{"id":2580,"date":"2014-10-27T12:12:09","date_gmt":"2014-10-27T10:12:09","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/localhost\/cequireste\/?p=2580"},"modified":"2017-09-05T10:02:20","modified_gmt":"2017-09-05T10:02:20","slug":"mireille-disdero","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/cequireste.fr\/?p=2580","title":{"rendered":"Pendant la mousson (et autres po\u00e8mes)"},"content":{"rendered":"

 <\/p>\n

Pendant la mousson<\/h2>\n

Au-del\u00e0 de la peau existent d\u2019autres sensations
\nL\u2019\u00e9t\u00e9 en pous\u00adsi\u00e8res et l\u2019automne ch\u00e9tif.
\nO\u00f9 sont les mains, les bras, les silences\u2026
\nUne ann\u00e9e glisse sur les rails du Sky train et
\nDes visages d\u2019anges per\u00adturbent le paysage.
\n\u00c0 peine le temps de na\u00eetre et de r\u00eaver\u2026
\nUn typhon s\u2019incruste en nous puis se noie,
\nChar\u00adg\u00e9 d\u2019odeurs qui \u00e9veillent l\u2019instinct d\u2019oc\u00e9an.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Souplesse<\/h2>\n

C\u2019est comme une danse qui s\u2019agite en nous
\navec dans nos poches quelques pages
\nEt sous l\u2019\u0153il sculp\u00adt\u00e9 \u00e0 tra\u00advers le monde
\nUne ombre \u00e0 peau pierre
\nRim\u00adbaud au fond d\u2019une sabli\u00e8re<\/p>\n

C\u2019est comme une por\u00adti\u00e8re qui claque dans un c\u0153ur
\nEt sur mon corps \u00e9las\u00adtique rose
\nMille \u00e0 l\u2019heure dans le soir ouvrant boutique
\nSes lam\u00adpions \u00e9ph\u00e9\u00adm\u00e8res, trous de lumi\u00e8res
\nPhares par dizaines qui rentrent sous terre dans les abris<\/p>\n

C\u2019est comme un volant fou qui nous conduit
\nUne danse en nous qui m\u2019allonge \u00e9las\u00adtique rose
\nJusqu\u2019\u00e0 tou\u00adcher le r\u00eave d\u00e9pli\u00e9
\n\u00c0 mille \u00e0 l\u2019heure allon\u00adg\u00e9e\u2026 \u00e9tir\u00e9e
\nJe serre les dents et le c\u0153ur pour ne pas claquer<\/p>\n

Et si je claque tant pis j\u2019ai connu la vie en rose.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

La ville est tranquille<\/h2>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

\u00ab<\/span> D\u2019an\u00adciennes voix qui crient autour \u00bb<\/p>\n

Fede\u00adri\u00adco Gar\u00adcia Lorca<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

R\u00eaver la ti\u00e9\u00addeur des fa\u00efences
\nSous une mor\u00adsure de soleil
\nSen\u00adtir la force d\u2019un chat
\nRepli\u00e9e \u00e0 l\u2019or\u00e9e des corps
\nConsul\u00adter la nuit dans l\u2019\u0153il du village
\nSes murs peints \u00e0 la chaux
\nEt ses sor\u00adti\u00adl\u00e8ges de tis\u00adsus agit\u00e9s
\nSur la corde \u00e0 linge un dimanche.<\/p>\n

S\u2019\u00e9tirer \u00e0 la fen\u00eatre sur le toit
\nRegard plon\u00adgeant dans un d\u00e9col\u00adle\u00adt\u00e9 de ch\u00e2teau
\nEt enga\u00adger sa m\u00e9moire
\nSur la ligne de cr\u00eates de la Sierra.<\/p>\n

S\u2019\u00e9tirer en pen\u00adsant \u00e0 la saveur
\nOubli\u00e9e au fond d\u2019une tasse
\nAu po\u00e8me de Lorca
\nSur un bord de fon\u00adtaine Azul
\nLe soir, une odeur de froid
\nQuand on ne l\u2019attend pas
\nAide \u00e0 incen\u00addier l\u2019\u0153il de la nuit
\nDans une bougie.<\/p>\n

Quand tout est consum\u00e9
\nQuand la ville est tranquille
\nCher\u00adcher \u00e0 t\u00e2tons
\nMois\u00adson\u00adner dans le noir
\nL\u2019histoire qui per\u00adfore la peau,
\nMalaxe chairs et obscurs
\nPuis vient se loger dans le c\u0153ur
\nUne balle
\nOn meurt.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Rio Vero<\/h2>\n

 <\/p>\n

Cha\u00adleur encore jeune. Pierres en habit de lumi\u00e8re. Sen\u00adtier qui d\u00e9vale dans des gorges o\u00f9 le figuier colo\u00adnise les bancs de terre\u2026 Friches d\u2019\u00e9t\u00e9 aux fruits m\u00fbrs de ron\u00adciers. Roches qui se r\u00e9pondent de paroi en paroi et de sou\u00adve\u00adnirs en ave\u00adnirs. Houx sau\u00advages, mico\u00adcou\u00adliers, terre engros\u00ads\u00e9e \u00e0 l\u2019odeur d\u2019eau br\u00fb\u00adl\u00e9e. Puis sou\u00addain, une grille en fer au des\u00adsus du vide de l\u2019eau bleue, verte et transparente\u2026<\/p>\n

Sous le silence assour\u00addis\u00adsant du soleil, nos d\u00e9si\u00adrs d\u2019abandon vont en nage dans le Rio. 13 heures et la marche reprend. Un vieil homme pousse sa brouette vers la fon\u00adtaine. Il salue et serre la main des Fran\u00ad\u00e7ais. Dans sa paume, la fra\u00ee\u00adcheur tro\u00adglo\u00addyte d\u2019une mai\u00adson de roches.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

Carnaval et paprika<\/h2>\n

Le Port. La Joliette\u2026 Des ave\u00adnues trem\u00adp\u00e9es comme des linges insen\u00ads\u00e9s. La pluie fait des entailles aux sou\u00adrires. Sur les pav\u00e9s claquent les traces de talons et le miroir des vitrines enlace nos images qui glis\u00adsaient, pas\u00adsaient, se d\u00e9li\u00adtaient puis suc\u00adcom\u00adbaient dans un mou\u00adve\u00adment d\u2019ensemble qui nous emme\u00adnait o\u00f9\u2026 Est-ce que tu sais. Je ne sais rien, je cherche. Le visage maquill\u00e9 d\u2019ombres pour le car\u00adna\u00adval de San Zac\u00adca\u00adria. Mar\u00adseille et les bateaux se sont \u00e9loi\u00adgn\u00e9s, des mil\u00adliers de kilo\u00adm\u00e8tres se sont engouf\u00adfr\u00e9s entre deux sil\u00adhouettes s\u00e9pa\u00adr\u00e9es. Vent, nuages, terre. Main\u00adte\u00adnant, l\u2019\u00eele s\u2019habille d\u2019humeurs aux bal\u00adcons, de lan\u00adternes rouges d\u2019une mai\u00adson de Chine.
\nJe marche vite, en sou\u00adve\u00adnir des trains, des taxis, des navettes, des halls d\u2019embarquement. Je res\u00adpire, j\u2019exulte. Quelque chose de chaud, mais plus fort que le sang, cir\u00adcule dans mes veines. C\u2019est une musique ancienne qui se joue de nous et autour, la ville s\u2019allonge, se d\u00e9couvre jusqu\u2019au fond des alc\u00f4ves enfum\u00e9es.
\nMar\u00adseille et ses bateaux reviennent, char\u00adg\u00e9s des \u00e9pices de la m\u00e9moire. Le port, la Joliette\u2026 Droit devant, un bus fait son ramas\u00adsage des exis\u00adtences d\u00e9saf\u00adfec\u00adt\u00e9es. Des visages incon\u00adnus, col\u00adl\u00e9s \u00e0 la vitre, m\u2019observent puis s\u2019\u00e9loignent, dans un rou\u00adle\u00adment de tam\u00adbour des roues sur la chaus\u00ads\u00e9e. Ce qui reste\u2026 Je ne sais pas vrai\u00adment, mais je cherche.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  Pen\u00addant la mous\u00adson Au-del\u00e0 de la peau existent d\u2019autres sen\u00adsa\u00adtions L\u2019\u00e9t\u00e9 en pous\u00adsi\u00e8res et l\u2019automne ch\u00e9\u00adtif. O\u00f9 sont les mains, les bras, les silences\u2026 Une ann\u00e9e glisse sur les rails du Sky train et Des visages d\u2019anges per\u00adturbent le pay\u00adsage. \u00c0 peine le temps de na\u00eetre et de r\u00eaver\u2026 Un typhon s\u2019incruste en nous puis se noie, [\u2026]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"wp_typography_post_enhancements_disabled":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[755],"tags":[281,278],"coauthors":[756],"class_list":["post-2580","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-mireille-disdero","tag-prose","tag-vers"],"yoast_head":"\nPendant la mousson (et autres po\u00e8mes) - Ce qui reste<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/cequireste.fr\/?p=2580\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"fr_FR\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Pendant la mousson (et autres po\u00e8mes) - Ce qui reste\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"  Pendant la mousson Au-del\u00e0 de la peau existent d\u2019autres sensations L\u2019\u00e9t\u00e9 en pous\u00adsi\u00e8res et l\u2019automne ch\u00e9tif. O\u00f9 sont les mains, les bras, les silences\u2026 Une ann\u00e9e glisse sur les rails du Sky train et Des visages d\u2019anges per\u00adturbent le paysage. \u00c0 peine le temps de na\u00eetre et de r\u00eaver\u2026 Un typhon s\u2019incruste en nous puis se noie, […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/cequireste.fr\/?p=2580\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Ce qui reste\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/cequireste\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2014-10-27T10:12:09+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2017-09-05T10:02:20+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/cequireste.fr\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/09\/logo.png\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1000\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1000\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/png\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Mireille Disdero\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@cequireste\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@cequireste\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"\u00c9crit par\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Revue Ce qui reste\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Dur\u00e9e de lecture estim\u00e9e\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"4 minutes\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label3\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data3\" content=\"Mireille Disdero\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cequireste.fr\\\/?p=2580#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cequireste.fr\\\/?p=2580\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Revue Ce qui reste\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cequireste.fr\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/d30a91bade98621797a6c7aee9b17bb1\"},\"headline\":\"Pendant la mousson (et autres po\u00e8mes)\",\"datePublished\":\"2014-10-27T10:12:09+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2017-09-05T10:02:20+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cequireste.fr\\\/?p=2580\"},\"wordCount\":801,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cequireste.fr\\\/#organization\"},\"keywords\":[\"Prose\",\"Vers\"],\"articleSection\":[\"Mireille Disdero\"],\"inLanguage\":\"fr-FR\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cequireste.fr\\\/?p=2580\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cequireste.fr\\\/?p=2580\",\"name\":\"Pendant la mousson (et autres po\u00e8mes) - 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