This is just a hundred years ago, two days before the armistice, and that Guillaume Apollinaire is gone, never to return – “Because to return it is good for a soldier of the Indies “, says The Emigrant of Landor Road. Since, it is no longer as poems, songs, lights, colors, mystery flowers, and enchantment. And the price Guillaume-Apollinaire revives every year its flame, the literary café des deux Magots, where he had his table.

This year of the centenary, under the title awfully, Gallimard publishes a ravishing anthology of his poems, selected and with a preface by Laurence Campa, illustrated with works of Picasso, Braque, Dufy, Derain, Chagall, Duchamp, Brancusi, and Marie Laurencin, Odilon Redon… Garlands, the procession. And the beautiful charcoal portrait by Matisse, in fourth of coverage. “If I died out there on the front lines of the army…

” READ ALSO – In 2016, the writer Pierre Dhainaut received the prix Apollinaire

Catherine Frot bed without primer some of his poems, before you proceed with the hero of the day. The winners 2018 are well-established. They are two, announced by Jean-Pierre Siméon, the director of the award, both of which are posted at Castor Astral. The youngest, Alexandre Bonnet-Terrile, nineteen-year-old, a sign of short poems incisive, The Numbered. “‘t go astray/The futures/ stay silent/Where are born the stories.”

“I’ll be back to myself when I come back to you ; you are beautiful in your mountain of greenery and goats shy…”

Eyzahut, Cécile Coulon

At the source of the stories, it is here that stands Cécile Coulon. Pure Source, and volcanic mountains of Auvergne, a green and black its colors of predilection. At 28 years old, the pretty blonde girl, cool as the return of a morning walk in the meadows misty, is a novelist with multiple crowns, since his debut at 16 years old with The Thief of life. The Brambles is his first book of poems, the adventure started on Facebook. She rallied the lovers of poetry, which, you know, roam the social networks, with its beautifully lyrical narrative, full of tears and of nature. She practice she said “poetry, narrative, simple, with a beginning, a middle, and an end” . It just touch it.

We will remember Eyzahut , the name sounding strangely biblical that one is from a village, liked, tiny, and nowadays almost abandoned: “I’ll be back to myself when I come back to thee ; /thou art beautiful in thy mountain greenery/and goats shy…” . And since it is in the Auvergne region, “we need to talk volcanoes./It was awesome to grow up in the midst of the giants/the mouths wide open”. The Brambles says both the wildness and the grace of a plant, which hurts and tears, but also promises the ripe dear children, as a treasure well kept.

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