On a more intimate ...
Having more affinity with the ideas with images, I am somewhat fond of poetry. Nevertheless, once for one of my moult graduation, I had to make some poems, including the following. It was spawned during a creative writing class whose purpose was to draw deeply from the work of other authors, that is to say, understand the mechanics of the genre and interpret the text with an approach Instead, thematic and myth criticism. In this case, the poem was to emulate front of two portraits of my mother Emile Nelligan. I wrote my own, under pompous Diptyque paternal about six months after the death of my father. I have not touched up since its inception almost twenty years ago. Its classic form, a sonnet into poetry, because there would be rounded corners, especially the fifth verse. But even when I publish it as it is to remember that there is nothing more barbaric than death too early.
Diptyque paternal
Kneeling beside him, eyes closed, I see: His laugh
confident, his voice warm and severe
Its two huge hands where I had my cue;
As it was this noble portrait of the past.
This face lit the lighthouse flamboyant
time ago dug his sepulchral wrinkles.
His mouth froze after a last gasp
Painting relates final table at this giant.
Box oak, copper and satin,
Rendering at dusk one night without morning,
Fresco adrift on a river of tears.
Before this icon is not breathing,
The House of Wax, this copy without charms,
I feel sad, alone and without a guide, lost.
February 18, 1992
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