The Blood of a Poet (1932) Script


Every poem is a coat of arms, it must be deciphered.

How much blood, how many tears in exchange for these axes, these muzzles, these unicorns, these torches, these towers, these martlets, these seedlings of stars and these fields of blue!

Free to choose the faces, the shapes, the gestures, the tones, the acts, the places that please him the musician will underline the noises and silences.

The author dedicates this group of allegories to the memory of Pisanello, Paolo Ucello, Piero della Francesca, Andrea della francesca, who were all painters of insignia and enigmas

First episode: the wounded hand, or the scars of a poet.

While the cannons of Fontenoy thundered in the distance, a young man in a modest room...

Taken out of a portrait, where the naked hand had contracted it like leprosy, the drowned mouth seemed to fade in a pool of white light




The next morning...

The sleeper seen from up close or the surprises of photography or how I got caught in a trap by my own film.

It has already proved dangerous to wipe yourself off on the furniture.

Is it not crazy to wake up statues so suddenly from their secular sleep?

Second episode: Do walls have ears?

Do you think it's that simple to get rid of a wound to close the mouth of a wound?

Open it.

There is only one way left.

You must go into the mirror and walk around.

I congratulate you.

You wrote that one could go into mirrors and you didn't believe it.


Try, may as well try...



The inside of the mirror ended up at the Hotel des Folies-Dramatiques.

At dawn, Mexico, the trenches of Vincennes, the boulevard Arago and a hotel room are all the same.

The mysteries of China.

Room 19. Celestial ceiling.


The desperate Hermaphrodite's meetings took place in Room 23.


Don't turn the light off.



Leave it.

Directions for use.

Hold the butt of the revolver firmly in your hand.

Release the safety.


Place your index finger on the trigger.

Put the barrel against your temple and shoot.

Glory forever!

I've had enough...enough... enough...

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Mirrors should reflect a bit more before sending back images.

By breaking statues...

one risks...

turning into one...


Again glory, glory forever!

Third episode: The snowball fight.

The bullies.

The student Dargelos was the class tyrant.

A snowball in his hands could become as hostile as the knives of Spain.

Fourth episode: The profanation of the Host.

That very evening, the city was of utmost elegance.

lf you don't have the ace of hearts, my dear, you're a lost man.



That's how the cheat imagines his gesture, faster than lightning.

You should know that the child's guardian angel appeared.

He came out of an empty house.

He was black in color and limped slightly with his left foot.

The cloak, spread out like an ink stain disappeared under the work of the supernatural being who grew paler as he absorbed his prey.

Having achieved her purpose, the woman became a statue once more, or, in other words, an inhuman object with black gloves in contrast to the snow upon which her steps would no longer leave a trace.

The mortal tedium of immortality.

The end