It’s
the 30th Marché
de la Poésie and it takes
place in the tree shaded square by the newly renovated church of
Saint Sulpice, Paris. There are hundreds of publishing houses
represented here, some well known, some small, all selling volumes of
poetry - though there are also a few works of prose to be found. The
canvas covered stalls often have more than one publisher sharing a
marquee. They flank the elegant stone fountain in the middle of the
square, and are bordered by trees on three sides. This gives a
sheltered and intimate feeling to the space, drawing booksellers and
the wandering public into a complicity with the rustling leaves and
warm summer sunshine.
After
the official opening, where speeches were made on the small stage, a
crowd of people were milling around, drinking wine, talking to stall
holders and each other. People who have made purchases dangle clearly
marked Marché de la Poésie
bags from their wrists. I sat on a bench for a while, watching the
superbly elegant women, colourful and striking, and well dressed or
bohemian chic gentlemen, several of the older ones sporting grey or
white pony tails. I then headed off to the stall of LaTraductière,the literary magazine that publishes and translates poetry and essays
into English and French.
Jacques Rancourt is the editor of the magazine and has set up Festrad,Festival de la Poésiefranco-anglaise, part of the Marché
de la Poésie. He has been
dedicated to this for over two decades, and has also brought in
artists and musicians, working around the varied themes which are
presented each year. This year’s theme was ‘The Poetic
Attention.' Fifty poems and 20 essays are included in the latest issue of La Traductiere, by writers from several different countries. Several poets from Singapore were among the invitedguests and read from their work in the evenings, on the central stage
close to the carved lions of the stone fountain.
These
readings were in an exciting and exotic mixture of languages.
Singapore has four official languages, English, Chinese, Tamil and
Malay and poets writing in all of these languages were represented.
When I listened to Zou Lu, for example, whose native language is
Chinese, I didn’t understand one word, but her presentation was
arresting and dramatic. Her translator then read her work in French.
One
of the poems she read, unfortunately not printed in the magazine,
began as a poem about getting lost out in the country where there
were several roads to take but not knowing which one was the right
one. But, she says, addressing the reader, do not be concerned for
us, for se perdre c’est notre terre natale
(to be lost, that is home territory for us)
 | |||
| Zou Lu and her translators |
Included
in this year’s edition of la
Traductière,
the 30th,
as well as the poems and essays, there are illustrations of some of
the poems, by different artists. The original art works are exhibited
in the gallery and theatre Nesle, in the tiny rue de Nesle. It is
tucked away between an arched alleyway leading away from the busy
Boulevard flanking the river, and that part of the left bank around
rue de Seine that’s stuffed with art galleries.
 |
| Galerie Nesle seen through the door onto the courtyard |
InStefaan van den Bremt’s essay – The Poetic Attention – he
begins:
Poetry
is everywhere but it comes from elsewhere. Its kingdom is not this
world with its so familiar horizons....Poetry disturbs. It demands
from us a particular attention, one which consists of seeing in our
daily life something other than the familiar, in capturing a unique
experience from the everyday. Poetry is another way of reading
reality.
He
quotes Paul Claudel and Martinus Nijhoff who both, at different
times, and in different languages, link poetry with the act of
breathing air into the lungs.
Martinus
Nijhoff - Poetry wants you to breathe in places that are
alive and
...[one]
feels, when reading or listening to prose, in the human world...but
poetry does not give you that sensation of closeness to the human
world. It hurtles you out into the universe.
In
the small tree lined square by Saint Sulpice, the air is certainly
alive – with the evening scents of trees and plants, as well as
with the animated sounds of human exchange. After being ‘hurtled
out into the universe’ from listening to poetry from different
parts of the world, it is a pleasure to circulate among lovers of
words, languages and books, to talk to people, to return to a
sensation of closeness to the human world.
Morelle
Smith
