Primers.
Fata Morgana| N° d'inventaire | 23819 |
| Format | 14 x 22 |
| Détails | 288 p., paperback. |
| Publication | Saint-Clement-de-Rivière, 2021 |
| Etat | Nine |
| ISBN | 9782377920846 |
Immediately following Reportage, these fifty-three Amorces appeared in the NRF, between 1982 and 1987, collected for the first time in a volume. Here is what Lionel Bourg says about these chronicles (which are not chronicles):
“Life is there, however. New. Thrilling. Bodies are beautiful enough to cry over. Desire eludes its satisfaction. A lip quivers. A tear flows and, if death lurks, its open secret intrigues neither old people nor children. Better to throw oneself into the water. Swim. Walk the streets at night. Tell oneself stories. Hop one leg up to heaven or the hell of one's hopscotch. It is because nothing calms down, nothing of oneself remains except within one's own ruins, that reading such a work, finally, gradually changes into enchantment: one marks time, dreamy, pensive, stops or allows oneself a pause at the end of each paragraph, each note, each poem, each quotation even, always ready to take the reader by surprise, everything that the demanding companion of Léon-Paul Fargue evokes propagating its wavelength according to the waters of a literature free to go as it pleases.”
Immediately following Reportage, these fifty-three Amorces appeared in the NRF, between 1982 and 1987, collected for the first time in a volume. Here is what Lionel Bourg says about these chronicles (which are not chronicles):
“Life is there, however. New. Thrilling. Bodies are beautiful enough to cry over. Desire eludes its satisfaction. A lip quivers. A tear flows and, if death lurks, its open secret intrigues neither old people nor children. Better to throw oneself into the water. Swim. Walk the streets at night. Tell oneself stories. Hop one leg up to heaven or the hell of one's hopscotch. It is because nothing calms down, nothing of oneself remains except within one's own ruins, that reading such a work, finally, gradually changes into enchantment: one marks time, dreamy, pensive, stops or allows oneself a pause at the end of each paragraph, each note, each poem, each quotation even, always ready to take the reader by surprise, everything that the demanding companion of Léon-Paul Fargue evokes propagating its wavelength according to the waters of a literature free to go as it pleases.”