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Poetry is in everything, everywhere, say those who, basically, are incapable of identifying where it actually is. But it is perfectly obvious that it is instead an absence, a lack in the human heart or more precisely what the poet has the gift of putting in place of this absence, of this lack. Real poetry… Continue reading Untitled

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He is in good enough health to ponder death with serenity.

Is poetry a lie?

Neither “lie” nor “truth” is the proper term to define Art or Poetry. Fiction is not a lie. Though it is not a true story, a fable is a true fable. Truth is not dependent upon reality. Reality however is always true, but the lie often trumps it. No one has ever been asked to… Continue reading Is poetry a lie?

afterword from Flaques de verre

Among those things that are considered worthless and useless, poetry is quite certainly one of the most impressive. How explain that it is the very seam that man dreams of mining during the first stirrings of his impetuous youth? While on the other hand how contemplate without a sad smile the notion that one grows… Continue reading afterword from Flaques de verre

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Categorized as Prose

conversion

Conversion is a form of suicide. Except that it has the major advantage that one reaches the other side alive.

ambition

Being an artist is particularly dangerous because being one rarely goes without ambition and this ambition binds us to the earth not only while we are here, but also later, when we no longer exist. We intend to survive here, to still matter and shine, of course, whereas it is necessary to work to humble… Continue reading ambition

an infinite wall

A mystery exists for believer and unbeliever alike, for earthly life is the same for them both. An infinite wall of which neither the ends nor the top nor the bottom can be seen. Except, this wall, for the unbeliever, is an obstacle against which he vainly strikes his head. While for the believer, it… Continue reading an infinite wall

saints

Nothing is easier, when supported by a little grace, than to imitate a saint. Once, a day, two weeks or six months. But throughout one’s entire life, without fail, that’s the stumbling-block. Yet that is what saints do. For saints imitate each other as well.

the mysterious power

There comes a time when one feels that people cannot do anything for you nor you for them, that is when one discovers the mysterious power of prayer.

the secret

The secret of religion, of faith is this: that man ceases to live on the illusion of his own power. That he sees his actual weakness and immediately another power arises within him, a true power, founded on reality and which will not fail him.

bowing

Some say, “You bow and you are on the side of those who want to lower themselves.” Yes, I bow, but I know that I am bowing and why. That is the difference between me and you who bow without knowing it, who want to make others bow without realizing it and without knowing exactly… Continue reading bowing

prayer

Prayer must go further than any request, praise or worship. It must include the offering of oneself. For to adore is to forget oneself and lose oneself within the beloved. And what is prayer if not an act of adoration?

enslavement

You will always be a slave, if only due to this unruly and painful need to not be one. *** He who believes himself to be free has simply not measured the length of his tether.

instinct

Do not confuse instincts with (obscure) desires. *** Instinct is a hidden, unrevealed force, neither cloudy nor obscure. It is reason that clouds instinct. In a being deprived of reason instinct is a firm and sure guide.

heroism

There is a dreadful heroism, a rather difficult decision to make: to bear all that occurs without ever being a hero. An adventure yarn in an unlit room.