The night of the heart (La nuit du cœur)
Release date: 04-10-2018
Everything starts in Conques in this hotel overlooking the eleventh century abbey where the author spends a night. He looks at her as nobody and sees what, blinded by the concern for ourselves and time, we do not see. All that his eyes touch becomes human – stained glass of course, but also paved, clouds, glass of wine. It is the totality of life that is embraced from a single point of radiation. Back in his forest near Le Creusot, the poet lists in his solitude all the “reported” wonders: visions, but also the desire for a large and beautiful book as a love letter, The night of the heart .
It is thus, fragment after fragment, that in the present, under the reader’s eyes, this letter, devoured by the beauty of creation, is written like a fugue by Johann Sebastian Bach.
How to speak of a collection which is only the surplus of what makes us alive, makes us open our eyes to what we see more, do not hear anymore, do not feel anymore.
How to write on words that speak only of beauty, this glittering fracture that pierces us under the skirt of this daily that carries us far, far from everything, far from nothing, far from what touches us, relieves us, soothes us, we conquer, give us, feel, assemble us.
What to say when the words are lights, silences, respect, the tiny detail of our emotions and feelings, sensations.What to say when under our eyes tired of so much noise, polluting chips, slips through the window ajar before us, the simple beauty of a stone of the eleventh century. What to say when this simple frame, this strange place offers us the equivalent of an opening, a felt ephemeral beauty, a composition finer than a sheet of paper and yet gives us so many chills reminding us to life. The sudden dazzle of this burning memory that made us dream.
There is nothing new, nothing sublime or wonderful in the words of Christian Bobin. Nothing we could call literature or poetic poetry cleverly orchestrated, sought after. There is nothing bright or lush.
On the contrary, and I do not know how to speak of it, Christian Bobin writes as one breathes, as one feels the breath of ink, the undulation of the letter or the fugue of the sentence. We hear every word.We read each sentence. Like a letter, an emotion, a path that winds through us and makes its way, touches us in the heart. And the question arises of how to speak the words of Christian Bobin without being fat or its opposite, in the extreme emotion that words give us.
“I write to you from my absence from the world, to me and everything. I write to you, lodged in the abbey of your heart.
It’s you talking. “
Writing is a solution. A solution to the nobility of simple beauty, of what is beautiful, of what the heart feels without ever being extinguished, extinguished, exhausted. To write and become human, to feel the human, to open to what is the time, the silence, the life in the solitude of the night, in the light of day.
Write like a fugue, like a painting, a color.
Write and live again.
Write like a smile.
The strength of delicacy and gentleness, the fragility of beauty.
“Writing is the solution. “
This post was to tell you about ” The night of the heart “, Soulage and its 104 stained glass windows of Conques Abbey, the curious, wonders and demons, angels and silence. It is impossible for me.Impossible to write on the words charcoal-felt by Christian Bobin. It is impossible for me to write about what is beautiful.
“There is no other reason to live than to watch, with all one’s eyes and all one’s childhood, this life that passes and ignores us. “
The night of the heart
Conques Abbey is renowned worldwide as a masterpiece of Romanesque art.
The abbey boasts a majestic tympan, which is in fact a didactic sculpture, a colossal vault and of course the stained glass windows. These stained glass windows created by Pierre Soulages were commissioned by the French Government in 1986.