ANTONIN ARTAUD

[Zlatko Waterman]

Raging genius, madman, Renaissance man, poet, playwright, actor, graphic artist, theorist and film-maker.

A kind of original "beat" . . .

Try him:


Susan Sontag's essay on Artaud is a real winner . . .

Many links, and Google will provide you many more.


( link)


http://www.levity.com/corduroy/artaud.htm


Here's a link to a good article on Artaud's drawings, by Luc Sante:

http://www.slate.com/id/2904/





--Z

[e_dog]

some poetry.


http://freespace.virgin.net/drama.land/ ... gment.html

http://freespace.virgin.net/drama.land/ ... uelty.html


Zlatko,

i am not sure what to make of it but did Artaud not write some fascistic things in some of his mad poems [not those listed here] or was that some sarcastic irony?

[Zlatko Waterman]

e-dog:


Here's a Situationist link with a little dribble about Artaud and the Theater of Cruelty-- Chomsky, Derrida -- as usual, everything fits in for them.

As for irony-- well yes, as Bob Dylan says, " . . .it can be easily done . . .out on Highway-- sixty-one . . ."

I had to read Derrida for years to see what an amazing comedian he is.

Try "The Post Card"-- Derrida rendering a man in love-- through the medium of fiction? (!) Yes, it did happen . . .

http://courses.nus.edu.sg/course/elljwp ... stcard.htm


(Artaud Situationist link)

http://library.nothingness.org/articles ... /272#foot3

I think Deleuze and Guattari also wrote on Artaud in some of their "nomad" texts.

I'll try to find those.

The "cruelty" of the 20's and 30's and Artaud's rather metaphorical use of the word and concept seem, to me, to be only distantly related.

I'm not aware of any fascist screed in Artaud's "Collected Writings", edited by Sontag, on which I have relied as a source.

But , of course, wigged out as he was, A.A. could have "crazied over" just like Crazy Ez.

I just haven't seen evidence of it ( direct evidence) myself.

I'd be happy to become informed by you, of course.

Your co-parser of the unknown refracted through aesthetic history,

I remain, as ever,

--Z

[e_dog]

there's a poem about Hitler in one of his collections -- not sure the title, but its a collected poetry volume with i recall a blue cover in paperback -- where he seems, and again i could be misreading its irony or sarcasm, but he seems to be in praise of Hitler. now, obviously, that is a serious charge so i am NOT asserting that that is the actual meaning of the poem -- i would need to re-research that poem to be certain or fairly aware of its meaning, but i do distinctly remember being alarmed in a way that, say, one couldn't be alarmed at Corso's Bomb unless one were a total moron.

this is prhaps worth looking into if you have access to a university library or kickass bookstores.

[Zlatko Waterman]

Dear e-dog:

I wouldn't be too surprised if AA, along with many others ( Marsden Hartley, Emil Nolde, Richard Strauss, Heidegger, etc.) was deceived by Dolf's apocalyptic gesturings.

It's amazing how a complete madman can gather followers, particularly before he starts a World War.

Rove, Little George, and company have gathered so many cuddlies about them.

It has, I think, to do with abstract charisma and a kind of confidence in aim and intention that the would-be dictator brandishes.

Even Beethoven was deceived by Napoleon, then slashed his name from the dedication of the "Heroica."


Thanks for the connection, and happy, dictator-free ( and that includes dictators of the mind, of course) Christmas and other holidays.

I should add that one with your rigorous powers of cross-examination and analysis shouldn't feel too threatened!

Your friend,


--Z

[stilltrucking]

.

Beyond the Pleasure Principle

Yes I love that little book BPP, Freud does Zen


Psycho analysis is a crock

Even Freud knew that

He was waiting for bio chemistry to catch up to his thoughts

The secrete lies in little green pills

and electro convulsive shock therapy.

and neuro-surgery

Tinker with the soul

embedded micor chips and electrode needles in the brain

I have seen the future and it is electric

The improvers of man are upon us

Matter over mind.

Shoot me the juice Bruce

"Don't truth me" (Sirens Of Titan Vonnegut)

The Question of Lay Analysis

More my speed but

Don't mind me

I am just jealous

I am off to see the wizard

be back when I get a brain

[e_dog]

so, like,
that's what L.A.

stands for


Lay Analysis.


(?)

[Glorious Amok]

i gave a seminar on Artaud last year. godfather of the surrealists, creepy older brother of the absurdists, he's probably gotten the closest to what i want to do in the theatre.

mayhaps i still have some notes. here's this.... which is kind of awesome....

The Theatre and the Plague
Performance by Antonin Artaud
April 1933
at the Schoolroom of the Sorbonne
As told by
Anais Nin
________________________________________
Schoolroom of the Sorbonne, a Thurdsay evening in Paris
Allendy and Artaud were sitting at the big desk. Allendy introduced Artaud. The room was crowded.
The blackboard made a strange backdrop.
There were people of all ages, followers of Allendy's lectures on New Ideas.
The light was crude. It made Artaud's eyes shrink into darkness, as they are deep-set. This brought into relief the intensity of his gestures.
He looked tormented. His hair, rather long, fell at times over his forehead. He has the actor's nimbleness and quickness of gestures. His face is lean, as if ravaged by fevers. His eyes do not seem to see the people. They are the eyes of a visionary.
His hands are long, long-fingered. Beside him Allendy looks earthy, heavy, gray. He sits at the desk, massive, brooding. Artaud steps out on the platform, and begins to talk about " The Theater and the Plague."
He asked me to sit in the front row. It seems to me that all he is asking for is intensity, a more heightened form of feeling and living. Is he trying to remind us that it was during the Plague that so many marvelous works of art and theater came to be, because, whipped by the fear of death, man seeks immortality, or to escape, or to surpass himself.
But then, imperceptibly almost, he let go of the thread we were following and began to act out dying by plague.
NO ONE QUITE KNEW WHEN IT BEGAN. TO ILLUSTRATE HIS CONFERENCE, HE WAS ACTING OUT AN AGONY.
"LA PESTE " IN FRENCH IS SO MUCH MORE TERRIBLE THAN "THE PLAGUE " IN ENGLISH.
BUT NO WORD COULD DESCRIBE WHAT ARTAUD ACTED OUT ON THE PLATFORM OF THE SORBONNE.
HE FORGOT ABOUT HIS CONFERENCE, THE THEATER, HIS IDEAS, DR. ALLENDY SITTING THERE, THE PUBLIC, THE YOUNG STUDENTS, PROFESSORS, AND DIRECTORS.
HIS FACE WAS CONTORTED WITH ANGUISH, ONE COULD SEE THE PERSPIRATION DAMPENING HIS HAIR. HIS EYES DILATED, HIS MUSCLES BECAME CRAMPED, HIS FINGERS STRUGGLED TO RETAIN THEIR FLEXIBILITY.
HE MADE ONE FEEL THE PARCHED AND BURNING THROAT, THE PAINS, THE FEAR, THE FIRE IN THE GUTS.
HE WAS IN AGONY.
HE WAS SCREAMING.
HE WAS DELIRIOUS.
HE WAS ENACTING HIS OWN DEATH,
HIS OWN CRUCIFIXION.
At first people gasped.
And then they began to laugh.
Everyone was laughing.
They hissed.
Then one by one, they began to leave, noisily, talking, protesting.
They banged the door as they left.
The only ones who did not move were Allendy, his wife, the Lalous and Marguerite.
More protestations.
More jeering.
But Artaud went on, until the last gasp.
HE STAYED ON THE FLOOR.
Then when the hall had emptied of all but his small group of friends, he walked straight up to me and kissed my hand. He asked me to go the the cafe with him. Everyone else had something to do. We all parted at the door of the Sorbonne, and Artaud and I walked out in a fine mist. We walked, walked through the dark streets.
HE WAS HURT, WOUNDED, BAFFLED BY THE JEERING.
HE SPAT OUT HIS ANGER.
"THEY ALWAYS WANT TO HEAR ABOUT;
THEY WANT TO HEAR AN OBJECTIVE CONFERENCE ON
THE THEATER AND THE PLAGUE,
I WANT TO GIVE THEM THE EXPERIENCE ITSELF,
THE PLAGUE ITSELF,
SO THEY WILL BE TERRIFIED,
AND AWAKEN".
"I WANT TO AWAKEN THEM.
BECAUSE THEY DO NOT REALIZE THEY ARE DEAD.
THEIR DEATH IS TOTAL, LIKE DEAFNESS AND BLINDNESS.
THIS IS AGONY I PORTRAYED.
MINE YES,
AND EVERYONE WHO IS ALIVE. "
The mist fell on his face, he pushed his hair away from his forehead. He looked taut and obsessed, but now he spoke quietly. We sat in the Coupole. He forgot the conference.
"I HAVE NEVER FOUND ANYONE WHO FELT AS I DID.
I HAVE BEEN AN OPIUM ADDICT FOR FIFTEEN YEARS.
IT WAS FIRST GIVEN TO ME WHEN I WAS VERY YOUNG,
TO CALM SOME TERRIBLE PAINS IN MY HEAD. "
"I FEEL SOMETIMES THAT I AM NOT WRITING,
BUT DESCRIBING THE STRUGGLES WITH WRITING,
THE STRUGGLES OF BIRTH."
He recited poetry. We talked about form, the theater, his work.
"YOU HAVE GREEN, AND SOMETIMES VIOLET EYES."
HE GREW GENTLE AND CALM.
WE WALKED AGAIN, IN THE RAIN.
FOR HIM THE PLAGUE WAS NO WORSE THAN
DEATH BY MEDIOCRITY
DEATH BY COMMERCIALISM
AND DEATH BY THE CORRUPTION WHICH SURROUNDED US.
HE WANTED TO MAKE PEOPLE AWARE THAT THEY WERE DYING.
TO FORCE THEM INTO A POETIC STATE.
THE HOSTILITY ONLY PROVED THAT YOU DISTURBED THEM, I SAID.
BUT WHAT A SHOCK TO SEE A SENSITIVE POET CONFRONTING A HOSTILE PUBLIC. WHAT BRUTALITY, WHAT UGLINESS IN THE PUBLIC.

[e_dog]

thanks, G-amok.

what is the source of the passage you pasted?

[Glorious Amok]

uh, it's this....

http://members.aol.com/mindwebart2/page10.htm

[e_dog]

neither the body without organs (artaud.deleuze/guattari)
nor the organs without bodies (zizek) but
organs with many bodies, organs
passed between multiple
bodies. transplant
ed culture and
social
form
s.

[stilltrucking]

The theatre, for all its artifices, depicts life in a sense more truly than history, because the medium has a kindred movement to that of real life, though an artificial setting and form.

(George Santayana (1863-1952), U.S. philosopher, poet. Skepticism and the Animal Mind, p. 102.)

Pardon the quote GA, I read that quote a couple days ago and it did not mean much to me until now.

Thank you for post,