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Dans la chaleur vacante, suivi de "Ou le soleil"
Météore L'absence qui me tient lieu de souffle recommence à tomber sur les papiers comme de la neige. La nuit apparaît. J'écris aussi loin que possible de moi.
- GenresPoetry
208 pages
First published January 1, 1991
About the author
André du Bouchet
62 books13 followersAndré du Bouchet (April 7, 1924 – April 19, 2001) was a French poet.
Born in Paris, André du Bouchet lived in France until 1941 when his family left occupied Europe for the United States. He studied comparative literature first at Amherst College and then at Harvard University. After teaching for a year, he returned to France. Here Du Bouchet became friends with the poets Pierre Reverdy, René Char, and Francis Ponge, and with the painters Pierre Tal-Coat and Alberto Giacometti.
Du Bouchet was one of the precursors of what would come to be called "poésie blanche" or "white poetry." In 1956, he published a collection of poems entitled Le Moteur blanc or "The White Motor". In 1966, he, along with (among others) Yves Bonnefoy, Jacques Dupin, Louis-René des Forêts and Gaëtan Picon, founded the poetry revue L'Ephémère. Twenty issues were published from 1966 to 1973.
In 1961, Du Bouchet's first major poetry collection, Dans la chaleur vacante, was published to critical acclaim and he won the Prix de la critique (the Critic's Prize) for that year.
He also wrote art criticism, most notably about the works of Nicolas Poussin, Hercules Seghers, Tal-Coat, Bram van Velde and Giacometti, and translated works by Paul Celan, Hölderlin, Osip Mandelstam, Boris Pasternak, Laura Riding, William Faulkner, Shakespeare and James Joyce.
In 1983 he won the National Poetry Prize or "Prix national de la poésie".
André du Bouchet died in 2001 at the age of 76, in Truinas, Drôme department of France.
...
[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andr%C3...]
Born in Paris, André du Bouchet lived in France until 1941 when his family left occupied Europe for the United States. He studied comparative literature first at Amherst College and then at Harvard University. After teaching for a year, he returned to France. Here Du Bouchet became friends with the poets Pierre Reverdy, René Char, and Francis Ponge, and with the painters Pierre Tal-Coat and Alberto Giacometti.
Du Bouchet was one of the precursors of what would come to be called "poésie blanche" or "white poetry." In 1956, he published a collection of poems entitled Le Moteur blanc or "The White Motor". In 1966, he, along with (among others) Yves Bonnefoy, Jacques Dupin, Louis-René des Forêts and Gaëtan Picon, founded the poetry revue L'Ephémère. Twenty issues were published from 1966 to 1973.
In 1961, Du Bouchet's first major poetry collection, Dans la chaleur vacante, was published to critical acclaim and he won the Prix de la critique (the Critic's Prize) for that year.
He also wrote art criticism, most notably about the works of Nicolas Poussin, Hercules Seghers, Tal-Coat, Bram van Velde and Giacometti, and translated works by Paul Celan, Hölderlin, Osip Mandelstam, Boris Pasternak, Laura Riding, William Faulkner, Shakespeare and James Joyce.
In 1983 he won the National Poetry Prize or "Prix national de la poésie".
André du Bouchet died in 2001 at the age of 76, in Truinas, Drôme department of France.
...
[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andr%C3...]
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
January 27, 2023
des vers qui semblent fuir le centre des pages et qui possedent quelque chose de mallarmeen jusqu au mystere le plus enigmatique et a la rupture de l espace ; des poemes presque respirables ou l ecriture est cet « air », le « rien » dont il est longuement question dans l epaisseur opaque du silence ; le livre comme un chemin ou l on voit le soleil se lever et se coucher progressivement sur lequel regne l errance ; bref c est une lecture assez exigeante mais qui vaut le coup a mes yeux , bravo andre c est dommage que kaaris n ait pas encore mis la lumiere sur toi (4,5/5)
May 28, 2015
Je freine pour apercevoir le champ vide, le ciel au-
dessus du mur. Entre l'air et la pierre, j'entre dans un
champ sans mur. Je sens la peau de l'air, et pourtant
nous demeurons séparés.
Hors de nous, il y n'y a pas de feu.
dessus du mur. Entre l'air et la pierre, j'entre dans un
champ sans mur. Je sens la peau de l'air, et pourtant
nous demeurons séparés.
Hors de nous, il y n'y a pas de feu.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews