Download Candy necklace by Cal Bedient PDF

By Cal Bedient

The brutality of either private and non-private event unearths reckoning in those elaborate and majestic new poems.

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Désâmé

« Désâmé », c’est du Desbiens typique et classique. Un lecteur familier y retrouvera des effets vus ailleurs, assonances, comparaisons, structures syntaxiques en parallèle, mots fétiches même.

L’originalité de ce recueil réside dans l. a. nuance nouvelle des thèmes et photographs obsédants. Une originalité troublante de vérité. Mine de rien, parmi d’autres thèmes, celui de los angeles mort qui s’y profile, et l. a. sienne entrevue de bien plus près qu’avant. À ce thème s’allie, un peu plus appuyée, sa pratique de los angeles poésie : rapports entre le poète et los angeles poésie, entre le poème et l. a. gangue de vie dont il s’extrait.

« Ce titre, Désâmé, indique en tous cas assez clairement que l’expérience de désenchantement et de désœuvrement (de déréliction ? ) qui suscite le poème touche aux fibres de l’être. Peut-être davantage, ici, que dans ses précédents opus, cette expérience en est une d’écriture, Desbiens élaborant dans los angeles première partie de son livre, judicieusement intitulée « Italiques », un artwork poétique aussi humble que malicieux, aussi désarmé que désarmant :

J’écris à los angeles main
j’écris sur du pain
sans savoir
de quelle encre
le beurrer.

Je ne sais pas
de quel poème
vient le poème. »

« Voix et photographs », no. 7

Extra info for Candy necklace

Sample text

Look: If I cover the lamp the mast-lights on the fishing boats shine among the lowest stars. But you want the sun to rise, ringed by red waves, in a brief shudder of sympathy. The sky is not a reflection of the sea. You believe that. You believe that.  One which I am.  Who speaks and who hears and who knows is none of it plain or happy.  Having it come, the fire in the ice, the particles waded.  O how I burn. Her arrows spray toward the mark, a buzzing rain of error. No one has ever broken her heart.

Praise all focus impersonal as the chord a child plays biting his tongue; Richard Goode's Schubert delicate as the surf's quick-stepping wash-back; the ballet troupe's determined tattoo to stage left; the gymnast's rubber-band spring off the beam.  This mortal on morning's ragged shore, this shell broken open by the night-waves, this face picked from atoms, is intention's gift, intention's grief. " And I am there, friendisland that greets barefoot Friday like Thursday and Saturday. in the faith that puts out cream for the night-cat above the small hut Proximate, in the sea Impassible.

Can nothing stay apart, the cow smell manure warmth delicious dirt hay milk all jumped heady into the sea air again, this now is not wanted really not at the moment of the Modigliani throat so tubular and hangdog. Call the fat ferry from Brittany with its white moustache of foam so fatherly to teach these cows not to carry their afternoon shadow underneath them like a fallen hammock they straddle when they don't crush it stupidly with their exquisite ponderosity, call the ferry to unstatue the air quick, I stupefy.

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