SULLY PRUDHOMME

“In special recognition of his poetic composition, which gives evidence of lofty idealism, artistic perfection and a rare combination of the qualities of both heart and intellect”

This is not how I envisioned this project beginning.  I have always been able to find the books I want on ABEbooks.com, Amazon.com, or through the library.  Not so in this case.  I looked in all of these places.  There are books, all in French.  I ordered a copy of Le France: sonnets, which Amazon assured me was in English.  It is a beautiful little volume I will keep it as a souvenir, but I am years of French language lessons from appreciating its verbal beauty.   As I write I await an anthology from the Pennsylvania State Library System which might have some translated poems.  Both MaryAnn and I have been hard on the trail of this elusive Frenchman.  So far our search has yielded only one translation Le vase brise (The broken vase).  I love it but need much more.  While we wait for translations let’s take a look at our scientist turned poet.

Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme was born in Paris on March 16, 1839.  His father died when he was two so his mother was forced to move to the home of her brother.  His father, known as Sully, inspired the poetic non de plum, hyphenating his fathers nick name with their surname.  He excelled in classical literature and mathematics at the Lycee Bonaparte where he took a Bachelor of Science degree with the intention of entering engineering.  While a student he contracted ophthalmia, a severe inflammation of the eyes, which forced him to discontinue his studies.  The scientific mind set stayed. 

After several job changes, he studied law while working in a Persian law office.  As remedy for an unhappy love affair he studied philosophy in the evenings and composed short poems.  These were well received by fellow writers.  He became attached to the Parnassians, a group who insisted on restraint, precision, and objectivity in poetry.  They viewed themselves as an antidote to romantics such as Victor Hugo.  Acceptance into this group allowed him to forgo study of the law and devote his full time to writing.  In 1865 he published his first volume of poetry, Stanzas and poems. 

For the next five years he would enjoy a happy and productive existence.  In 1870, while serving France’s national militia during the Franco-Prussian War, Sully heard that his mother, and beloved uncle and aunt all had died.  It is believed the shock coupled with the stresses of the war resulted in a stroke which left the lower part of his body partially paralyzed.  He continued to write poetry described as wistfully tender and serious.  During what is called his middle period he went to longer poetic forms.  In this medium he discussed philosophical and scientific concepts.  His goal was to bring art and life together.  I am frustrated by my lack of linguistic skills.  I would love to read La justice .  From descriptions it sounds like just the kind of thing that would appeal to me.  A trip to the Library of Congress is in the near future to see if there is a translation available.  Even then, I am sure the translation does not do justice to the original.  I can see this is a poet I will pursue long after I have finished this project.

Sully Prudhomme did several epic poems and a series of prose works, largely on literary criticism, scientific reasoning, and philosophical thought.  In 1881 he was elected to the French Academy, the authority on grammar, vocabulary, and usage of the French language.  After a long and paralyzing illness he died in his home in Chatenay-Malabry, France , September 7, 1907.

In his presentation speech C. D. af Wirsen, Permanent Secretary of the Swedish Academy, explained the nature of the award and said specifically of Sully Prudhomme’s work, “The Swedish Academy has been less attracted by his didactic or abstract poems than by his smaller lyric compositions, which are full of feeling and contemplation, and which charm by their nobility and dignity and by the extremely rare union of delicate reflection and rich sentiment.” 

I am afraid I will have to take the good Permanent Secretary at his word.  MaryAnn and I had the great good fortune to finding seven translations of Sully Prudomme’s poems on the internet.  We found an excellent translation of The broken vase at http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/programs/2009/fraility/prudhomme-poetry.shtml with the French.  At http://oldpoetry.com we found At the water’s edge, In this world,  On the water, Cradles,  Never to see or hear her, and Music for the dying.  Also the book I ordered through the library came through.  It is a series entitled Nobel prize library (1971) Alex Gregory, NY & CRM Publishing, CA. It has four more poems and a prose piece, An intimate journal.  This too small collection of poems is like a bracelet of diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls on the wrist of a lover.  The beauty of the ornament is only enhanced by the far deeper beauty of its wearer.   Each of these little poems sent me to a time and with a person.  How did this man, more than one hundred years ago, know about the time I…no, this is neither the time or place for that story.   I was especially moved by The broken vase and Never to see or hear her, I suspect anyone who has been passionately in love would resonate to these words.  I have included the translation of The broken vase from the Nobel prize library .  I hope you enjoy it as much as me.

The Broken Vase

The vase that holds the dying rose

Tapped lightly by a lady’s fan

Cracked at this slightest of all blows,

Though not an eye the flaw could scan.

And yet the line, so light, so slight,

Etched ever deeper on the bowl,

Spread to the left, spread to the right,

Until it circled round the whole.

The water sinks, the petals fall,

Yet none divines, no word is spoken;

The surface seems intact to all;

Ah! Touch it not – the vase is broken.

Thus oft the heart is lightly brused

By some slight word of those we cherished;

Yet through the wound our blood has oozed,

 As lo! The flower of love has perished.

Thought to the world our life seems whole,

The hidden wound is unforgot5;

It grows and weeps within the soul:

The heart is broken – touch it not.

I am sure she did not mean to hurt the poor fellow, but when your heart is so close to the surface the brush of something so light as a fan can cause the dripping which kills something inside.  But God forbid Never to see or hear her.  I enjoyed this too short visit with Sully Prudhomme.  I am sure I will come back many times.

This is going to be a big change, from a French poet to a German classical historian.  This calls for Wagner, probably Tannhauser, some good very dark beer, and sausage thinly sliced.  Now to settle back in my chair to read  Imperial lives and letters of the eleventh century by Theodor Mommsen, winner of the 1902 Nobel Prize in Literature.

NOBEL WORDS

Like many grand aspirations this one came while in the Peace Corps.  I went to Kenya right out of college and loved the place.  When the time came to retire I could think of nothing I would sooner do than return to Africa.  My wife, MaryAnn, and I found ourselves in a fabulously beautiful valley high in the mountains of Lesotho, a small kingdom completely surrounded by The Republic of South Africa.  Our home was about a mile from the nearest dirt road.  No electricity, no car, and no close neighbors allowed lots of time to read.  In this respect we were fortunate as MaryAnn’s job was to set up libraries in local schools.  Thanks to generous contributions by friends and family we had books in abundance.  On occasional trips to Bloemfontein, S.A., the closest large city, we stocked up at the bookstores.   On one of these expeditions I came across Nadine Gordimer who received the 1991 Nobel Prize in Literature.  Her unusual style captivated me and I realized I had no idea who other Nobel winners were and more importantly why they received the prize.  I went to the rather primitive reference section of MaryAnn’s Malealea Secondary School Library and found an out dated copy of The World Almanac.  It told me that I had never heard of the vast majority of the authors whom the Nobel Committee felt worthy of the world’s most prestigious literary prize.  This would not do.  I resolved to read at least two works by each of the 102 authors.  That was in 2005 and as with all big projects it got put off while we readapted to life in the United States.  I have regained my resolve and with this first installment in the journal I have begun.

First I needed to arm myself with a little background; ain’t the Internet wonderful?  Why would a chemist, engineer, and fellow who specialized in blowing things up sponsor a prize in literature?  Physical science, medicine, chemistry, and even economics (added later) made sense and fit with the personality type.  Considering the destructive power of the dynamite and gelignite he created the Peace Prize as a bit of pay back.  But why a prize in something so romantic and artsy as literature?  A bit of research showed that under the scientific surface was a roaring romantic.  When Alfred was a young man his father, Immanuel, moved the family to Russia where he started a munitions factory.  Alfred met and fell madly in love with Alexandra, a Russian beauty.  He proposed and she rejected him out of hand.  In 1876 after he held the patent for dynamite and had invented gelignite, a safer form of explosive, he took Bertha Kinsky as a secretary.  There was a brief but intense relationship until she left him to marry an old flame with an exalted name, Baron Arthur Gundaccar von Suttner.  Their feelings for one another were sufficiently deep for them to continue corresponding until Alfred Nobel died in 1896.  It is believed her prompting resulted in the Peace Prize.  In 1905 the same Bertha von Suttner received the Nobel Peace Prize “for sincere peace activities”.   And then there was Sofie Hess, a flower girl from Vienna.  This fling lasted 18 years.  The letters which he exchanged with his three loves were considered by his heirs as sufficiently torrid to be gathered and locked in the Nobel Institute in Stockholm until 1955 when they were released to authorized biographers.  In his letters to his last love she was addressed as “Madame Sofie Nobel”.   Although Alfred Nobel never married he knew romance.

Since their inception the Nobel Prizes have raised controversy.  This is natural as when there is a winner there is also a “loser” who will find reasons the decision should have been reversed.    The Prize in Literature is no exception.  First, there is the wording of the will; “in the field of literature the most outstanding work in an ideal direction.”  The Swedish word ideaisk can mean either ideal or idealistic.  For the early awards the Swedish Academy adopted a strict interpretation of the term, leaning toward scholars, poets, and idealists at the expense of innovators like Leo Tolstoy, Henrik Ibsen, Emile Zola, Mark Twain, Henry James, and James Joyce.  In the later half of the Twentieth Century the word was interpreted more broadly. 

When appearing on a world stage inevitably there will be charges of political nepotism.  There can be no doubt that until very recently the Prize has been very Eurocentric.  Of the 206 Nobel Laureates 81 are European (39.3%), 13 are Scandinavian (6.3%) and beginning with Sinclair Lewis in 1930 eight are from the United States (3.8%).   These numbers are striking when compared with two Laureates in all of Asia (0.97%), three in Africa (1.4%) and four in South America (1.9%).  On several occasions members of the selection committee awarded themselves the prizes.  There can be no doubt during periods of conflict the prize is skewered.  During the Second World War it was not given at all.  During the First World War it was missed twice.  The political position of several authors has been sited as reason for them receiving or being denied the prize. 

The current manner of selection does much to screen out these complications.  Nominations are requested of members of the Swedish Academy, members of literary societies, literature academies, professors of language, former Nobel literature laureates, and the presidents of writer’s organizations.  From thousands of requests posted about 50 proposals are returned to the Swedish Academy by the deadline of February 1.  The Academy narrows the field to 20 by April and to five by June.  The works of these five are reviewed by members of the Academy who vote in October. 

I am sure every reader has an author who is a shoo in for the Nobel Prize in Literature.  Mine is Salman Rushdie, who I understand has been considered on several occasions.  Hopefully he will win before I finish this adventure in reading.

OK, the time has come.  I will play a CD of Jacques Offenbach on the stereo, put an espresso and some brie by the chair and start to read the works of Sully Prudhomme, French scientist turned poet who received the first Nobel Prize in Literature in 1901.

I started sharing these ramblings with a few friends and family.  It was suggested I offer them to a wider audience through a blog.  I plan to post one Nobel winner on the first Wednesday of each month for the next ten years.  I hope you enjoy this project as much as I have.  It is my sincere wish you are motivated to read those you have never encountered and reread your old friends. 

Do Good;

J. Phillip Eisemann