Tweetspeak Poetry

November Surrealism: The Treachery of Images

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In 1928, French painter René Magritte painted his famous surrealist work, “The Treachery of Images.” It was a simple painting, that of a pipe with the notation Ceci n’est pas une pipe–this is not a pipe. At first blush the painting causes a sort of cognitive dissonance because, of course, the painting certainly is that of a pipe–it with the deep wooden bowl and the quarter-bent stem, it which summons the lingering scent of your grandfather’s Virginia blend. Simply put, the image depicts that which it claims it is not.

Not a pipe? Preposterous.

surrealism poetry prompt

But Magritte was right. Though the painting is a representation of a pipe, it is not a pipe itself. It cannot be plucked from the painting, filled with tobacco, and smoked over a snifter of brandy in the retirement hours of the evening. And even if it could be argued that Magritte’s representation of the pipe holds many of the facets of a pipe itself (and therefore is a pipe of sorts), only one facet, one angle of the pipe is presented. Who knows what grave defects the backside of the pipe might hold? What if there is some hidden defect which would render the model pipe unsmokeable and therefore, not a pipe at all?

Magritte’s point goes well beyond the age-old adage, “things are not what they appear to be.” Instead, Magritte asks the viewer to eschew traditional assumptions about images; he asks us to see a thing for what it is, not what it claims to be.

This message seems to resonate in this age of the digital forum. We are inundated by images, and not just by those generated by corporate fat cats who want you to believe that you need the next product du jour. No, the treachery of images has gone much further than that. We have imaged ourselves, created our own personal brands on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and the like, brands which hide the unseemly sides of us. In that, have we become the makers of our own treachery, our own provocateurs? Have we believed each other’s avatars? More importantly, have we believed our own?

Our Treacherous Images

seth haines surrealist poetry

In a moment of
candor
perhaps we
could be enough
our own allies
to remind one
another that we
are more than the
avatars with
which we grace
the world.
We are more than
images
for consumption.
We are what
we are–that
which is real.

 

Today’s Poetry Prompt.

Surrealists attempted, by way of their art, to juxtapose different realities so as to signify a new, or more defined one. For instance, the image of pipe juxtaposed to the phrase “this is not a pipe” solidifies a third reality—namely, an image is not the object itself. Can we play with these themes, perhaps penning pieces about the treachery of images in the media these days? A daunting task? Maybe. But you all did such good work last week that I reckon you’re up to the challenge.

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Tweetspeak’s November Surrealism Poetry Prompt:

This month’s poetry theme at Tweetspeak is surrealism, and we’re composing poems that play with the theme. Let’s create some surrealist poetry by playing with juxtapositions and free associations. Perhaps you can gain a bit of inspiration from this month’s playlist or from other source. We’d love you to join with us, even use a Dali or Picasso as your writing prompt. How do you participate?

1.  Study up a bit on the history of surrealism, on both the artistic and philosophical underpinnings of the movement. Listen to the Tweetspeak monthly playlist.

2.  Compose a poem using surrealist concepts, juxtapositions, or associations.

3. Tweet your poems to us. Add a #TSSurreal hashtag so we can find it and maybe share it with the world.

4. If you aren’t a twitter user, leave your found poem here in the comment box.

5. At the end of the month, we’ll choose a winning poem and ask the winner to record his or her poem to be featured in one of our upcoming Weekly Top 10 Poetic Picks.

And speaking of winners, last week, Robbie Pruitt composed a nice piece, inspired in part by the images of Dali. In “Water-Soluble Time, ” He writes:

Time melts in savings
Sometimes I’m at a loss
I cannot keep time
It washes over—then out
Over face of glass,
Then, clouded over
Resistance is not proof

Visit Robbie’s blog for the entire poem.

Now, let’s create some more surreal poetry. Who’s first?

Photo by EriSuch, Creative Commons via Flickr. Post by Seth Haines. 

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Buy a year of Every Day Poems, just $2.99 — Read a poem a day, become a better poet. In November we’re exploring the theme Surrealism.

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About Seth Haines

Seth Haines is a writer and photographer who loves the Ozarks, his wife and four boys, and a good collection of poems. He's the author of two books, both of which touch on addiction, sobriety, and spiritual formation.

Comments

  2. Robbie Pruitt says

    Here is Lost Lovers, my poem for this week’s surrealism poetry prompt. This poem is based on Rene Magritte’s “The Lovers” and the idea that love can be an illusion. . . Sometimes lovers are lost. . . as the saying goes, “love is blind. . . ” So far as love is real and genuine, love is truthful. . . Love is not always what it seems. Sometimes love is objectified as “lovers” objectify one another, or love the ideal or idea of love and not the actual person. . . Sometimes love is surreal. . .

    Here is a link for the paining, “The Lovers,” by Magritte and the poem Lost Lovers: http://www.robbiepruitt.com/2012/11/lost-lovers_13.html

    Lost Lovers

    Two lovers lost
    In disguise
    Closed and discreet
    Are their eyes

    Sealed with soft kiss
    Between the sack
    Love is lost
    Never to look back

    Love is bliss
    Concealed under cover
    Beneath the kiss
    Lost lover

    Cover over and dismiss
    Disguised to conceal
    Reality—would be remiss
    Love surreal

    A kiss only as truthful
    As the appeal—and love
    Only as honest as the lovers
    At the reveal

    © November 6, 2012, Robbie Pruitt

    Reply

  3. Maureen Doallas says

    Here’s my attempt to write a surrealist poem:

    Dressed to Kill

    after Anne Bachelier’s ‘The Raven’

    The raven laps a blood-spill of ink
    from night’s mouth;

    the sky slips
    into its black silk feathers.

    Clouds shimmy.

    The bird in flight spells the stars’
    own demise.

    Twigged limbs ride point
    high on these lovers’ bared backs,

    thorn-thick beak stripping
    bone to marrow.

    All the while the moon questions
    with milky eyes.

    —————–

    I left a different surrealist poem in the Comments of Matthew’s post this week.

    You can see an image of ‘The Raven’ here:
    http://www.cfmgallery.com/books/Bachelier/Poe/13%20plus%201%20Pages/Raven%20R2.htm

    Reply

  4. Lens Flare says

    To Melissa: My Present Lover and my Former Love (a non-surreal take on the surreal dichotomy).

    Melissa,

    The chip and click of bit
    nails at your party–
    not the anniversary party,
    mind you, but the one
    celebrating your husband’s
    political prowess–was seen
    by me and the hoards
    of other peeping Toms on
    your pages–not the onion
    skinned paper ones that
    you burned with bras in
    college, mind you, but
    the ones you splash
    through the electric
    synapses that move the
    world, the ones you
    maintain primarily for
    that prig in Chicago,
    the one who is still
    your lover though you’ve
    promised your husband that
    he is heinous, a bad
    memory of togas and
    vodka filled
    mellons.

    You are a brothel, and
    were social media less
    social, I’d call you a
    six-sided bitch with
    conical bosoms who can
    neither jiggle nor sag
    for fear of exposition,
    of movement. You are
    a veneered structure,
    though you message me,
    say you want nothing
    less. A cryogenic ideal,
    you are, that will
    crack sooner than can
    be realized. Politicians
    and wives alike are fixed
    treachery, despite the
    smiles and aprons worn
    by their
    avatars.

    Sincerely,
    The Chicago Prig

    Reply

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