Surrealism was a revolutionary and transformative artistic movement. I permeate various arts such as painting and sculpture, but originally it was a literary movement. To get an idea of ​​how this current opened new horizons in literature, we have made a selection of short poems of surrealism by the most important authors . Welcome to the world of dreams. INDEX
1. What is surrealism?
2. Characteristics of surrealist poetry.
3. 15 great poems of surrealism. What is surrealism?
The term surrealism was coined in 1917 by the French writer Guillaume Apollinaire, who defined two plays (one of them his) as“a kind of sur-realism”, that is, above the real . However, these works could not be classified as surrealism in the sense in which we know it today. It was later, in 1924, when the writer Andre Breton and Philippe Soupault picked up the term to define a new movement that emerged in France after the end of the First World War.
In the Manifestos of Surrealism, Breton charged harshly against realism, a cultural movement that he considered “hostile to all intellectual and moral expansion.” On the contrary, he was betting on the development of surrealism and offered the following definition.
“Surrealismo.nm Pure psychic automatism by means of which one tries to express verbally, in writing or in any other way, the real functioning of thought. It is a dictate of thought, without the regulatory intervention of reason, oblivious to any aesthetic or moral concern.”
In any case, this new way of going beyond reality through art quickly spread throughout Europe. These artists sought to capture the imaginary, the oneiric and the irrational , inspired in part by Sigmund Freud’s theory of psychoanalysis. Surrealism delves into the human mind and its impulses, so it often does not respond to logic or order.
It is not always easy to understand, but we will try to get an idea through the authors of surrealism.Who are the great poets of surrealism
We can say that surrealism was a movement, at least in Hispanic culture, marked by the artistic career of the painters Salvador Dali and Joan Miro. However, literature was also transformed, especially thanks to the work of masters of the pen such as Julio Cortazar , Octavio Paz or Braulio Arenas . Fortunately, it also had its influence on geniuses like Lorca.
In any case, we must look for the great exponents of surrealism in French literature. The poems of Andre Breton, Philippe Soupault or Louis Aragon stand out . How are surrealist poems
For the artists of surrealism, poetry is not the maximum expression of beauty, much less a means to portray reality, but a language to express the inexpressible, to draw a landscape of what is in our minds but we cannot understand. To better understand this idea, we review some characteristics of surrealism :

  • It goes beyond logic and considers that the truth is in the irrational.
  • Interpret dreams, visions and fantastic myths.
  • It uses various techniques such as automatism (writing without the control of reason).
  • He abhors the protocols and standards of society because they deprive the being of freedom.
  • It gives free rein to the expression of the most irrational impulses. For this reason, topics such as sex are treated openly.

15 short poems of surrealism
Now that we have a clear and defined image of what surrealism is, we leave you with a selection of surrealist poems, small literary pieces that are worth their weight in gold. 1. There is no place (Andre Breton)
Art of the days art of the nights
The balance of the wounds called Forgiveness
Red balance and sensitive to the weight of a bird’s flight
When the snow-necked Amazons with empty hands
Push their steam cars over the meadows
I see that balance endlessly mad
I see the ibis with beautiful manners
That returns from the pond tied in my heart
The wheels of sleep enchant the splendid rails
That rise high above the shells of their dresses
And wonder jumps here and there over the sea
See my dear dawn, do not forget anything about my life
Take these roses that climb in the well of mirrors
Take the beats of all the eyelashes
Take Even the strings that hold the steps of the puppets
and the drops of water
Art of the days Art of the nights
I am at the window far away from a city full of terror
Outside men in top hats chase each other at
regular intervals
Like the rains that I loved
When the weather was so good
«The wrath of God» is the name of a cabaret that I entered yesterday
It is written on the white cover with paler letters
But the women-sailors who slip behind the glass
Are too beautiful to be afraid
Here never the body always murder without proof
Never the sky always silence
Never Freedom but for freedom
Andre Breton, forerunner of surrealism. | Andre Breton. 2. The Marquis de Sade (Andre Breton)
The Marquis de Sade has re-entered the erupting volcano
where he had come from
With his beautiful hands still adorned with fringes
His maiden eyes
And that permanent reasoning of save himself who can
So exclusively his
But from the phosphorescent hall lit by entrails lamps
It has never ceased to issue the mysterious commands
That open a gap in the moral night
Through that gap I see
The great creaking shadows the old worn crust
That fade
To allow me to love you
As the first man I loved the first woman
With complete freedom
That freedom
by which fire itself has become a man
By which the Marquis de Sade defied the centuries with his great abstract trees
And tragic acrobats
Clinging to the thread of the Virgin of desire 3. Silhouette of straw (Andre Breton)
To Max Ernst
Give me some drowned jewelry
Two nests
A horse’s tail and a mannequin’s head
Forgive me later
I don’t have time to breathe
I’m a spell
The solar construction has kept me here
Now I just have to let myself be killed
Ask for the board Quickly clenched
fist above my head that begins to sound
A glass where a yellow eye opens
The feeling also opens
But the princesses cling to the pure air
I need pride
And a few tasteless drops
To reheat the pot of musty flowers
At the foot of the stairs
Divine thought in the square blue sky constellation
The expression of the sunbathers is the death of the wolf
Take me for a friend
The friend of the fires and the ferrets
Looks at you deeply
Smooth your sorrows
My rosewood oar makes your hair sing
A palpable sound serves the beach
Black by the fury of the cuttlefish
And red because of the sign 4. All paradise is not lost (Andre Breton)
The cocks of the rock pass inside the glass
They defend the dew with blows from the crest
Then the enchanting emblem of lightning
Descends on the flag of the ruins
The sand is nothing more than a phosphorescent clock
that strikes midnight
through the arms of a forgotten woman
Without refuge turning through the field
Erect in the approaches and in the celestial retreats
It is here
The blue and hard temples of the villa bathe in the night
that traces my images
Hair hair
Evil gains strength very close
It will only use us 5. Yours eyes (Octavio Paz)
Your eyes are the homeland of lightning and tears,
silence that speaks,
storms without wind, sea without waves,
imprisoned birds, golden sleeping beasts,
impious topazes like truth,
autumn in a forest clearing where the light sings on the shoulder of a tree and all the leaves are birds,
beach that the morning finds constellation of eyes,
basket of fruits of fire,
lie that feeds,
mirrors of this world, doors of the beyond,
calm pulsation of the sea at noon,
absolute that blinks,
paramo. 6. The bird (Octavio Paz)
A silence of air, light and sky.
In the transparent silence
the day rested:
the transparency of space
was the transparency of silence.
The motionless light from the sky calmed
the growth of the herbs.
The bugs on the ground, among the stones,
under the identical light, were stones.
The time in the minute was satiated.
In the absorbed stillness
noon was consumed.
And a bird sang, thin arrow.
Wounded chest of silver vibrated the sky,
the leaves moved,
the grass woke up…
And I felt that death was an arrow
that no one knows who shoots
and in the blink of an eye we die. 7. Recurring ceremony (Julio Cortazar)
The totem animal with its light nails,
the objects that the darkness gathers under the bed,
the mysterious rhythm of your breathing, the shadow
that your sweat draws on your nose, the day is imminent.
Then I straighten up, still beaten by the waters of sleep,
I return from a half-blind continent
where you were too but you were someone else,
and when I consult you with my mouth and fingers, I scan the horizon of your flanks
(sweetly you get angry, you want to continue sleeping, you call me stupid and stupid,
you debate laughing, you don’t let yourself be taken but it’s too late, a fire
of skin and jet, the figures of the dream)
the totem animal at the foot of the bonfire
with her nails of light and her wings of musk.
And then we wake up and it’s Sunday and February. 8. Battlefield (Rafael Alberti)
A quiet heat is born in the groin,
like a silent rumor of foam.
The hard wicker of him the precious tulip
bends without water, alive and exhausted.
An uneasy, urgent warlike thought
grows in the blood .
The exhausted flower lost in its repose
breaks its sleep at the wet root.
The earth jumps and from its entrails it loses
sap, poison and green alameda.
It throbs, creaks, whips, pushes, bursts.
The full life cleaves life life.
And even if death wins the game,
everything is a joyous battlefield. 9. Cenizas (Alejandra Pizarnik)
The night was shattered with stars
looking at me in amazement,
the air throws hatred
embellished her face
with music.
Soon we will leave
Arcane I dream
ancestor of my smile
the world is emaciated
and there is a lock but no keys
and there is fear but no tears.
What will I do with myself
Because I owe you what I am
But I don’t have tomorrow
Because you…
The night suffers. 10. I have to say something I tell myself (Federico Garcia Lorca)
Words that dissolve in the mouth
Wings that are suddenly coat racks
Where the cry falls a hand grows
Someone kills our name according to the book
Who ripped out the eyes of the statue
Who? I place this tongue around the
I have something to say I tell myself
And I swell with birds on the outside
Lips that fall like mirrors Here There
inside the distances meet
This north or east south are an eye
I live around myself
I am here there between the steps of meat
in the open
with something to say I tell myself11. To the mysterious (Robert Desnos)
I’ve dreamed about you so much that you lose your reality.
Will there be time to reach that living body
kiss on that mouth
birth of the voice that
? body.
I’ve dreamed of you so much,
that surely I won’t be able to wake up anymore.
I sleep standing up,
with my poor body offered
to all appearances
of life and love, and you are the only
one that counts now for me.
It will be more difficult for me to touch your forehead
and your lips, that the first lips
and the first forehead that I find.
And faced with the real existence
of what has obsessed me
for days and years,
I will surely turn into a shadow.
I have dreamed of you
so much, I have talked and walked so much, that I lay down next
to your shadow and your ghost,
and therefore 12. Twilight (Philippe Soupault)
An elephant in his bathtub
and three sleeping children
singular singular story
story of setting sun
Philippe Soupault, another of the great promoters of surrealism. | Youtube 13. Georgia (Philippe Soupault)
I don’t sleep Georgia I
shoot arrows at night Georgia
I hope Georgia
I think Georgia
fire is like snow Georgia
the night is my neighbor Georgia
I hear all the noises without exception Georgia
I see the smoke that rises and flees Georgia I
walk at a wolf’s pace in the shadow Georgia
I run here is the street here are the neighborhoods Georgia
Here is a city that is always the same
and that I do not know Georgia
I rush here is the wind Georgia
and the cold and silence and fear Georgia
I escape Georgia
I run Georgia
the clouds are low they are about to fall Georgia I
extend my arm Georgia
I do not close my eyes eyes georgia
called georgia
cry georgia
called georgia
I’m calling you Georgia
, maybe you’ll come Georgia
soon Georgia
Georgia Georgia Georgia
I can’t sleep Georgia
I hope Georgia 14. Mystic Carlitos (Louis Aragon)
The elevator always went down until I was out of breath
And the stairs always went up
This lady doesn’t understand what is being said
She’s fake
Me that already dreamed of talking to him about love
Oh the clerk
So funny with his mustache and
artificial eyebrows
He screamed when I pulled them
How strange
What do I see That noble foreigner
Sir I am not a light woman
Uh the ugly one
Luckily we
We have pigskin bags Foolproof It’s
And it
contains a thousand
Always the same system
Neither measurement
nor logic
Bad topic 15. CE (Louis Aragon)
Everything will start in the CE,
the bridge I crossed.
A lost romance
of the wounded good knight speaks;
of a rose on the road
and a loose tunic;
of a mysterious castle
and white swans in the moat, and a meadow where
the hopeless bride
dances .
Like a night of ice,
the lay of dueling glories.
Armaments go with my thoughts
down the Loire;
and the overturned convoys
and badly rinsed cries.
O France, my well-beloved!
Oh my sweet forsaken!
That I alone left you
crossing the CE bridge.

  • Read our 15 essential short poems.
  • Discover the 16 types of poems with some examples.

Bibliographic references
Breton, A., & Bosch, A. (1969). Manifestos of surrealism. Madrid: Guadarrama.
Bradley, F. (1999). Surrealism: Movements in Modern Art (Tate Gallery Series) (Vol. 4). Meeting.