DAfter his first collection, Epaves (1981), Grobli Zirignon set the tone. He claimed to be a poet of exile, of endless wandering. He had sung about the existence of the stateless man in search of his lost unity. Dispersions (1982) had amplified the theme of the crumbling of the existence of man "thrown as pasture" in the universe, in the care of the omnipresent death in an unfathomable desert. Everything happens as if the poet, along this route, gravitated, like a protozoan, around a central nucleus, placed between death, existence, and real life, this lure that never ends. distract us from our irreversible journey towards nothing.
Here and now, the poet lays a plural, renewed stitch on the skin of the existence wounded to death. But the strong word is only a balm embellishing the scar of the body while the heart is still bleeding. Existence becomes, at the same time, a long therapy.
In his medicine box, the existing poet has deposited for his happiness and for ours, just a drop of personal experience in two or three pages. Then a magnificent bouquet of translated fragments of ek-sistence, of Language, of knowledge, of God, of the other.
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