Entre Penombre et Clarte Poemes (French Edition)

Est-il vrai que cela soit? Cela semble impossible, et cela est. Ces taches, sont-ce des empires? Quel est le fourmillement de la vie universelle sur cette surface? Oui, cette chose est. Et puis, cette chose se meut. Je venais de voir le soleil se lever dans la lune. Il attend la gloire, comme elle le soleil.

Quand vient la justice? Ce promontoire du Songe, dont nous venons de parler, il est dans Shakespeare. Les vertiges habitent cette hauteur. Si vous lui donnez ce soufflet, elle vous le rendra. Tout songeur a en lui ce monde imaginaire. Saisissez-le, essayez, il a rejoint le nuage. Un rire nocturne flotte.

Il y a des spectres gais. Le domino est peu distinct du linceul.

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Nul choix possible entre le masque et la larve. Des brucolaques et des lycanthropes se perdraient dans cette foule. Ce somnambulisme est humain. Alors vous avez de ces spectacles-ci: Somnium sine dubio ominosum. Jurieu croyait avoir de la cavalerie se battant dans son ventre. La religion des eunuques volontaires existe. Cependant mourait qui voulait. Les dieux rencontraient les druides dans les oseraies fleuries du Lignon.

La musique est belle en Italie. Le grand musicien est allemand. Le laid devient grotesque. La grimace souligne la figure. Toute une philosophie sort de la bouffonnerie. Balachon, Balaba, que veut dire cela? Cette courbette revient sans cesse. Le courtisan encombre le penseur. Laissez les sots la traduire par extravagare. Extravaguez avec ces doctes, extravaguez avec ces justes, extravaguez avec ces sages. Soyez homme avant tout et surtout. Un beau soir, il tombe, il a huit jours, il est centenaire.

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• PROPHECY AND PROPHETS?

Philippe Jaccottet -. Louis Le Cardonnel - Fear of Snakes The snake can separate itself from its shadow, move on ribbons of light, taste the air, the morning and the evening, the darkness at the heart of things. I remember when my fear of snakes left for good, Gaston Miron - I say drop a mouse into a There are secret passwords you Rina Lasnier - A Fixed Idea What torture lurks within a single thought When grown too constant, and however kind, However welcome still, the weary mind Aches with its presence.

Dull remembrance taught Remembers on unceasingly; unsought The old delight is with us but to find That all recurring joy is pain refined, Become a habit, and we struggle, caught Au bout du quai Wild Nights — Wild Nights! Were I with thee Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Rowing in Eden — Ah, the Sea! Might I but moor — Tonight — In Thee! Danse Russe If I when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists above shining trees, — if I in my north room dance naked, grotesquely before my mirror waving my shirt round my head and singing softly to myself: William Carlos Wiliams Or as Robin teaches the gap, from which all things emerge.

A left handed compliment. Bats, houses of parliament, giants, stones. What woman, witness to such Thought, does not feel Susie Asado Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea. Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea. Susie Asado which is a told tray sure. A lean on the shoe this means Riprap Lay down these words Before your mind like rocks. I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking That fire known as Fog.

The onion is the way fog has of entering the earth. Through the green leaves of the onion Thou Poem Thou poem of lost attention and half try, do you fear more the inner world or outer? I do not love the self less than the others, my name is legion and my mouth one cry. Insomnia If I were to sleep, it would be on an iron bed, bolted to the floor in a bomb-proof concrete room with twelve locks on the door. Helen All Greece hates the still eyes in the white face, the lustre as of olives where she stands, and the white hands. Newfoundland Sealing Disaster Sent to the ice after white coats, rough outfit slung on coiled rope belts, they stooped to the slaughter: I step through snow as thin as script Watch white stars spin dizzy as George Elliott Clarke b.

The New Experience I was ready for a new experience. All the old ones had burned out. They lay in little ashy heaps along the roadside And blew in drifts across the fairgrounds and fields. Pale Blue Cover In the middle of the night Matt would fly to Vancouver so he could take a walk on the sea wall the next day, then go home. No one can imagine Matt teaching religion at Sighing, I sit, scribbling in ink this pidgin script. I sing with nihilistic witticism, disciplining signs with trifling gimmicks — impish hijinks which highlight stick sigils. And so their bland-blank faces turn Jacques Brault -.

Gilles Vigneault -. Paul Savoie -. Ferdinand Ramuz - Robert Dickson - De ses doigts en Pierre de Ronsard Le vent profond Pleure, on veut croire. Quoi donc se sent? Alfred de Musset Charles Leconte de Lisle Mais pour me retenir Je suis le corps, toi la meilleure part: Joachim Du Bellay They Flee From Me They flee from me that sometime did me seek With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.

I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek, That now are wild and do not remember That sometime they put themself in danger To take bread at my hand; and now they range, Busily seeking with a continual change. Thanked be fortune it Nor law, nor duty bade me fight, Nor public William Butler Yeats The Lake Isle of Innisfree I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending The Second Coming Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate The World Is Too Much With Us The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; — Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless Le crapaud Un chant dans une nuit sans air Full Moon My bands of silk and miniver Momently grew heavier; The black gauze was beggarly thin; The ermine muffled mouth and chin; I could not suck the moonlight in.

Harlequin in lozenges Of love and hate, I walked in these Striped and ragged rigmaroles; Along the pavement my footsoles Up-Hill Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Yes, to the very end. From morn to night, my friend.

Proses philosophiques/Promontorium somnii

But is there for the night a resting-place? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face? O the bleeding drops of red, Edgar Allan Poe One by one, Deep rooted in our souls, there springeth up Dark groves of human passion, rich in gloom, At first no bigger than an acorn-cup.

Hope threads the tangled labyrinth, but grieves Till all our sins England in An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying King; Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow Through public scorn, — mud from a muddy spring; Rulers who neither see nor feel nor know, But leechlike to their fainting country cling Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow. Percy Bysshe Shelley Crossing the Bar Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Alfred, Lord Tennyson Time drives the flocks from field to fold, When Rivers rage and Rocks grow cold, And Philomel becometh dumb, The rest complains of cares Sir Walter Raleigh Gitanjali 35 Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high; Where knowledge is free; Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls; Where words come out from the depth of truth; Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection; Song Go, lovely rose!

Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung A Dream Within a Dream Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow — You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem I Am the People, the Mob I am the people — the mob — the crowd — the mass.

Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me?

My Wishlist

I am the seed Let me not to the marriage of true minds Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O, well for the sailor lad, That he sings A Virginal No, no! I have left her lately. Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness Life has loveliness to sell, Music like a curve of gold, Living, I had no claim On your great hours.

Mohamed Aksouh — Wikipédia

Now the thin candle-flame, The closing flowers, Wed summer with my name, — And these are Insomnia Thin are the night-skirts left behind By daybreak hours that onward creep, And thin, alas! But in half-dreams that shift and roll And still remember and forget, My soul this hour has drawn your soul Dante Gabriel Rossetti He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked; But still he fluttered pulses when he said, Edwin Arlington Robinson Solitude Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own.

Sing, and the hills will answer; Sigh, it is lost on the air; The echoes bound to a joyful sound, But Ella Wheeler Wilcox Ode on Solitude Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, Thou art more lovely and more temperate: How shall I lure thee to my haunts forlorn!

For me wilt thou renew the withered rose, And clear my painful path of pointed thorn? Ah come, sweet nymph! Epitaph On her Son H. Youth and Beauty both are dust. Long we gathering are with pain, What one moment calls again. Seven years childless marriage past, A Son, a son is born at last: Through broken walls and gray The winds blow bleak and shrill; They are all gone away. Nor is there one today To speak them good or ill: Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Not marble nor the gilded monuments Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme, But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish time.

Through the windows — through doors — burst like a ruthless force, Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation, Into the school where the scholar is studying; Leave not the bridegroom quiet — no happiness must he have now with his bride, Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or And you O my soul where you stand, Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have En Route The train has stopped for no apparent reason In the wilds; A frozen lake is level and fretted over With rippled wind lines; The sun is burning in the South; the season Is winter trembling at a touch of spring.

A little hill with birches and a ring Of cedars — all so still, so pure with snow — It seems a tiny landscape in Duncan Campbell Scott Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font.

The firefly wakens; waken thou with me. Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost, And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. The Potato Harvest A high bare field, brown from the plough, and borne Aslant from sunset; amber wastes of sky Washing the ridge; a clamour of crows that fly In from the wide flats where the spent tides mourn To yon their rocking roosts in pines wind-torn; A line of grey snake-fence, that zigzags by Vous passez de l'apprentissage d'un texte au partage de ce texte.

Dans le texte, pour ce personnage qui parle, c'est absolument vrai. Dans un sens plus large, c'est cela aussi. Ces personnes souhaitent miner la poursuite intellectuelle qui justement est tout le contraire. Il faut aller vite et comme disait Christine Lagarde, il faut travailler plus et penser moins! C'est un peu le cas de la petite histoire de Kafka, la terrible histoire des portes de la loi avec cet homme qui reste toute sa vie au seuil de la salle de la loi et qui, avant de mourir, voit soudainement ces portes se fermer.

Derniers ouvrages parus chez Actes Sud: Par ailleurs, me trouvant dans une situation difficile, et puisque j'avais fait une psychanalyse didactique, je me suis dit que je pourrais exercer. On peut donc dire que je suis devenu psychanalyste un peu par hasard! Il doit faire un effort pour qu'en lui leurs places restent ouvertes. C'est le voyage de la vie, c'est le voyage du destin… Je pense qu'il s'agit d'une oeuvre ouverte, vers l'avenir ou bien vers l'oubli Je ne sais pas! C'est en ce sens qu'une transmission est possible. Mais avant tout, cela se transmet comme une belle histoire!

Nous sommes tous natifs de nos ruines surgissantes. Paris, le jeudi 4 juin Ma vie sans cette ouverture n'aurait pas de sens pour moi. Cet exemple est significatif pour notre religion: C'est un hasard, mais un hasard extraordinaire que l'on ne peut expliquer. C'est comme en amour, pourquoi aimez-vous cette femme et pas une autre? Il y a d'ailleurs deux grandes formes pour exprimer une chose: On ne peut pas comprendre le visible sans comprendre l'invisible.

Mohamed Aksouh

Il y a beaucoup d'a priori contre les Arabes. Editions Le Bruit du Temps. Il y a des distinctions en art entre une petite oeuvre et une oeuvre majeure. Nous allons tenir compte des recueils anglais existants et nous allons reproduire les recueils originaux tel que D. Le site des Editions Le Bruit du Temps. On ne se rend pas toujours compte du temps qui passe, surtout en ce qui vous concerne! A peine quatre ans: En , Skira a subi la crise du livre de plein fouet. Il fallait trouver quelque chose.

La typographie, le papier, la gravure Changer de support ne se justifie pas vraiment. On est souvent ces ethnologues de tribus disparues. Pour mes parents, mes oncles et mes tantes aussi. Maintenant je publie des gens vivants avec plaisir, et ils voisinent avec les autres. Je croyais entendre Perrault et un peu Nerval.

Je ne le connaissais pas alors. Je vous en cite la fin: Paris, 24 avril Pour plus de renseignements: Les mille et une nuits vues depuis une loge de concierge… R. FR 22 Tel. Un auteur Eric Walbecq nous parle de la correspondance Jean Lorrain. Interview Yves Bonnefoy Paris 13 juin Le dernier livre de Dominique Fernandez Interview P hilippe S ollers Paris, 6 mars Interview Alberto Manguel Paris, vendredi 2 octobre Interview Adonis Paris, le jeudi 4 juin