the door someone opened
the door someone shut
the chair where someone sat
the cat someone stroked
the fruit someone bit
the letter someone read
the chair someone knocked over
the door someone opened
the road where someone's still running ahead
the wood someone is plunging through
the river someone throws himself into
the hospital where someone lies dead

The above piece is 'The Letter' by Jacques Prévert, my first taste of his distinct writing. I discovered this in French class, during a pluperfect translation exercise, and was fascinated by its form. I had to know more about the poet, hence:

Jacques Prévert

Jacques Prévert is one of France's most popular poets, and his books are even on sale at supermarkets! He mixed wit and sentiment with flair (although much is lost in translating the poems into english, as the puns do not come through), and as a modern writer, experimented with form. He was involved with the Surrealists, and is remembered chiefly for his poetry collections Paroles (Words, 1946), La Pluie et le beau temps (Rain and Fine Weather, 1955), and Choses et autres (Things and Others, 1972).

Prévert, however, was not just a poet. He was an accomplished scriptwriter, eg Les Enfants du Paradis (The Children of Paradise, 1946), and songwriter. As a songwriter, he did pieces for cabaret, and scenarios for Jean Renoir. Songs written by Prévert were "immortalised by Juliette Greco and Yves Montand"*. During the Second World War, his poems protested the German occupation of France... in fact, he was always the advocate of the downtrodden - children, workers - and was not complementary about heirarchies and rulers.

With that being the total amount of biography that I can find of Jacques Prévert, I will leave you with his sensual piece 'Blood Orange' Credit to Anne Berkeley - Cambridge, England :

The zip flashed over your hips
like lightning
and the welcome tempest of your eager body
in the depth of shadow
burst into light
and your dress fell onto the polished parquet
as soundlessly
as orange peel onto a carpet
but under our feet
little mother o'pearl buttons cracked like pips
blood orange
beautiful fruit
the tip of your breast
traced a new line of fate
in the hollow of my palm
blood orange
beautiful fruit

sun of the night

* Source 2
Sources:
biography.com
http://users.montereyisp.com/frank/previntro.htm