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poetry and sound poetry

Introducing poetic texts, which speak for themselves, is always a little paradoxical, even if the language, any language, is never immediate. Maybe we should, as when we talk about music, start from another language, from another form of communication which does not share the same substrate as poetry… But we certainly expect a reasonable word here, a product of the mind, a semantic content that neither music nor images would give us. It is not about repeating what poetry says: it would be both useless and destructive. Neither comment, nor paraphrase, neither explanation, nor analysis. Everyone can do it and undo it for himself or herself, as much as she or he wants. It may be, on the contrary, to clear the ground, to clear away received ideas, to demolish ready-made thoughts, the ready-to-use, the pre-digested, the near that keeps us away and locks us in. Let poetry speak for itself, without speech, without chatter, without mask.
Because poetry is a shout, it is not reduced to writing and diction, which it also needs, but proliferates in the labyrinth of the mind that produces or receives it. Because it is a whisper, it requires deep listening and an agile voice. Because it is silence, it receives all the words and all the sounds.

Poetry is not just text, it is above all sound, and in this, close to music. If it exacerbates the abstraction of language, it is to renew it, to give words a wild, untamed life. Not repeating the pure convention of words, their narrowness and their «common sense», this is to broaden the horizon, add ambiguity and paradox, it is to want words to be the creator of meaning and not simply to carry other people's suitcases. To think about the sound as much as, or before, the meaning. To combine sounds, recreate them, transform them. Because words and text are above all sound and it is this sound that carries meaning.
Words cannot be thought of as just prefabricated objects that can only be used according to their manual. If they are carriers of history and if they are charged with memory, they are also capable of renewing their potential for meaning, their plurality of worlds, to give birth to fertile lands and abundant waters. And then from their assembly are to be born sound volutes generating images as well as rhythms and resonances.

Poetic cloning, this exercise which consists in reproducing a poem in another language, always has a taste of the artificial: the translation cannot account for the profusion of the poetic verb in all its aspects, voluntary or involuntary, and can only give an approximation. Because it is not above all an abstract meaning, but first of all a manade of words wandering on their paths, it must be internalized in order to extract from it its distillate and nourish another troop of words in the chosen tongue, with the distances and the abysses which separate the two languages.
Weaving bridges, as fragile as any canvas, between a territory and its paths, and another landscape and its routes, is the only possibility that does not extinguish poetic verve.

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