Some Texts by ARTAUD
Dark Poet, a maid’s breast
Embittered poet, life seethes
And life burns,
And the sky reabsorbs itself in rain,
Your pen scratches at the heart of life.
Forest, forest, alive with your eyes,
On multiple pinions;
With storm-bound hair,
The poets mount horses, dogs.
Eyes fume, tongues stir,
The heavens surge into our senses
Like blue mother’s milk;
Women, harsh vinegar hearts,
I hang suspended from your mouths.
Umbilical Limbo 1926
Translated by Victor Corti
“The Theatre of Cruelty has been created in order to restore to the theatre a passionate and convulsive conception of life, and it is in this sense of violent rigour and extreme condensation of scenic elements that the cruelty on which it is based must be understood. This cruelty, which will be bloody when necessary but not systematically so, can thus be identified with a kind of severe moral purity which is not afraid to pay life the price it must be paid.”
– Antonin Artaud, The Theatre of Cruelty
“All writing is pigshit. People who leave the obscure and try to define whatever it is that goes on in their heads, are pigs…. Those for whom certain words have meaning, and certain manners of being; those who are so fussy; those for whom emotions are classifiable, and who quibble over some degree or other of their hilarious classifications; those who still believe in ‘terms,’ those who brandish whatever ideologies belong to the hierarchy of the times, who talk of contemporary currents of thought; those who still believe in some orientation of the spirit, those who follow paths, who drop names, who fill books with screaming headlines …are the worst kind of pigs. “
-Antonin Artaud, Umbilical Limbo