Critiqueslibres.com: The wind: followed by: that night Jean-Pierre Abraham

The art of wandering to meet things

“The wind” is the short. Consequently, story of wandering days in a maritime landscape. Meanwhile, The text. Nevertheless, quite short and cut into numerous small chapters, is followed by a “that night”, which reveals in a few pages the genesis of its writing. Therefore, It is in fact a youth text. In addition, which Jean-Pierre Abraham wrote when he was 19 years old (at a time when he did not yet think of becoming a lighthouse guard). Therefore, While he was a student in Paris. Therefore, he arrived too late in Montparnasse and rata the train of departure on vacation: he took another train, a little by chance, the first who left west and stopped at Le Mans. However, From there he took another train, an old Micheline, who stopped all the stations. Furthermore, critiqueslibres.com: wind: followed by: night During his trip. Similarly, he began to read “La Chronique Fabuleuse” by André Dhôtel who had just appeared, and the world was transfigured. Similarly, Abraham felt upset by the emergence of another world which. Nevertheless, emanating from the real world, came to superimpose and suddenly made him wonderful. For example, This sublimation was contagious because Abraham felt that the countryside landscapes. For example, where his train circulated, in turn became fabulous as if any place and anyone were carrying beauty and mystery … Similarly, Shortly after. Consequently, JP Abraham wrote, in a night of exaltation at the end of the holidays, the text of the “wind”, which was inspired by his reading of Dhôtel Writers and poets of his age were shaken by Rimbaud.

I have not read Dhôtel and therefore cannot judge this sentimental parentage. Furthermore, On the other hand. the text of the “wind” made me think of Rimbaud critiqueslibres.com: wind: followed by: night and his steps in the Ardennes countryside, and Julien Gracq, in particular at the peninsula. What is it? Wandering steps. almost aimless, magnetized by the call of a grove of trees, a shine on the sea, a relief of the land or a singular ruin. The narrator seems a lonely young man, perhaps a teenager. He sometimes meets. to exchange a few words but it is the silence that dominates, and the contemplation of an always changing landscape, which seems to be renewed at every moment, as in this extract that I copied at random (incipit of chapter XVI but each of thirty chapters marries this style).

Then I went back to the bottom of the river, where she disappeared under the trees. She suddenly tightened, forming a wide handle that I discovered when I got out of the brush. The sky was very pale, and the light tormented critiqueslibres.com: wind: followed by: night by the wind. Undoubtedly a great clarity bathed the strike, but nothing shone. A large plain of gray. green vase extended in front of the river, and on the other bank was erected the mass of dark trees, very close. Beyond that, the sky was clear, and the distant took shape with extreme precision. In the rowing of the pines. I saw the group of houses around the pylon, the barracks on the terrace, the electric wires which spanned the river and joined another pylon, behind the trees. The rear of the island appeared above the water. It was a point surrounded by a high wall. And on the hills opposite. not far from the grove, I discovered a sparse pine wood which barely hid the sky.
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The writing of Jean-Pierre Abraham is very descriptive, almost pictorial, describing the painting of the sky, the sea and the trees as critiqueslibres.com: wind: followed by: night made alive by the variations of light and by the wind. The writing is very meticulous. attached to the visual and sensory details, like a figurative painter attentive to make all the shades of colors and textures, but it is not realistic in the strict sense (and this unreality culminates towards the end of the story, where the narrator falling asleep on the beach is found – without being moved – with a medieval army bivouaquant before the battle). The whole landscape seems to reveal itself. reveal itself to the eyes of the narrator, who is curious about the slightest path. We are sometimes surprised that it is surprised to discover this. that element of a landscape which should be familiar to it. But who is this narrator? He goes up the river estuary with a flat. which has been lent to him, or walks in steep paths and invaded critiqueslibres.com: wind: followed by: night with brambles, jumps over the walls, sleeps under a hangar or on boats in anchor: is it wandering? A vacationer passing through the country? No matter, and that will not be said. The fact remains that it seems insensitive to fatigue. hunger and that no one seems to worry about his wanderings or be surprised by his presence. He is there. simply present, as naturally as a tree or a cloud, and walks to meet the elsewhere buried in the immediate immediacy:

I chose my time to meet no one. Because if I was asked, what could I answer? I’m just going to walk in the countryside and anything can happen. In the middle of these woods. these deserted plains may be hiding luminous landscapes, and the horizons that we have always imagined. It is nice to walk with this simple hope.