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Jean Follain

Similarly substance seem
leaf, stone
the means not only that;
compressing his chest with his arms

graceful daughter of a hot night
binds to s '
sit and sleep a moment on his bare shoulder
bird floundering

before joining the hut where the unknown lives
eyes wide open.
(Full day)

was wrong not to read John Follain as it should. It's poetry is full of life. Material life is suffocating them in mind, we are caught in the turmoil of being there, the desire is beautiful like a sun and shade it marches under things.
course, Jean Follain owes much to Pierre Reverdy, reading convinces us, but it's still different. We are surprised that he has remained insensitive to surrealism, but having drunk the milk of his precursors, he already knew that. So now we have to be his complete works, a big fat book collecting his best collections ...

That day a woman said:
Who wants to bring me my son
it is heavy and night returns. O time
vegetables
red earth open
turnips in a winey
garden along
thorns under a sky of silence accepted
time since I've
yet this world remains real
and I like to see its beauty.
(Complaint)

Two poems of "Digital Earth", Gallimard, 1964. For
Poetry
Jean-Marie Perret.