Rene Daumal

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Biography

René Daumal was a French spiritual surrealist writer and poet. He was born in Boulzicourt, Ardennes, France.In his late teens his avant-garde poetry was published in France's leading journals, and in his early twenties, although courted by André Breton co-founded, as a counter to Surrealism and Dada, a literary journal, "Le Grand Jeu" with three friends, collectively known as the Simplists, including poet Roger Gilbert-Lecomte . He is known best in the U.S. for two novels A Night of Serious Drinking and the allegorical novel Mount Analogue: A Novel of Symbolically Authentic Non-Euclidean Adventures in Mountain Climbing both based upon his friendship with Alexander de Salzmann, a pupil of G. I. Gurdjieff.Daumal was self-taught in the Sanskrit language and translated some of the Tripitaka Buddhist canon into the French language, as well as translating the literature of the Japanese Zen scholar D.T. Suzuki into French.He married Vera Milanova, the former wife of the poet Hendrik Kramer; after Daumal's death, she married the landscape architect Russell Page.Daumal's sudden and premature death of tuberculosis on 21 May 1944 in Paris may have been hastened by youthful experiments with drugs and psychoactive chemicals, including carbon tetrachloride. He died leaving his novel Mount Analogue unfinished, having worked on it until the day of his death.The motion picture The Holy Mountain by Alejandro Jodorowsky is based largely on Daumal's Mount Analogue.William Walsh, an English poet, was a personal friend of Daumal and performed a radio presentation of Mount Analogue later in his life.

  • Primary profession
  • Writer
  • Country
  • France
  • Nationality
  • French
  • Gender
  • Male
  • Birth date
  • 16 March 1908
  • Place of birth
  • Paris
  • Death date
  • 1944-04-21
  • Death age
  • 36
  • Place of death
  • 14th arrondissement of Paris
  • Cause of death
  • Natural causes
  • Education
  • Lycée Henri-IV
  • Knows language
  • French language

Books

Quotes

You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know.

I am dead because I lack desire,I lack desire because I think I possess. I think I possess because I do not try to give. In trying to give, you see that you have nothing;Seeing that you have nothing, you try to give of yourself;Trying to give of yourself, you see that you are nothing:Seeing that you are nothing, you desire to become;In desiring to become, you begin to live.

This place has only three exits, sir: Madness, and Death.

Words are made for a certain exactness of thought, as tears are for a certain degree of pain. What is least distinct cannot be named; what is clearest is unutterable.

A man who makes a plate or a shirt or a loaf of bread or anything our great great ancestors called a work of art, has no need to try to be sincere; all he can do is practice his craft to the best of his ability. But once he starts making useless things, how can he not be sincere?,it is very tempting, when you talk about the events of the past, to impose clarity and order upon what had neither one nor the other.

I think I possess because I do not try to give,Trying to give, I see that I have nothing.

It is still not enough for language to have clarity and content…it must also have a goal and an imperative. Otherwise from language we descend to chatter, from chatter to babble, and from babble to confusion.

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