2023-12-04 11:04:00
With “Debout dans les fleurs sales”, a collection of 365 texts to peck at like chickens, the poet and novelist continues his work of writing everyday life in democratic prose.
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They are so many “windows” in the poet’s thoughts. The 365 poems flowing through Debout dans les fleurs sales, Thomas Vinau’s latest collection published by Le Castor astral, open and close like tabs, to thread the digital metaphor, in which it is good to go and draw according to the convenience of the reader. Let us explain: in this poetic sum, built on the routine exercise of writing, it is pleasant – even preferable – to glean the texts here and there without paying attention to the table of contents.
Here, their arrangement and the order of reading do not matter, what matters is to let oneself be impregnated by the poetry of everyday life, a protean material made up of many skies, fogs, winds, flowers, sips of coffee, chickens at the bottom of the garden or dogs barking. In short, smells, colors, sounds, emotions, moods, great joys, small anxieties or meditations (non-exhaustive list). “What is beautiful in life / is that you can / fail a poem / and succeed in a jam,” observes, serenely and on one side, the writer, also a novelist and children’s author, who from another, notes with the same phlegm of a contemplative father: “He quietly killed his demons /in the crimson of the setting sun.”
Loyal to his bias which is in no way miserabilism or populism, Thomas Vinau, with more than twenty collections written from the South, uses a so-called accessible language – we prefer the term “democratic “. No barbaric words, lucubrations or fanciful versifications, but a lot of images or a musicality – one would say a flow – which brings certain poems closer to popular song. See again: “We are a morning in the world / a clown juggles with the rubble / the cries and the laughter / the tears and the shadows / scattered in the ashes.” To peck at dawn the next day.
The extract
Notes for later
Notes for later
nothing in particular
a little dog playing with a fly
in the spring
tree petals falling with the wind
the sweating child
soon the fire
rain soon
nothing special no
exactly
nothing special
if not the fact
that we were there
living
Thomas Vinau, Standing in Dirty Flowers, ed. the Astral Castor, 400 pp., 18 euros.
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