TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY PATRICK WILLIAMSON
IN MY NOTEBOOK
A page had been skipped
preserving its purity
and all the possibilities
A pencil remained on the table
unused
without realising it
The fibres remained sober
having drunk nothing
ever
Everything was white
everywhere
like a sheet
or winter
or perhaps
the absolute light
***
MIRRORS OR MIRAGES
Self-portrait of another,
Élise Turcotte
In ink repeatedly
journeying through the lives of others
phantom silhouettes or fictions
with the known and the unknown
mixed up, invented, recalled
by authors others or friends
also lost in their sentences
so real and so secret
like uncertain biographies
like everyday novels
torn from real as from false
on both sides of the writing
in the finds and losses
that make and unmake
each and every woman
each and every man
***
SUMMER HUM
I feel nostalgic
of the point of intersection between shadow and me
Jean Portante
Who is who
in the kaleidoscope of irises
self or double
reflection of reality or real reflection
hummingbird or butterfly
of the flower, the tree or the leaf
multiple being or mirror image
in the magma and meanders of the world
always grey on the sheen
between black and white, hesitating
the gaze lost somewhere
in a universe created in broad strokes
with small patterns
and tiny clouds
that would make you turn your head
for when the birds are fragrant
flowers fly all around
like invented memories
***
Also read, The Road to Suicide, written by Romel Rahman, translated into English by Sukti Sarkar, and published in The Antonym.
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