You have to drink the night at once. Swallow the dark sparkling liquid and let it fill you with its infinite darkness, the characteristic color of the entire universe. Time spreads and you’ll shrink space while sinking. Do not fight, breathe, let the fluid circulate in your lungs. Dreams will cover you with blue flowers, and keep you warm.
And then you’ll wake up peacefully in your armchair. And your neck will hurt.
Poetry is naked. Poetry is dancing in the middle of the living room, on the table. But we are shy, and when the neighbors finally visit us for dinner, then we hide her in the cupboard. We’re prudish. Almost everyone would be more ashamed to show their soul naked than their body. But tell me; who would you be more confident in ? A lawyer who displays his soul in formal talk and valuable dresses, or a poet who dares to display his?
Wait, Poetry is not the bare naked soul, or what we call ‘soul’. That’s our mistake. If so, poetry would be vulgar. Poetry is also eroticism. It suggests more of the soul than it shows. Anyway, how could it be different; the words alone can’t describe it properly. The music is always played with imperfect instruments, the circles drawn by human hand are always imperfect.
Never close a circle, never completely fill an idea. Leave to the imagination of your reader the possibilties of seeing through the half-transparent clothes you cover your prose with.
I wish I’d written this. Julien wrote this.
PS. ah the days are ticking and the Cineuropa Film Fest is down to its last week. May I make a suggestion? DO NOT WATCH THE ‘SUZIE WASHINGTON’ FILM ! I fear for your mental health if you do.
