War poetry is evidently a heterogeneous genre, as exemplified by this week’s readings. While some of the poems depict life in the trenches in a way that I have come to expect, writing about the horrors of the conditions of the trenches, the gutting experience of gas warfare, and themes of alienation, others, particularly those by Guillaume Apollinaire, experimented with form and poetic art in a new and revolutionary way. Marjorie Perloff writes that “violence, energy…these were judged to be the very spark of life” (160). Especially in “Il Pleut/It’s Raining,” this energy is exemplified in multiple creative ways. The content of the poem is (especially initially) secondary to the form of how the words are displayed on the page. The act of reading curiously takes precedence over the poem itself as the reader must mimic the falling raindrops by reading the words from top to bottom in a continual manner. Once the reader has engaged in this process, the meaning of the words emerge, addressing the rainfall of “women’s voices,” for instance. The cities, including the individual “I” as well as the masses (presumably, from his generalizations), must turn their ears to listen to the “rain” that is falling. Rather than washing away “regret and disdain,” it brings uncomfortable issues to light and we must pay attention, listening (and reading) actively.

In one article of Broom magazine (Vol. 5, No. 4, November 1923), there was a curious snippet about Apollinaire that is addressed “To the Bibliophile” and I was very curious about the way that he and his work were being advertised. The excerpt reads:

Guillaume Apollinaire, one of the most arresting personalities among European writers of our time, was easily the modern prototype of Rabelais, Swift, and Sterne. Possessed with an Aristophanic demon of satire Apollinaire wrote the most astonishing prose and poetry of his day. During the four years since his death from wounds received in the Great War writers have declared him to be France’s greatest war poet, in fact the only great poet who emerged from the war.

But the man was versatile. His sway spread through the whole continent as poet, novelist, art critic and leader of divers revolutions and buccaneering expeditions in painting and literature. His rebellious spirit was at the bottom of all the artistic upheavals of the Twentieth Century. (238)

The matter-of-factness of this passage, compared to the explosive, energized, and revolutionary nature of Apollinaire’s work, is somewhat jarring and seems to contradict the spirit of what he was trying to accomplish in his art. This writer mentions his “rebellious spirit” as a charming accolade, and by comparing him to Swift, Sterne, and the others, the author is trying to fit this poet into the established literary canon in a way that I’m not convinced Apollinaire (or the other Vorticists, Futurists, Dadaists) would have wanted. It is also interesting that here he and his work are being advertised for a mass audience. Claiming him as the “greatest war poet” or “greatest poet who emerged from the war,” is high praise indeed and certainly something that readers of the magazine would (perhaps depending on the readership and circulation of the magazine), notice, trusting such a recommendation to advance their own literary tastes (particularly if they identify themselves as “bibliophiles”). Does this show the acceptance of his (and the other poets’) project? Or is this a more subversive way to get people reading this revolutionary material?