The throat
Fata Morgana| N° d'inventaire | 25350 |
| Format | 14.5 x 22 |
| Détails | 48 p., paperback. |
| Publication | Saint Clement of the River, 2022 |
| Etat | Nine |
| ISBN | 9782377920983 |
All this time, the legs had continued their low work, alternately pushing back the padding, the sweetness of abandonment, the temptation to become another, whoever it might be, a little before the appointed time. I left my lower case, my little works of prote when the fold became more precise on both sides, at equal distance, and it was obvious that I had remained in the axis of the road during the interlude where, in the absence of landmarks, I had entrusted the direction of the affair to the extremities whose sensation I had lost, with the cold, to nothing, so to speak.
From his first book in 1984 (publishing it, encouraged by Jacques Réda and Pascal Quignard) revealing a demanding writing style to his most recent essays endowed with poetic conviction, Pierre Bergounioux, never far from Haute-Corrèze where he grew up, has become one of the essential figures of the French literary landscape.
The throat is part of his work as a singular and capital text: it joins his writings of autobiographical inspiration where the subject is subjected to the chaos of time. His passage is a tearing transforming the being, the territories of childhood and the entire society from roofs to roots. Leaving the reliefs that have always surrounded him, a man boards a train to lead, along the rails, a final battle against the future and the past. Bergounioux's words are at their peak and maintain a meditation launched at full speed in the meanders of the mind. The journey reveals an infernal poetry where reflection embraces every detail of the narrator's soul and every fragment of the landscape. The character, mirror of the reader, cannot escape without vertigo.
All this time, the legs had continued their low work, alternately pushing back the padding, the sweetness of abandonment, the temptation to become another, whoever it might be, a little before the appointed time. I left my lower case, my little works of prote when the fold became more precise on both sides, at equal distance, and it was obvious that I had remained in the axis of the road during the interlude where, in the absence of landmarks, I had entrusted the direction of the affair to the extremities whose sensation I had lost, with the cold, to nothing, so to speak.
From his first book in 1984 (publishing it, encouraged by Jacques Réda and Pascal Quignard) revealing a demanding writing style to his most recent essays endowed with poetic conviction, Pierre Bergounioux, never far from Haute-Corrèze where he grew up, has become one of the essential figures of the French literary landscape.
The throat is part of his work as a singular and capital text: it joins his writings of autobiographical inspiration where the subject is subjected to the chaos of time. His passage is a tearing transforming the being, the territories of childhood and the entire society from roofs to roots. Leaving the reliefs that have always surrounded him, a man boards a train to lead, along the rails, a final battle against the future and the past. Bergounioux's words are at their peak and maintain a meditation launched at full speed in the meanders of the mind. The journey reveals an infernal poetry where reflection embraces every detail of the narrator's soul and every fragment of the landscape. The character, mirror of the reader, cannot escape without vertigo.