Alexandre Yergeau returns without compromise to the suicide of his father, the poet Robert Yergeau. This collection is worth less for its style than for a son’s frontal view of the inevitable. The fact remains that it takes a large dose of courage for the reader to enter into this darkness, to immerse themselves in this space of abandonment and a form of self-realization to the point of negation, the last resort. of freedom: “You were born through poetry. Poetry that you have built in the devastation of beings. / And you died through poetry. / You have tied your last verse around the neck of your last poem. » Terrible image, the inevitability of an interrupted practice, “the infinite is yellow around your neck”, adds the son without blinking. Talk why? we ask ourselves. Alexandre Yergeau responds: “I will write the smallest of poems / To insert it in your pupils / And make you blind”. Oedipus is not far away. But who, father or son, knows the answer? Whatever the case, we clearly hear: “And if tomorrow infinity were to end / Until infinity I would have loved you”. Moving collection.
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