Cold, windy, slightly wet but not icy. Clermont Ferrand was lackluster and dull, as usual. Out of the tram, down the stairs to the sidewalk, tie up your shoelaces, and get up fast, but fall even faster. Just one instant of heart failure. The rest is firefighters' ambulance, hospital, intensive care, scanner, and so many other things and the sudden desire within about 24 hours to fight and go back to normal. Take a book on the Mayas and start working your brain that had suffered some. And in two days light came back.

2. THANKSGIVING 2018
Thursday, November 22
Illustrations, Annunzio Coulardeau, aka Hallah
The unnamed character in this long poem is trying to follow what is
happening in his mind after the accident, after he fell to the ground unconscious
when trying to get back up after tying up his shoe. He is entirely locked up in his
own self and he is even seeing himself from outside himself, he is the watcher,
and the watchee is there lying on the sidewalk and then later on suffering on a
hospital bed.
The trauma is deep and brutal and he may have lost his own mind at some
time in this descent into pain, the worst pain being that he was no longer the
master of himself, and yet he fought for some revival, some responsibility, for
some modesty if not bashfulness. Suffering from being unable to hide, and
passing water became an ordeal and he had to do it in spite of all.
This unnamed character is trying to follow the strings that are within his
reach, trying to re-emerge from this deep traumatic cesspool in which he is some
kind of floating half rotten piece of wood that is losing its substance, impregnated
with muddy water as it is. He pulls these strings. They resist. Yet he has to get out
of the soup in which he is desolving.
In his post-traumatic pain and corrugation he tries not to get lost in translation
as if he would be transmuted into some vaporous smog in a lightless empty void,
floating fleshlessly and mindlessly. Some recollections resonate in his brain,
torturing his desire to just pass away with the challenge to stand up and howl at
his fear, his angst, his apprehensive revulsion. Going down the road feeling bad
in the midnight hour when pushing the Dreadful Gate open.
Dr. Jacque COULARDEAU
More than dramatic poetry
Pathetic and diabolical
Éditions La Dondaine, 4 décembre 2018)
Amazon Media EU S.à r.l. Format Kindle
Anglais
ASIN: B07L4QLB68
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