Monday's Poetry: Today do you believe in life after love?

Monday’s Poetry: Today do you believe in life after love?

Every week, have a look at the poetic news. This Monday, a reissue of an illustrated compilation by Jean-Baptiste Capoud and Magali Melin, is a brief summary of the post-love resurrection.

“It’s a howl, we have no other word.” Published as an artist’s book in 2013, at the invitation of the Oujopo Gallery in Lyon, book out This spring benefits from a new edition, refreshed and enriched with a new chapter that looks back at its genesis. Jean-Baptiste Capoud with the text and Magali Mellin with the painting publish a movement there, which is to leave the night, to get rid of the muck of melancholy to reach the day. Death gesture for life. Because book out It is the literal translation of what is known as book of the dead The Ancient Egyptians: An Accurate Evidence for the Resurrection.

Cabaud describes three moments of confusion that lead to “Ataraxia”. Or rather, paint them. Because his text, first created in a gray block, without paragraphs or punctuation, which plays on the stutter, gradually becomes clearer, acquiring new lines, breaks, pauses, and blanks on the page. as such book of the dead Egyptian, details of a soul-calming ritual – here after a painful love. “We open the chalet, turn it back on and settle in quietly, one thing at a time.»

To get back on the way back to life, “One needs silence and solitude”. As such, the paintings of Magali Mélin, where one feels the influence of Hans Hartung, accompanies the movement in which white survives dark scratches. We know that language is a bad tool. Nothing describes anything. Anything can mean anything.”


It’s a very hard life without the manual we didn’t understand We didn’t understand too many buttons too many buttons to control too many inexplicable mistakes too much shame too much pain so we were looking for the rules that were hidden from us Life is the secret of the depths and we rode a motorbike legendary old black bmw because that had a steering it had a steering we could catch up when everything was running away when everything started in the bare vertigo When the sky was falling everything was accelerating and we found ourselves helplessly pushed to the top Peak overlooking the cliff that the heat is coming out of the cylinders of this motorcycle over the feet and that we felt the boot went up along the leg and had a swollen tank. who put her hand on the belly as gently as a contact like a gesture of comfort on another person, it was so tangible that at last it was a tangible gesture we had hoped for nothing else at that time fifteen years ago, a motorbike of the concrete legend we called the Demoiselle Because she mixed up all the mechanics and feelings because we only lived in abstraction at the time, so a motorbike or a girl was a difference And because we thought we were sure Medieval virtuous love could be the virtue of love without roughness We were sure of the purity of beauty or the beauty of purity at last what transcendence existed we were sure that we could not doubt it for a second otherwise we would have died otherwise the world would lose its last meaning otherwise nothing would be compatible with anything and the accumulated efforts of all humanity would not eventually lead to it being in nothingness then we believed in it for that We spread everything we could to continue believing in it at all costs so we wouldn’t leave it and we rode our motorbike over the world and then shut our mouths so we wouldn’t confront each other with reality so we wouldn’t be people The uncontrollable mentality of reality collapses All that delicate equilibrium so that we somehow managed to put it in place while we were with ourselves and then when we met a girl like you we shut up because we didn’t know because we didn’t understand we were sure and yet we were in love there was so deep it wasn’t thoughts we knew we were a little conscious though From everything is a bit clear in spite of everything even if we don’t understand everything we know about the world and its incomprehensible functions we had in our minds and our head of course we didn’t trust it so we could be wrong but there is no such love

Jean Baptiste Capoud and Magali Millen, book out, editor. The Last Telegram, 72 pages, 13 euros.

#Mondays #Poetry #Today #life #love

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