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Semiosis and Intertextuality in Breton's 'Femme et Oiseau'

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SOURCE: "Semiosis and Intertextuality in Breton's 'Femme et Oiseau,'" in The Romanic Review, Vol. LXXVI, No. 4, November, 1985, pp. 415-28.

[In the essay below, Bohn relates "Femme et Oiseau" to its corresponding Miró painting in order to demonstrate that the poems in Constellations are not descriptive but rather they represent Breton's subjective reaction to Miró's paintings.]

In 1958 André Breton wrote twenty-two prose poems inspired by a series of gouaches that Joan Miró had created nearly twenty years earlier. Collected the following year in Constellations, each poem was juxtaposed with the appropriate painting in a mathematical progression based on skill and chance, intention and accident. If, as Anna Balakian states, "Breton's Constellations is a cosmic venture in which man joins nature through his manipulation of language" ["From Poisson Soluble to Constellations: Breton's Trajectory for Surrealism," Twentieth Century Literature, 21, February, 1975], the same may be said of Miró's paintings in which birds, women, and stars offer a privileged view of the universe. This is particularly true of "Femme et oiseau"—the eighth poem in the series—whose title unites two of the artist's favorite motifs. Throughout the volume verbal language complements visual language in an elaborate pas de deux. That Breton's intention is not simply to evoke Miró's art or to reproduce relevant themes may be seen from the term he chose to describe his creations: "proses parallèles." As such they represent independent meditations on subjects suggested by the paintings without any attempt to follow the path taken by the artist. Stressing the profound originality of Breton's undertaking, J. H. Matthews describes this reciprocal relationship as follows: "The image before his eyes liberates images within, and it is the latter that he seeks to capture, in acknowledgement of the former's evocative quality" ["André Breton and Joan Miró: Constellations," Symposium, 34, 1980]. Located somewhere on the continuum between the livre d'artiste, which posits a close link between picture and text, and the institution of poésie critique based on poetic equivalents, Breton's poems are neither interpretive nor impressionistic.

According to Philippe Audoin each text takes its point of departure from one of three sources: the painting's title, its general tonality, or one or more graphic elements. This explains why the title "Femme et oiseau" makes no sense—it is entirely incidental. To be sure the poet refers to a woman toward the end, but she is only one of several characters who are equally important. Not only is the bird nowhere to be found, there is no indication that he will ever appear. Although Breton appropriates Miró's title for his poem, as he did throughout the book, it was clearly not the source of his inspiration. Continuing our inquiry in a similar vein, we can also rule out tonality as a potential source. Whereas the poem possesses a remarkable sensuality, which its leisurely rhythms and sonorous vowels accentuate, the painting is a sprightly composition whose bright patches of color and curved lines appear to be in constant motion. This leaves the plastic configurations which seem to lie at the root of the poem. Although Miró's characters are notoriously hard to identify, for our purposes this does not really matter. What we want are Breton's personal reactions to the picture, which seems to depict two women facing each other while two smaller creatures float between them. The woman on the right, whose breasts are evident, is carrying another animal on her shoulder. The woman on the left, recognizable from her triangular skirt, narrow waist, and long hair, is even more exceptional than her companion. Standing with her head thrown back, a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, and a darting tongue, she seems about to swallow the fish-shaped creature before her. Below the latter the second creature—undoubtedly the bird of the title—is about to fly into her mouth.

Gradually we begin to understand how the painting is related to the poem. If the woman's torso is distinctly feminine, her ferocious expression and triangular teeth are markedly feline. In other words, as Breton clearly realized, the figure before us is that of a catwoman, whom we see devouring first a fish and then a bird. The entire poem derives from this seminal recognition scene. Once he chose his point of departure the poet turned his back on the rest of the painting, which is to say that its intertextual role is negligeable. What interested Breton was the unexpected presence of the catwoman whose dual nature was well known to him. To understand her appeal we have only to transpose elements to see that she is a variant of the sphinx whose eerie shadow, like the minotaur's, is one of the hallmarks of Surrealism. Like the latter, the sphinx represents the union of intellectual and physical power. The fact that both creatures mediate between the human and the animal makes them perfect vehicles for the merveilleux in which, as Breton tells us, "se peint toujours l'irrémédiable inquiétude humaine" [Manifeste du surréalisme, 1963].

In his Semiotics of Poetry Michael Riffaterre argues that every poem results from "the transformation of… a minimal and literal sentence into a longer, complex, and nonliteral periphrasis." If Riffaterre is right, that a poem is generated by a single phrase or "matrix," then the origins of Breton's "Femme et oiseau" are to be found in a statement such as "The sphinx is half cat and half woman." Structurally this sentence may be rendered as cat sphinx woman, where the sphinx's central position is dictated by its role as mediator in the human / animal dichotomy. Not only does the poem employ the same tripartite structure, it preserves the substantive nodes of the matrix and observes the same sequence. Seen in this perspective, Breton's strategy is relatively simple. Enumerating each element of the matrix, from cat to sphinx to woman, he pauses long enough for each image to generate a series of associations which he weaves together to form the poem. Utilizing conscious and unconscious impulses, this process is more complicated than it sounds. As the Structuralists have long noted, "a work can only be read in connection with or against other texts, which provide a grid through which it is read and [comprehended]" [Jonathan Culler, Structuralist Poeties, 1975]. The same strictures govern its creation as well. Among the numerous forces traversing a text Riffaterre focuses on a primary intertext that he calls a "hypogram." Consisting of a "pre-existing word group," the hypogram may be a quotation, a thematic configuration, a set of literary conventions, or a cliché. Situated midway between the matrix and the text, it distorts the former and produces the latter through conversion and expansion. With "Femme et oiseau," as elsewhere in Breton's works, the hypogram seems to be a poem by Baudelaire, in this case "Les Chats." More precisely, as we will discover, it includes a whole complex in Les Fleurs du mal centered on this poem:

Les amoureux fervents et les savants austères
Aiment également, dans leur müre saison,
Les chats puissants et doux, orgueil de la maison,
Qui comme eux sont frileux et comme eux sédentaires.

Amis de la science et de la volupté
Ils cherchent le silence et l'horreur des ténèbres;
L'Erèbe les eût pris pour ses coursiers funèbres,
S'ils pouvaient au servage incliner leur fierté.

Ils prennent en songeant les nobles attitudes
Des grand sphinx allongés au fond des solitudes,
Qui semblent s'endormir dans un rëve sans fin;

Leurs reins féconds sont pleins d'étincelles magiques,
Et des parcelles d'or, ainsi qu'un sable fin,
Etoilent vaguement leurs prunelles mystiques.

As Riffaterre predicts, a number of Baudelaire's words and concepts are embedded in Breton's text, where they testify to its origins. One thing is immediately evident. What originally attracted him to "Les Chats" is the equation between cat and sphinx specified in the primitive sentence. Among other things this poem is the source of the sensuous language in "Femme et oiseau" and its langorous rhythms, which approximate the alexandrine. In tracing the evolution of Breton's imagery and ideas, we will see that many poetic features derive directly from the hypogram. Others are generated at the level of the text according to the principles of metaphor and metonymy identified by Roman Jakobson [in "Two Aspects of Language and Two Types of Aphasie Disturbances," in Fundamentals of Language, 1971].

The first sentence of "Femme et oiseau," which is also the first line, illustrates Breton's method perfectly. Its alliterative play and twelve careful syllables underline the poet's debt to the author of "Les Chats." The initial portrait of the cat, who is dreaming and purring, is entirely conventional. Baudelaire not only evokes the animal's penchant for sleep, he stresses its endless capacity for reverie ("un rëve sans fin") which marks it as an avatar of the Poet. Although none of his cats actually purr, this is a metonymie characteristic which needs no justification. It is part of the baggage associated with the concept "cat." What is startling here is not the animal so much as its setting—a dusky music shop. If lutherie normally designates the stringed-instrument trade, here it is used metonymically to indicate the place where the instruments are made and sold. The next sentence corroborates this interpretation and develops it in more detail. Similarly, the fact that "brune" refers to twilight—on the model of "à la burne"—is confirmed by subsequent events in the poem. But why does Breton choose this location? Why this time of day? To find the answer we must return to Baudelaire who specifically associates cats with shadows and who makes Erebus, Lord of Darkness, their master. Clearly in touch with demonic forces, they function as intermediaries between mankind and the unknown. Breton replaces Baudelaire's demonic forces by those of the unconscious, but otherwise the animal's poetic vocation remains the same. The music shop itself has several possible sources. Looking back on Miró's painting, for instance, we find several shapes suggesting key signatures and musical notes. Moreover there may well be a metonymie link between the cat and the instruments, whose strings are probably made of catgut. The most likely explanation, however, is metaphoric, exploiting similarity rather than contiguity. Thus Baudelaire devotes the first half of a two-part poem intitled "Le Chat" (No. LI) to celebrating the latter's delicate "voice" which he first compares to a verse of poetry. Continuing in the same vein, he exclaims:

Non, il n'est pas d'archet qui morde
Sur mon coeur, parfait instrument,
Et fasse plus royalement
Chanter sa plus vibrante corde,
Que ta voix, chat mystérieux…
(vv. 17-20)

Surely this explains why Breton's cat is in a music shop. The evolution of the image appears to be the following: from meow to voice the progression is metaphoric, based on functional similarity; from voice to violin bow it is also metaphoric, based on similar cause and effect. Thereafter the bow leads us metonymically to the violin which leads in turn to another metonym: the lutherie. In both cases the relationship is that of part to whole. If there is a common thread to the entire chain of events, it is musicality in its various forms. Once we begin to understand the poem's intricate background and its complexity of allusion, the seemingly banal first line comes alive. Radiating in every direction, from Baudelaire to Breton to us and back again, it is filled with virtual images operating at several levels. The image of the "lutherie brune" is especially resonant. Not only is the lute a traditional symbol of lyric poetry, as the Petit Robert insists, the adjective brune conjures up visions of Jeanne Duval who appears in yet another poem entitled "Le Chat" (No. XXXIV). Here the "corps électrique" of Baudelaire's cat suggests that of his mulatto mistress. "Je vois ma femme en esprit," he exclaims,

Et, des pieds jusques a la téte,
Un air subtil, un dangereux parfum
Nagent autour de son corps brun.
(vv. 9; 12-14)

Stated implicitly at the beginning, the themes of poetry and womanhood will gradually assume major proportions in the poem. It remains to discuss the unique atmosphere of the first line which is a function of its special setting. From the fact that the shop is dark we know it must be past closing time. The shopkeeper has turned off the lights and gone home, leaving his cat in the store until morning. This means that the initial scene takes place in total silence, broken only by the animal's purring, and that the shop is entirely empty. This too is characteristic of Baudelaire's cats who among other things "cherchent le silence et l'horreur des ténèbres" ("Les Chats"). For Breton then, as for Baudelaire, the cat serves as an emblem of the poet's solitude.

The second sentence evokes the animal's curiosity—a métonymie trait ignored by Baudelaire but exploited here to good effect. By providing, not one but two examples the poet increases the verisimilitude of his portrait and injects a certain humor into the poem. Without moving from its comfortable spot, the cat peers curiously at one of the nearby instruments, then begins to lick it. Both gestures are typical, both are convincing. The first clause, "Il scrute le fond de l'ébène," depicts the animal peering through the strings at the ebony fingerboard. Next the cat extends its tongue as far as it can to lick the instrument's body which is made of mahogany. The two prepositional phrases, "de biais" and "à distance," stress the exploratory nature of this gesture. Once we realize that it is the instrument's body that is "tout vif," we can visualize what has occurred. During its investigation the cat has brushed against the strings whose reverberations are amplified by the soundbox, causing it to "come alive." This sound, magnified by the stillness of the music shop, announces a change of scene and the introduction of a new character. The transaction from cat to catwoman is surprisingly smooth. "C'est l'heure où'" as Susan Harris Smith remarks, prepares the reader for the supernatural events to follow including the relaxation of the sphinx's suffocating coils around the fountain ["Breton's 'Femme of oiseau': An Interpretation," Dada/Surrealism No. 6, 1976]. As she also notes, this is the central action of the poem which corresponds to the sphinx's central position in the narrative sequence. The sphinx herself is subject to considerable mythological ambivalence. On the one hand no less an authority than Lévi-Strauss assures us that she is a female monster who attacks and rapes young men, "the personification of a female being with an inversion of the sign" [Vernon W. Gras, ed., European Literary Theory and Practice, From Existential Phenomenology to Structuralism, 1973]. We know from the Oedipus myth that she kills her victims when she is finished with them, which is confirmed by the etymology of her name: "the strangling one" [William Smith, Smaller Classical Dictionary, 1958]. On the other hand, "being the supreme embodiment of the enigma, the sphinx keeps watch over the ultimate meaning which must remain forever beyond the understanding of man" [J. E. Cirlot, Dictionary of Symbols, 1962]. As such she is the guardian of the cosmic mysteries and the key to the riddle of the universe.

This explains Breton's fascination with the sphinx whom he knew from previous encounters and who is best personified by the heroine of Nadja. If, as we have seen, the cat is the emblem of the Poet, the sphinx is the emblem of Woman whom Breton celebrates in all her diversity from femme fatale to femme-énigme. This is the subject of the third sentence in which the poet explores woman's dual nature. In her former aspect, presented at the beginning, the sphinx represents the emasculating, devouring female. The key to this interpretation lies in the word garance which designates 1) the madderwort plant and 2) a red dye made from its roots. Taken metaphorically, for example, the term suggests that the creature is stained red with the blood of her victims. Used metonymically, it indicates that she is stained red from eating the plant itself like the birds and animals that feed on it. Since, as Smith observes, the consumption of madder was an ancient remedy for the absence of menstruation, Breton implies that the sphinx is sterile, which makes her especially threatening. While either path is enough to account for the presence of red dye here, the image also seems to be associated with Nadja. Among several intertextual glimpses of this work in "Femme et oiseau," we recall that Nadja's first address in Paris was the Hotel Sphinx, situated on the boulevard Magenta. At the very least the conjunction of the sphinx with ruddiness seems to be a constant in Breton's work.

The following section presents several difficulties. What is the sphinx doing in the department of Vaucluse, for instance, and how has she acquired a hunting horn wrapped around a fountain? That the author introduces a musical instrument at this point is understandable, for it may be traced back to the music shop described at the beginning. But why has he chosen a horn instead of a violin or guitar, which would be more in keeping with the lutherie? To answer this question we need to sift through the multifarious meanings of trompe which range from Eustachian tube to aspirator and squinch (an architectural term). The explanation seems to be that the word is taken from an alternate version of the sphinx—whose name also designates a large velvety moth. Bearing a prominent death's head on its back, which confirms the sphinx's reputation as a femme fatale, the creature extends its "proboscis" in anticipation of the magnolia blossoms in the last line. This word is also associated with a previous complex centered on garance in connection with the female reproductive system. For the fact that the sphinx is sterile suggests that she is suffering from blockage of her trompes de Fallope. Integrating the term into his musical context, Breton creates a fantastic brass horn with unusual flexibility. Like an elephant's trunk (trompe d'éléphant), it is capable of curling around objects and exerting pressure. This is consistent with the image of the hunting horn in particular which has a circular shape. The idea of constriction—and its subsequent relaxation—is provided by the sphinx's reputation as a strangler. Whether the author was familiar with the creature's etymology or whether he was thinking of its derivative "sphincter" does not really matter. From corps to cor the sphinx retains her ability to squeeze her prey to death.

Coupled with a singular subject: "sa trompe," the plural intensifier "par milliers" is troublesome until we attempt to visualize the scene. Despite our first impression the reference is not to thousands of horns (or tubes or trunks), but to a single horn twisted into thousands of coils. Curled around the fountain in a stupendous death grip, the sphinx represents a terrifying adversary. The fountain in "Femme et oiseau" presents relatively few problems. Smith argues convincingly that it is situated in the Vaucluse region because Petrarch tried to escape his obsession with Laura by taking refuge in the town of Fontaine-de-Vaucluse. Thus "Laura is the predator, the awful devouring beast, the compelling but destructive beauty that paralyzed the poet's mind." Freed from her constrictive presence but inspired by her memory, the poet composed some of his more enduring works. An interesting parallel exists here between the role of Petrarch's muse and that of Nadja who exerted a similar influence on Breton. Eventually committed to "l'asile de Vaucluse," she gave him a radically new perspective on the world.

The fountain of Vaucluse itself consists of an artesian spring situated near Avignon which serves as the origin of the Sorgue river. From source to source its symbolism in the poem is clear. Like Laura and Nadja, the fountain represents a source of poetic inspiration according to an age-old formula equating the two. What interests us here is its juxtaposition with the sphinx—a configuration that occurs elsewhere in Breton's work. As far back as Les Champs magnétiques, for example, we read that "L'antiquité est une fontaine nacrée par places, mais la gorge des sphinx a verdi." Whereas the latter example deplores the loss of classical wisdom, personified by the bronze sphinxes, in "Femme et oiseau" the situation is just the opposite. The sphinx becomes the source not only of inspiration but of a cosmic consciousness in which the difference between subject and object ceases to exist. The path to this final point suprême is indicated by the sphinx who as the source of ultimate wisdom plays an analogous role to that of the fountain. This explains why the two images are juxtaposed: each is a transform of the other. They are opposite sides of the same coin. In releasing her grasp on the poetic fountain, then, the sphinx releases the forces of the unconscious which are reflected in the cosmic enigma.

The poem itself is situated on the threshold between day and night, between the forces of repression and those of liberation. In passing from one realm to the other Breton introduces us to the third term of the matrix and his Surrealist vision of woman. The contrast between her and the sphinx is instructive. If one is cruel and destructive, the other is loving and creative. If one symbolizes suffocation and sterility, the other stands for freedom and fertility. Recalling the etymology of "sphincter," we may regard the sphinx as a classic anal retentive personality. Her successor, who gives birth to poetry at the end, is clearly vaginal expulsive. As such she represents the triumph of the life force over the destructive instinct, of Eros over Thanatos. To the extent that she combines the poetic with the enigmatic—poetry as enigma, enigma as poetry—she resolves two of the major themes in the poem and mediates between the cat and the sphinx. Among the homonyms and words used in more than one sense or context in Constellations, whose role has been noted by [Anna] Balakian, calice is a product of a twofold metaphorical process. A traditional symbol of purity, whose origins go back to the Holy Grail, the chalice is above all a receptacle for sacramental wine. As a receptacle, moreover, with a distinctly uterine form, it also functions as a sexual symbol. These facts lead us to discover a triple metaphorical bond between "femme" and "calice" based on the following semes (discrete semantic units): purity, holiness, and femaleness. From this we may deduce that the woman in question is a virgin priestess and that her mission is a sacred one.

An additional metaphorical link exists between the chalice and the fountain based on functional similarity. Both are containers which serve as sources of liquid. That this connection is deliberate is evident from the adjective "débordant" which stresses the fluidity of the vowels issuing from the priestess' mouth. These sounds function in turn on several levels. For one thing, there is an implicit metonymie link between the stream of vowels and the references to poetry earlier in the poem. Clearly this is the moment of poetic utterance we have been waiting for. For another thing, there is an implicit metaphorical link to the wine of the eucharist which is being poured from the chalice. Not only is the poetry divine, it partakes of immortality. Finally, the fact that the woman utters sounds rather than words suggests a third (metaphorical) interpretation. Caught in the throes of sexual passion, she is moaning incoherently. The intensity of her experience is indicated by the term "débordant" which suggests that it is uncontrollable and by the fact that she has lost the power of speech. That she utters vowels is particularly significant, for there is an extensive tradition linking the sequence AEIOU to the sounds of love-making. In "Femme et oiseau," then, poetic delirium and sexual ecstasy merge into one.

So far so good, but how are we to reconcile the priestess' sexual activity with the fact that she is a virgin? Aren't these characteristics totally at variance with one another? To understand what is happening it is helpful to consider Valéry's poem "La Pythie" which features an identical conclusion. Like the Pythian oracle, of whom she seems to be a reincarnation, Breton's woman builds up to an orgasmic climax in which sexual release coincides with divine inspiration, birth, and poetic creation. Like Valéry's tragic heroine she is a virgin priestess of Apollo who is possessed by the god in the course of her divine office. The fact that she is a pythoness is especially intriguing and confirms the intertextual role of the earlier poem. What relates La Pythie to the sphinx—besides their enigmatic heritage—is their common association with serpents. For the former, seated on her tripod, the python is the emblem of the god's power. For the latter, coiled around the fountain, the python is a powerful form to be emulated.

Coupled with "la femme," the adverb "partout" is initially confusing. Is the subject of this section one woman or many women? In the context of the previous discussion we can affirm that both statements are true. The subject is simultaneously singular and plural. What this means is that Breton's priestess is divided into countless images of herself according to a kaleidoscopic process. She is subjected to replication, expansion, and universalization until she becomes synonymous with Woman. Seen in this light the section suggests that all women become priestesses of Apollo as soon as night falls. Like the cat, whose sexuality is emphasized by Baudelaire, she is a creature of night attuned to the mysterious forces that surround us. Poised on the threshold of existence, she is ideally suited to serve as man's interpreter. Following the appearance of the priestess(es), Breton activates the second meaning of calice which is linked retroactively (and metaphorically) to "la femme." In passing from chalice to calyx (Latin for cup) he explores the word's etymology and continues the associations developed earlier. As the external envelope of a flower, the calyx encloses the latter's reproductive organs and thus stresses woman's sexual capacity.

By itself the calyx is enough to generate the final image of the flowering magnolia tree through metonymie association. However the latter is also connected to two other exotic trees, ebony and mahogany, which are evoked near the beginning. Together they contribute to the poem's sensuality and create a tropical ambience. From the fact that the magnolia is in bloom we know it is a warm spring evening. Like the woman-chalice overflowing with sounds, it exudes a heavy perfume that permeates the night air. As much as anything the fragrant tree illustrates the twin themes of connection ("en liaison") and expansion ("illimitable") with which the poem ends. Just as the magnolia's perfume expands to fill the garden, uniting everything in it, the priestess is multiplied infinitely and absorbed into the cosmic night. This is the event for which Breton has been preparing us: her ultimate apotheosis and fusion with the universe. Clearly woman's power is a function of her permeability, of her ability to open herself to external forces. On another level the magnolia serves as a metaphor for night itself whose descent brings the poem to a close.

The conclusion combines three separate images in a metaphoric tour de force. Interestingly, although these follow the progression "femme" "magnolia" "nuit," their structural order is the reverse. Thus in the phrase "le magnolia illimitable de la nuit" night functions as the tenor and the magnolia as the vehicle. Once we translate the image into visual terms we realize what is involved. Spanning the heavens from horizon to horizon, countless stars fill the sky with an unearthly radiance. Like a profusion of magnolia blossoms attached to a gigantic tree, they shimmer seductively in the night. The image is not only beautiful, it is majestic. Among other things it recalls the conclusion of the Divine Comedy where Dante beholds the Celestial Rose and perceives the unity of all creation. But if each of the blossoms represents a star, it just as surely represents a woman. This is the sense of "en liaison" at the metaphoric level. Each woman-calyx is attached to the magnolia tree, which means that each is actually a flower. Ultimately of course she is also a star, but this metaphoric transfer is too distant for the reader to perceive. Instead woman's position in the universe is rendered by her identification with the cosmic magnolia tree. Our last glimpse of the poem is peculiarly Surrealistic. Stretching toward infinity, a giant magnolia towers above us whose blossoms have been transformed into myriads of women.

The latter object illustrates two fundamental processes in Constellations which Balakian has drawn to our attention. Since these also serve as themes, the work finally becomes its own subject, an example of auto-illustrative poetry. The first process/theme revolves about the notion of containment—both containing and being contained—which Breton regarded as a universal structural characteristic. Here as elsewhere the play of "l'un dans l'autre" stems from a belief in the basic interdependence of all things. Aside from obvious containers such as the fountain, the chalice, and the calyx, images of syntactic containment abound in which "de" often substitutes for "dans." In some respects the poem resembles a series of Chinese boxes, each of which is nestled inside another. The first example, that of the cat in the room, is perfectly straightforward. The second involves the madder, one of numerous clinging plants in Constellations which Balakian has identified with the image of the embrace. Not only is the sphinx covered with red dye, she is enclosed by the plant itself. So far the images of containment exist side by side. Beginning with the fountain, they become more and more comprehensive, describing wider and wider circles as they spiral outward. We know that the latter is contained by the horn whose innumerable coils are wrapped around it like a python. The fountain, the horn, and the sphinx are embraced in turn by the Vaucluse region which possesses its own geographic identity. Finally the field of action is enlarged to include "partout"—presumably the entire world—which encompasses the Vaucluse itself. Following the central fountain episode "Femme et oiseau" includes two more examples of specific containment: the vowels contained by the femme-calice and the magnolia contained by the night. Despite its localized disguise, the last line opens at the very end to encompass the entire poem. Beyond the confines of the lutherie, beyond the Vaucluse itself, the magnolia night gathers the world and everything in it in a lasting embrace.

The second process theme is that of metamorphosis which informs the poem from beginning to end. Believing it to be the central mechanism of nature, Breton cultivates metamorphic imagery in an effort to duplicate this basic principle. In a sense metamorphosis is another form of containment. Exemplified by the trompe and the calice, which assume a multitude of forms, it inscribes one meaning inside another to create a transformational poetics. Above all metamorphosis is personified by the hybrid sphinx, who alternates between cat and woman and who acquires a prehensile appendage. So too the femme-calice becomes many women and fluctuates between chalice and calyx before losing herself in the magnolia. The latter image, as we have noted, involves a double transformation as the night sky becomes a magnolia tree bedecked with ecstatic women….

It quickly becomes apparent that the first line serves as a paradigm for each of the succeeding sections according to the principle of structural equivalence. This means that each of the six segments is related to the others analogically, that each presents its own version of the initial event. With two exceptions the setting changes from scene to scene. The action that begins in the music shop is completed in the fragrant night after passing through the Vaucluse and the world beyond. Each episode features a being or an object that is the source of something else, leading one critic to conclude that the poem's subject is the creative act. The cat emits a purring sound, then causes the strings to vibrate. The sphinx relaxes its grip on the fountain, allowing water to well up. In half the cases it is a question of something intangible that is emitted by the subject itself. The magnolia's perfume and the woman's vowels are simply an extension of the cat's purring. In theory each of the six structures is autonomous, reflecting its companions while remaining separate from them. In practice no sharp line of demarcation exists. Like other features of the poem they possess a basic instability that subjects them to perpetual metamorphosis. The purring cat becomes the sphinx lounging in front of the fountain who is transformed into the babbling woman. The latter assumes the guise of a sacred chalice, reappears as herself, and vanishes into the magnolia night. And vice versa. The continual exchange of identities defeats all attempts to isolate the constituent parts. Metamorphosis goes hand in hand with indeterminacy.

These difficulties notwithstanding, we can identify certain evolutionary patterns in the poem which help to understand it better. From a metrical standpoint it is significant that the third sentence is three times as long as the second which is twice as long as the first. Rhythmically the poem constitutes an arithmetical progression (1 X 2 X 3), which accounts for the increasing momentum underlying the play of poetic forms. Against this rhythm "Femme et oiseau" follows two separate but complementary paths. Conceived in a moment of poetic solitude, which is documented in the first line, it brings us eventually to a point of total identification with the cosmos. As such it mediates between the two extremes and suggests that one is inevitably the product of the other. The second course extends from the initial meditative moment to the final burst of inspiration—indeed revelation—that concludes the poem. This path is entirely traditional and consists of the invocation of an internal Muse followed by the unveiling of unconscious processes.

It remains to consider the poem's narrative focus which varies from section to section and which is intimately linked to Breton's mission. From a relatively narrow focus in the first line, centered on the cat in the middle of the shop, the field of vision narrows even further to encompass the animal's head as it licks a single instrument. Thereafter it expands in concentric waves, as we have seen, to include the sphinx, the Vaucluse, and finally the universe. This series of events is far from accidental and reflects a fundamental concern with the creative process extending throughout "Femme et oiseau." In particular the movement from constriction to relaxation duplicates that of the sphinx who in slackening her hold on the fountain permits the poem to be born. The entire work is thus constructed around the image of birth which, like the poem itself,

radiates out from its center. Viewed in this perspective the central action is identical to that of the poet who observes the same sequence of concentration and relaxation in the course of the creative act. But if the sphinx figures the poet, she also provides us with a glimpse of the reader. Confronted by the poetic text, the latter must focus intently on the signs before him as he puzzles out their meaning. Only then can he relax and allow the poem to engulf him like the boundless magnolia of the night.

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Savage and Civilized

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