By Sonia Lamontagne
Ultimate recueil de poésie d'une jeune auteure originaire du Nord de l'Ontario.
L'écriture est un corps à corps avec un sentiment de vide et de désarroi familier du quotidien. Cette présence à soi et au milieu définit les enjeux d'une jeunesse qui se cherche. los angeles présence à l'autre évoque les dimensions du corps et du cœur avec une cost d'émotions et d'authenticité.
«le vent m'enlace comme une girouette en branle découpée dans un ciel dense de roches et d'aurores nuptiales mariage de terre et lumière économe en suspens je suis le coq qui s'éveille tête haute dans le chant des alouettes éperdues je suis le coq qui s'éveille dans le can pay de personne un soupir qui surveille le prochain battement »
A tire d'ailes découle du regard d'une jeune femme sur son quotidien, sur les élans ou les confusions du cœur, sur les vagues à l'âme ancrés dans de vagues paysages du Nord de l'Ontario, Fauquier, Sudbury, Blind River. Le texte hint un arc narratif autour de moments clés qui se déploient en quatre temps, menant cette femme d'une jeunesse incertaine du nord ontarien jusqu'à une prise de moral sense identitaire et personnelle qui ouvre une point of view de changement sur le monde.
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Extra info for A tire d'ailes
He strikes, it doesn’t catch. But no, it sputters, waits, then flares. He moves it to his lips, and peace. PLACE I woke up in a place familiar and alien, like someone forgotten, someone I had loved, even coupled with, years ago, or last night in a dream that won’t come back. And if I lacked even these traces ? I turned to a stone of fear. What if I’d never met my love and passed her now on this sidewalk — would I have the power to know her, or have I fallen too far away from what the boy could see ?
To light a match might well draw fire. He strikes, it doesn’t catch. But no, it sputters, waits, then flares. He moves it to his lips, and peace. PLACE I woke up in a place familiar and alien, like someone forgotten, someone I had loved, even coupled with, years ago, or last night in a dream that won’t come back. And if I lacked even these traces ? I turned to a stone of fear. What if I’d never met my love and passed her now on this sidewalk — would I have the power to know her, or have I fallen too far away from what the boy could see ?
But I absorbed his pain, If pain it was, or his pure joy, And found him, the same one Or one just like him, searching still When morning came again. THOU POEM Thou poem of lost attention and half try, do you fear more the inner world or outer ? I do not love the self less than the others, my name is legion and my mouth one cry. Thou poem of the unwell, of the dry well and doom, and the snake’s on your lip, in you the toad persists. Did we come here just to read of what exists ? I champ at my winter bit to be in bloom.