Poetry of uncertainty and accumulation, poetry that spawns with lists, but also confessions subdued with regret and a loving feeling of dispersion. These are mainly stories in verse that Olivier Adam offers us in his first collection. The intimate universe of the texts highlights a hesitation in the face of the reality described. An insistence on repeating the same formulas anchors doubt: “they’re just words you know / a web of lies / rants / it’s just my life / and I didn’t steal it.” It is indeed a search for certainty buried in memory that is at stake here, just like the resurgences of feelings becoming precarious particles of ephemeral time. The “I can’t believe it”, the “remember” suggest that life cannot be resolved, is only ever confirmed in the present state or perhaps in the story we tell ourselves about it. do. Because we must resist the passing of time: “and above all that nothing pierces / that above all nothing / cracks // above all that nothing trembles / that nothing contradicts. » Impermanence as a source of poetry.
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