I absolutely wanted to attend the funeral of Jean-Pierre Ferland. There is no doubt that I would have seen and heard better watching the ceremony on TV, but I wanted to commit this moment to my memory.
There have not been many national funerals in Quebec (not to be confused with state funerals and national tribute ceremonies). About fifteen in 60 years. The artists who have been entitled to this honor can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Gaston Miron, Jean Paul Riopelle, Gilles Carle.
These rituals help us remember the heritage of our creators. It is at this moment that we truly become aware of its richness. What do you want, humans are made like this. You have to wait until death to recognize the value of a being.
PHOTO HUGO-SÉBASTIEN AUBERT, LA PRESSE ARCHIVES
Jean-Pierre Ferland, in 2021
Before April 27, Jean-Pierre Ferland was a singer. Or, at best, a song maker. But for a few days, he has been a poet. It took a poet to say it. On the urn containing her friend’s ashes, Clémence wrote: “I would like to leave sadness behind to remember you better, as I sometimes see you in my dreams, my tender poet friend Jean-Pierre. »
During the ceremony, director Pierre Séguin presented a video in which “the little king” talks about death. Leaning on the parapet of a bridge, he says: “My life is like the river. I know where the upstream is, I know where the downstream is. I know full well that the flow of water will never change course and that I will end up like the river in the sea.”
There is only one poet who would say things this way. Why did we never see this in Ferland during his lifetime? Why have we never dared to give him this title?
On Saturday, the word poet was on the lips of all the journalists and presenters. Just like the word giant. Jean-Pierre Ferland was a giant. And his departure will unfortunately be followed by several others. A sad march of giants is taking shape.
We tend to forget it, but the history of our culture is terribly young. It all started, or almost, in the 1950s for our literature, our cinema, our painting and our song. Do the math…
Our builders are all aging at the same time. They will almost all leave at the same time. Please forgive me for not mentioning names. I don’t want to be a prophet of doom. And we hope that these national treasures will live for a long time.
We are not used to seeing great people leave. We have not experienced grandiose funerals like those of Victor Hugo, who brought together three million people in the streets of Paris on 1er June 1885. We cannot boast of having had a great-grandfather who saw the procession travel down the Champs-Élysées to the Pantheon.
Our grandfather will rather tell us that he learned of the death of La Bolduc, a supreme legendary character, in a simple obituary section. In The duty of February 22, 1941, we can read that “Mme Édouard Bolduc” died two days earlier in Montreal. This giantess died in virtual indifference.
Fortunately, starting with Félix Leclerc, we began to properly honor our builders. The day after his death, on August 8, 1988, his name appeared in large letters on the front pages of all Quebec daily newspapers.
We are going to experience a wave of great departures. You have to prepare for it. Above all, we must take care of our giants while they are alive.
In recent months, I have noticed the proliferation of television and radio events which offer these pioneers the chance to tell their stories. The two programs recently broadcast on ICI Première and ICI Musique devoted to Gilles Vigneault are good examples.
Some like to repeat that for a people whose motto is “I remember”, we do little to nourish collective memory. I add this nuance: the media and the State play an important role in the recognition of our giants. But this must go beyond state funerals.
Perpetuating the memory of our culture and those who make it must also be done within the family unit. It is up to us individually to perpetuate the memory of these giants.
How many forty- and fifty-year-olds have said in recent days that they discovered Ferland’s songs by digging through the records of their parents or the eldest in the family?
I tell young people: search, search, search!
The future of our culture does not only depend on young, emerging artists. It also rests on those who opened the way.
Charles Aznavour used to say that he did not believe in posterity. “Who remembers the one who wrote Pleasing love ? » For his part, Jean-Pierre Ferland declared that he did not care about posterity “like the year 40”.
What if, for once, we tried to prove them wrong?