je raconterais l’eau
ses mouvements
son bleu et le sable
l’ombre des nuages
passant sur son dos
puis la lumière du matin
et de l’après-midi
puis je recommencerais
Archives par mot-clé : inspiration
Carl Jung
I will not try and introduce Carl Jung, as there are many sites doing it very well, and I am not into quotes, but this one from the great thinker, from The Symbolic Life rang so true to me, as well as reflect what I am looking for in poetry, beyond the words. It comes from the Carl Jung facebook page, affiliated to the following site : http://www.appliedjung.com
« Every unequivocal so-called « clear » answer always remains stuck in the head and seldom penetrates the heart. The needful thing to know is not to know the truth but to experience it.
autoportrait (6)*
En 2019, pendant quelques mois, j’ai cru qu’il ne me restait que très peu de temps à vivre. Je suis toujours là, mais tout a changé.
*inspiré de l’autoportrait d’Edouard Levé, trouvé à la foire du livre d’occasion de Nelson en 2020.
autoportrait (1)
J’aime faire sécher mes vêtements dehors. Je croyais que je marchais vite jusqu’à ce que j’arrive en Nouvelle-Zélande. Lorsque j’étais très jeune, je croyais que la vie ne valait pas la peine d’être vécue après quarante ans. Je fais une marche de cinq kilomètres avant mon premier repas de la journée, mais après plusieurs tasses de café.
(inspiré par la lecture d’Edouard Levé, Autoportrait. J’ai trouvé ce livre en traduction anglaise au marché du livre d’occasion de Nelson, en 2020)
Dylan Thomas’s country
A stay in Tenby seems incomplete if it does not include a visit (a pilgrimage might be a fairer term) to the country of Dylan Thomas, Laugharne, where he lived and wrote for a significant part of his life. Everything contributes in Thomas’s magic, the winding road leading to it, the peninsula, the Norman castle, the house where Dylan lived, the little boathouse where Thomas wrote (photo), or the pub where he spent perhaps a little too much time. This time, I wanted to visit him at the cemetery (where he is buried near his wife Caitlin), his grave marked with a simple white wooden cross (I expected nothing less from him). I am reassured to see that it still has a beautiful view of the hills. I then return to the boat shelter, which I had not been able to photograph last time because of the reflections. The visit of course must end at the pub with friends, where everything recalls his presence. I guess in the summer the place is invaded by visitors, but today it’s only us and a few local. A truly perfect and inspiring day.