
December 31, 2011
Reading Ponge's Soap many years ago turned me into a lifelong fan. Lee Fahnestock's translation of his first book seems both fluid and graceful.
July 21, 2021
gros point d’interrogation ?? pourquoi?? pourquoi cette œuvre est au programme de l’ens????
May 5, 2022
je n'ai absolument RIEN compris. Les 30 dernières pages ont été un calvaire j'ai jamais autant détesté un livre et pourtant j'ai lu Hernani
July 16, 2024
enfer et damnation
February 25, 2009
i was about halfway through this, and really liking it, when i got to "notes for a sea shell" and was hit by the sudden realization that THIS BOOK IS FUCKING AWESOME!
it's hard to describe what ponge is doing here. he's writing very short semi-scientific prose poem essays about natural objects. descriptions, mainly. rain. pebbles. candle. snail. they're a little bit like haiku, but much longer and for the most part with no formal structure. also, they're not impressionistic at all, but pretty much rock solid.
it is hard to explain, but i love them.
this is not representative, really, but it is my favorite:
Instead of those gigantic monuments which testify only to the grotesque disparity between his imagination and his person (or his disgraceful social and convivial habits), or again instead of those statues on his own scale or slightly larger (here I'm thinking of Michelangelo's David), which are simply representations of himself... instead of all that, for some unknown reason I wish that man carved out a sort of niche or shell to his own measure, an object very different from the mollusk form yet similarly proportioned (native African huts are quite satisfying in that respect); I wish that man applied himself through the ages to creating a shelter not much larger than his body, one involving all his imagination and reasoning; that he put his genius to work on appropriate scale rather than disproportion-- or at the very least that his genius recognized the contours of the body that sustains it.
And I do not even admire those who, like the Pharaohs, have monuments to a single man erected by a multitude. I would sooner he had put that multitude to work on something no larger, or not much larger, than his own body or-- which would have been even more commendable-- that he had shown himself superior to other men through the quality of his own work.
In that light I particularly admire certain restrained writers or composers: Bach, Rameau, Malherbe, Horace, Mallarmé-- above all the writers, because their monument is made from the true secretion common to the human mollusk, from the thing most closely proportioned and adapted to his body, yet bearing the least conceivable likeness to his form: I mean LANGUAGE.
it's hard to describe what ponge is doing here. he's writing very short semi-scientific prose poem essays about natural objects. descriptions, mainly. rain. pebbles. candle. snail. they're a little bit like haiku, but much longer and for the most part with no formal structure. also, they're not impressionistic at all, but pretty much rock solid.
it is hard to explain, but i love them.
this is not representative, really, but it is my favorite:
Instead of those gigantic monuments which testify only to the grotesque disparity between his imagination and his person (or his disgraceful social and convivial habits), or again instead of those statues on his own scale or slightly larger (here I'm thinking of Michelangelo's David), which are simply representations of himself... instead of all that, for some unknown reason I wish that man carved out a sort of niche or shell to his own measure, an object very different from the mollusk form yet similarly proportioned (native African huts are quite satisfying in that respect); I wish that man applied himself through the ages to creating a shelter not much larger than his body, one involving all his imagination and reasoning; that he put his genius to work on appropriate scale rather than disproportion-- or at the very least that his genius recognized the contours of the body that sustains it.
And I do not even admire those who, like the Pharaohs, have monuments to a single man erected by a multitude. I would sooner he had put that multitude to work on something no larger, or not much larger, than his own body or-- which would have been even more commendable-- that he had shown himself superior to other men through the quality of his own work.
In that light I particularly admire certain restrained writers or composers: Bach, Rameau, Malherbe, Horace, Mallarmé-- above all the writers, because their monument is made from the true secretion common to the human mollusk, from the thing most closely proportioned and adapted to his body, yet bearing the least conceivable likeness to his form: I mean LANGUAGE.
October 14, 2021
Poesia come scoperta del mondo che ci circonda, mondo naturale, mondo altro , microcosmi: pioggia, molluschi, sole sembra che li si possano trovare le risposte a molte domande che ci assillano forse è in quei posti che è nascita l’anima del mondo, l’anima dell’uomo universale e moderno. Rimane il ritmo, la metafora, la descrizione minuziosa e scientifica dei fenomeni naturali e rimane un insegnamento tutto ciò che diamo per scontato e ovvio è prezioso come l’oro, poesia come pietra filosofale della modernità.
May 19, 2008
Moss rum!
February 11, 2018
Jvais pas expliquer mais le ressenti global peut tenir en un mot: horrible
February 22, 2021
FINALLY FREE !!! worst experience of my life !!!!!
February 27, 2022
Ponges günlük hayatta karşılaştığımız basit nesneleri seçip, betimlemeleriyle onlara daha önce hiç bakmadığımız bir bakış açısı sunmuş bizlere. Bazı şiirlerini sevdim, betimlemeleri başarılıydı, hepsi gözümde canlandı adeta. Bunun yanı sıra bazı şiirleri de anlamadığımı söyleyebilirim.
Kalemi beni özellikle çekmedi, fakat diğer şiirlerini okumak farklı bir deneyim olabilir.
Avec ce recueil de poèmes, Ponges nous livre une perspective totalement différente sur des objets du quotidien en les décrivant d’une manière subtil. Je dois dire que j’ai apprécié certains de ses poèmes mais pas la totalité, car je me suis retrouvée dans une totale incompréhension la plupart du temps.
Lire ces autres poèmes et de ne pas juger sa plume avec ceux-là pourrait être intéressant.
Kalemi beni özellikle çekmedi, fakat diğer şiirlerini okumak farklı bir deneyim olabilir.
Avec ce recueil de poèmes, Ponges nous livre une perspective totalement différente sur des objets du quotidien en les décrivant d’une manière subtil. Je dois dire que j’ai apprécié certains de ses poèmes mais pas la totalité, car je me suis retrouvée dans une totale incompréhension la plupart du temps.
Lire ces autres poèmes et de ne pas juger sa plume avec ceux-là pourrait être intéressant.
July 27, 2022
3,5
J'avais des préjugés avant de lire ce livre et finalement, ça n'est pas si mauvais. Le poète a pour but de décrire les objets (plus rarement les personnes) qui nous entourent. La manière de faire est à la fois moderne, et, si on y repense, particulièrement homérique. C'est à lire, ça n'est pas déplaisant et ça nous fait voir le monde autrement.
J'avais des préjugés avant de lire ce livre et finalement, ça n'est pas si mauvais. Le poète a pour but de décrire les objets (plus rarement les personnes) qui nous entourent. La manière de faire est à la fois moderne, et, si on y repense, particulièrement homérique. C'est à lire, ça n'est pas déplaisant et ça nous fait voir le monde autrement.
May 29, 2024
Ponge a pris le parti d'apprécier les choses, de les observer dans les moindres détails afin d'en retrouver l'intérêt et la beauté. C'est ainsi qu'il écrivit des poèmes sur des objets a priori banals qui, au fil de la lecture, ne le sont plus tellement. Sublime ode à la vie.
July 22, 2025
pitié arrêtez avec Ponge. On s’ennuie, c’est juste le même concept répété plein de fois jusqu’a temps qu’on arrive à la fin du bouquin. PAR CONTRE je mets 2 étoiles parce qu’il est utile en dissertation, bien que je trouve son écriture chiante à mourir.
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May 28, 2022bof bof...
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September 13, 2023What a weird book. Sometimes very nice but sometimes it just feels very arrogant to me…
March 30, 2024
i wanna know what he was on when writing this
June 3, 2019
So poetic - Hail to the Snail!
February 1, 2024
'Trop heureux seulement d'avoir pour ces débuts su choisir le galet: car un homme d'esprit ne pourra que sourire, mais sans doute il sera touché, quand mes critiques diront: "Ayant entrepris d'écrire une description de la pierre, il s'empêtra."'
Displaying 1 - 30 of 106 reviews