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Emily Dickinson

(1830-1886) Portrait
Guidu Antonietta Di CINARCA

If I am no longer living
the return of robins ,
Gives the Red Throttled
A crumb of the Memorial.

If I can not say thank you,
Because of a deep sleep,
Try at least I'm trying With my lips
Granite!

Emily Dickinson writes only in the mystery, but it the mystery of existence and this mystery through it. The wide open spaces of America, she runs inside the same house, where she spent without a partner but not without love her too short years.

At these poems first complex, yet never fails the fundamental simplicity of living among the living:

My letter to the World
who has never written -
The simple News that the Nature told - With tender majesty

His message is entrusted to the hands that I do not see -
For the Love of Her - Sweet - countrymen - Judge Me
with - tenderness

This volume is the recovery in public collection of an anthology of fifty pieces, published in 1998 in this beautiful translation: this (pending hypothetical Complete Works ) a great.

Jean-Marie Perret

• Emily Dickinson Locality eternity , Selected Poems, trans. and meadows. Patrick Reumaux bilingual. Le Seuil, Points / Poetry, Oct. 2007.
  

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Commère








(1951)

grass seeded what he thought, oblivious
dug a path through death, hardly
if I hear the hissing of the wheels of your bike
summer after classes
it rains - Street crachouille, a name did you
hardly feel like the weight of silence, rumor
with you tonight to come to a screeching grass
teenager from astonishment, which returns
figure in the rise. Soon
you lose breath and linger a while.
your shadow is an herb that looks simple, is a sign So will

thirty-eight ONZAIN of the most beautifully crafted, flexible, sensitive and strong at once. But above the elegy to a girl fifteen anscache moods more diverse: it is a meditation on the grass, herbs, or another twenty meditations, crossing at the option of walking vicinal. Accustomed to the ways

paid - their language,
the conversation that weave together the herbs
when it rained, the sun is
before sleeping tour of the hills ...

Where we see that it is a solar light that lives Grasses, this set modest and gentle, found in a book of ninety years. Moving light for superb success.

Jean-Marie Perret

• Commère Pascal, Grasses , the weather, in October 2007.
  

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Pascal Madeleine Gagnon





(1938)

is the story of light gaps in the sky after storm - of rain, wind - the history of the blue that we were never spoken and we want lots of words while diagonally across his silence songwriters of all cash income in herds, small or large, migratory wings dusted Seed distant is the story of the birds that remake the lives of trees, such as buds, or by passing them nesting, spring spring ...

Madeleine Gagon breaststroke in his prose and his verse, his native Quebec and life as it goes, as it takes you - as you leave - with a connection to a novelist. She has published two novels, however, that the rest of his work is a poem, a poem ...

say I'm leaving and I just sing
not know where exactly you
destroyed
you resurrected
of yesteryear stifled voices echo woke
lost votes defeats
CROCHETED
upheld complaints plains forests
reclaimed wood cradles
voice of revenge

Abundance and diversity of these works published by the nearly complete Hexagon are (under cover of a rather pale) with a nice richness. On every page, the generosity of a sorrowful heart, not the world itself, and the joy of saying the vastness of that life which exalts us and we opressed: it is, simply, Madeleine Gagnon.

Jean-Marie Perret

• Madeleine Gagnon, In the shadow of words , Poems 1964-2006, The Hexagon, 2007.
  

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Jean-Pascal Dubost

This morning I turned around the house several times I turned round I was shooting with a slow walking in the snow silent when I saw traces of rabbit ears first, and mingled with those of birds, then, to force the mine, and who, on the white finally gave me the impression of them (sparks) -

These non-tarabustée to prose (in the true double justification, in the layout of the book), which persists in Jean-Pascal Dubost and signs, lead us away, it is unclear where. It is there in his physical gyrations so terribly that the mind gets involved, getting tangled, is a machine to turn the mind around a center point that we have seen. If it exists. But it did not exist, what would turn around there? We would sometimes

that fatrasserie where the author plunges ranks a bit, we ordered, introduce into an order (whatever that is). Architecture. But no, not much to fear from that quarter. Nevertheless appear FIVE BLOCKS dedicated to the friend, the poet Antoine Emaz. It's like a photo of Anthony, who in his brilliant reflect a little Jean-Pascal - and everything takes its place:

WORK
Once placed the word fatigue painful days
spent in a painful sigh trades may be
fag or mug (is) the table and look at the outside
another begins in the same place in his work
he finds a state where its continuous
necessary to live and enshrines maneuver and relentlessly
crimped but certainly not a work, a word to throw the dead -

rubbish here is some wonderful things.

Jean-Marie Perret

• Jean-Pascal Dubost, Fatrassier , bothering, 2007.

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Roger Munier

In almost every poem, there is a latent discourse which alters, secretly undermines them. Poetry poem knows it is poetry. As thought knows she is thinking. And painting and music, and dance. That's what makes screen. The poet touches, but he can not touch it, or how. It is as if the poet knows that to the extent he does not know or seek to know.

"I continue thinking of the moment," wrote Roger Munier in Opus Incertum (Gallimard, 2002, p.75). Poetry continues this assembly uncertain, this construction berth that crude extracts of career. But here identify the pieces of poetry. Stand closer to the experience, describe, and in the writing of thought, and thought of the moment. Halfway always the poem and aphorism, as understood by philosophy since Nietzsche and, above Heraclitus. Hear the injunction of the One, but dispense stubbornly concatenate, to organize its prompt. Stay away from language channels, which would suggest the mind to so many causes and effects.

In the poem, I preferred the brief. Each of my "moments" is a poem that does not occur. Who besides, he was no longer held within the aphorism, would not occur.

A withdrawal to Blanchot ... but the corridor that leads nowhere, the door to the passage of the loop remained open.

Jean-Marie Perret

• Roger Munier, Poetry , Poliphilia (9 rue du Gymnasium, 21000 Dijon), 2006, 99 copies.

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Louis Aragon



The poem poems to come. Aragon Aragon before ... Aragon buried behind a legend behind the Manifesto by André Breton in 1924 (it comes a few months), not only behind bells and Basel Communists, but even behind the peasant of Paris and Le fou d'Elsa . And behind the gesture Desnos, the dreamer dreamers - maniac dreamer, who disappeared after the last switching station of Compiègne ...

A wave of dreams, "first manifesto of surrealism"? Marie-Therese Eychart wonders, in his excellent afterword. It would be nice to see that the literature makes its interest in history of ycelle! The fire was placed under the crucible, which metals are cast, color and transform it. Everything is still possible. At this point, no one knows yet what this will give: gold? a wonderful creature? the heart of an angel? The spirit is retained, by force of blazing words, phrases, boring rhythms incalculable. And note in passing a punctuation free as breathing, not to gender, no: to be.

Sometimes I suddenly lose the thread of my life. I wonder about a steaming cup of coffee and black ... which road to madness I fail at last beneath the arch, what is the real bridge that they named Heaven ...

The prose is not prose, language is here in a real crisis to: "I know how I suddenly beyond me: the casual is me, and I made this proposal to laugh memory of all human activity ... Rimbaud was not fired because he inspires ("I lived in the shadow of a large white building decorated with flags and shouting") ("It was so surreal affleurât the human consciousness of special schools, and events of centuries heaped).
Because the dream is over denial of the world, but gateway capitalized:

I dream of a long dream where everyone dreamed. I do not know what will become the new business dreams.

And the fall, the famous - the admirable

Who's there? Oh well: make enter the infinite.

Poetry must reappropriate this Wave, which is more than a libel: the poem poems to come.

Jean-Marie Perret

• Louis Aragon A wave of dreams , 56 p, 10 €. Seghers 2006.

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William Carlos Williams






1883-1963

"Everything that is
celebration of light.
All the pomp and ceremony
wedding,
" Sweet Thames, run
slowly until the end of my song
, "- a kind
are identical.
For our wedding, too, had awakened

light and shining. Light!
light
waiting in front of us!
I thought the world had
Order "...

This extract Asphodel (1954), translated by Alain Pailler, the tone of a book of great maturity, where American poet looks back with amazement at the love that lit up his life. Bilingual edition allows the eye to navigate Inthe vis-à-vis the two languages and to verify the nuances of a particularly nice translation. The translator's introduction emphasizes the metamorphosis of the theme of Orpheus, who works in this collection all rigor and simplicity: "Sing me a song that makes death bearable" (Paterson ). The alliance with the gentle force to make this work a perfect poem. Any
wisdom of a lifetime condenses:

"What power has death outside forgiveness?
Or if you want

by his will which was linked
can be defeated "...

Jean-Marie Perret

• William Carlos Williams, Asphodèle followed by Brueghel Tables , biblingue, trans. A. Mulch, Poetry / Points, Seuil, Sept.2007.