Incomparable youth in his eyes,
As he starts out with a voice so peaceful and deep,
That sly, cocky hint in his smile,
The stories he tells that lull you to sleep
Read MoreThe tangles of my hair shrouding my dream
The charred knot in my raspy, unknown voice,
Smothering water letting off hot steam,
To ponder, think, and know there is no choice
Read MoreA canvas filled with shapes,
and many obscure faces, open-mouthed,
Miniature carvings from men and women,
I trudge through the soaking woods, the lush green stillness trembling in the afternoon shadows. There is no one around me, and the wild desire to pierce the thickness of my solitude is immense. Mother is gone, and I know very well that she will never come home. When she left, I think she was already fading away. It was something I never understood, and that is why I am standing in sheets of rain, vulnerable, and weaker than I have ever been, here in the unknown. The stories she would tell me! Mother, I mean. She would grab me by the waist, slip her hands under my knees, and carry me, breathless, to the old Moroccan rug next to the hissing fire. I think dreams were here favourite thing of all, but the harsh truth of reality confused her.
Read MoreMaria always chooses Room 27 when she visits her dad. For a long time, I assumed that her Dad could not host her. Maybe his flat or house was too small. But I understood after listening to a couple of conversations over the phone that Maria's dad was married with someone who did not want to meet his children.
Read MoreA Jean-Pierre Bellan, 25 Mai 2017
Le bleu d’un jean usé, bleu des pigments
Palettes éparpillées, ocres et carmins
La mer bleue d'Alger, dans le lointain d’avant
Le bleu des campanules, jardin après jardin
Read More“Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.” D.H Lawrence, Piano (1, 1-4)
« Ben, Ben, réveille-toi…réveille-toi ». Emilie chantait doucement dans l’oreille de Ben, une main posée sur son ventre. Ben se retourna en grognant. C’était le milieu de la nuit, une nuit d’été moite et sans lune.
Read MoreIt was a small provincial hotel, in Marseille "vieux port". In the guides, they called it "hôtel de charme". Its original name was "hôtel Beauséjour". It was renamed "hôtel du Vieux Port". Room 27 remained room 27.
Read MoreJoseph est méconnaissable sous son armure étincelante de chevalier et cette idée l’enchante. Passer devant la maison de Mme Robert la voisine sans avoir besoin de dire bonjour. Descendre le petit chemin de l’école, d’un pas lourd, en faisant trembler la terre sous ses pieds tout en tenant fièrement Zénon en laisse. Il sent tous les regards braqués sur lui. Les femmes sur le pas de leurs portes, effrayées, rappellent leurs enfants et se calfeutrent à l’intérieur de leurs maisons en attendant que Joseph soit passé.
Read MoreThey would meet every Easter Sunday at Kew Gardens. Family tradition. The kids were running ahead, laughing and chasing each other. The adults were walking in a disorganised line, peacefully, and Emma would move from one to another.
Read MoreC’est un rêve qui revient souvent. Je suis blottie dans ses bras. Enfant. 3 ou 4 ans. Plus peut-être. C’est un homme brun d’une trentaine d’années. Je le connais à peine et pourtant je le reconnais. Mon père. Souvenirs fabriqués recomposés à partir de photos ou de récits.
Read MoreL’avion atterrit au petit matin, par un jour de grand vent. Lors du décollage, sa voisine s’était présentée : « Samantha Brown, on m’appelle Sam » et lui avait demandé s’il venait pour affaires ou en vacances. Il avait murmuré pour toute réponse, sans la regarder : « Paul Lullies, je viens en pèlerinage ».
Read More‘She is a fish’, Tom had said to Lea one day, looking at their little girl, Marine.
Marine had loved being under water since she was a baby. From the moment she was born, Marine’s bath was the most extraordinary moment. Marine would not mind at all having her head under water. She would open her eyes, her face covered by water, and giggle.
Read MoreThere I was, my feet curled around the windowsill, twitching as unpleasantly cold night air came to greet them. The window was three stories up, it was extremely long, rimmed in washed-away white wood. I had flung it open, shortly after settling the cream envelopes (I ran out of white ones) onto the large mahogany desk of my father’s office.
Read MoreThey had picked the wrong season. It was a rainy late autumn vacation. Julia lived on the East Coast before and the fall was the most beautiful time of the year. The colours and the trees. The softness of the sun. She remembered of times were her extended family had Thanksgiving lunch on the deck, kids playing in the backyard.
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