The North Face Jackets Petite

Fernand Ouellette

The tree of the south moves
Who uproots his shadow. A
well now the sun is, total
one long beam ...

Everything is serious in me. All
reads
In a single word. For
dumbness of soul,
For
minds finally on the alert.

So goes the day, Who
knows his craft light
And gather the guests. (Midi)

After a course, staked in Quebec through numerous awards, and fifty years of publications, we must also take the time to read this collection of Fernand Ouellette - born in Montreal in 1930. Not loud, musical, on the contrary, and modest, his writing culminates here in a few tables painted in a way, frankly, as the room below dessus.Une another success, his small spiritual illuminations - Christian, of course, but with a Such tact, such discretion, they preach no affiliation:

In
extreme dullness of a field of tombstones,
To form the pillars of bronze
From Jerusalem will descend.

The power of light is dead, when they pray
strongly
To get through the flames,
The dew of the Spirit
streaming into the soul
And illuminates.

Next is the revelation
Named again. Burning
and clear, the breeze
Life that rises in them.
(Little Apocalypse)

mild-mannered and polite reminder that Emmanuel Pierre, more than Claudel and La Tour du Pin. When he talks about his inspiration, Fernand Ouellet indeed cites the morning light, death, unspeakable. But when asked what his passion, he replied: music. This commitment to music that makes his poetry simple and obvious, although he admits Friedrich Hölderlin, Pierre Jean Jouve and Paul Celan as his favorite poets - three authors of otherwise complex.

Laying look
Although near the ocean beach.
The space is quite comforting.

Poet forget about the world: every poem is, in those series where he wrote (for this book, written documents from 2000 to 2005 and revised most recently). Everything is music.

Jean-Marie Perret

• Fernand Ouellette presence of large, metropolitan France, first quarter 2008.