According to James Sacré, this poem invites us to experience the word "object" as a bearer of concrete presence. Objects have always been there, in poems and paintings, as much as in the world that keeps us alive. We look at them, talk about them, manipulate them and invent many of them. Each object is there in its singularity and remains largely an enigma, even if we encumber them with history, memories or more or less vague reflections about them. "Object" is a word that designates both the concreteness of the world, its singularities, and the abstraction with which our speech surrounds the objects it imagines to grasp. Objects take us back to that knot of activity at the origin of all our human adventures.
The author tell his experience of a strong and apparently universal interweaving of the familiar and the strange in everything. Do all these objects tell us? Undoubtedly so, through their history, their shapes and colors, their interrelationships... but what do we really understand? We move forward with them, thanking them for keeping us alive, burdening them with convictions, desires and questions (from the Afterword).
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"On n'est pas dans le futurisme, mais dans un drame bourgeois ou un thriller atmosphérique"
L'auteur se glisse en reporter discret au sein de sa propre famille pour en dresser un portrait d'une humanité forte et fragile
Au Rwanda, l'itinéraire d'une femme entre rêve d'idéal et souvenirs destructeurs
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