Flâneries au pays des Muses, Tome 3 (Strolling with the Muses)

“There is not such a thing as a crisis of Poetry, there is merely an immense and lasting social plot to prevent us to see it.”   Sollers 

“Le poème est une cage pour appâter l’oiseau du paradis dont la porte reste ouverte.”  Michael Edwards 

“When I walk alone in a beautiful orchard, if my thoughts have been wandering elsewhere, I bring them back to the walk, to the orchard, to the sweetness of this solitude, and to myself.”     Michel de Montaigne


“I hear the flute” Atelier de la Martinerie 

Cette page accueille vos contributions à adresser à marc.bouriche@wanadoo.fr  

This page welcomes your entries to send to marc.bouriche@wanadoo.fr 

6. “A Petrarchan Sonnet” by Marion Mantel, Vence: 

Petrarchan Sonnet 

You made Your Presence known to me by Grace,
when counting thorns on roses seemed my goal;
while flame grew dim, obscuring mournful soul,
abyss of desperation soon to face;
no dwelling-place to rest, just empty space …
What reason had my life ? What was my role ?
The only answer silence, dark as coal,
on path where lights of past had left no trace.


Marion à 9 ans

I did not know that Silence was Your Name,
Pure Emptiness Your Nature, free and vast;
and darkness nothing else but lack of Light.
Your Love replaced my anger, fear and shame,
then filled my empty shell with peace to last;
perfume of thornless rose born in the night …

5. “La lueur des jours”… avec Sophie Camey (Paris), Jonathan Beth ( californie)… et Jean Grosjean dans les coulisses:


Sophie Camey 


“Sahara” Huile sur toile (50 X 100)

“Désert le jour, muet le jour. Prudente la montée du soleil. Muette la brise, désert le ciel. Juste un nuage au bord du ciel, son ombre en fuite sur le coteau. Muettes les ombres, immense l’espace, immense les heures.”  JG


“Aube originelle”  Huile sur toile (50 X 100)

“Le soleil était comme effacé par la prose compacte et sans substance à la fois des nuages mêlés  Puis une déchirure se fit dans ce tissu monotone: une lueur vive en émana, comme le sang s’étale à la surface d’une blessure indirecte  Ô surgissement étoilé de la poésie!” Nicolas Dieterlé.


Jonathan Beth


“J’ai tenté de faire oeuvre d’homme. Au-dessus des frontières et des clans. J’ai chanté les paysages, l’eau, les jours et la femme. En paix et en joie. C’est tout.”  Nathan Katz

“I attempted to create as a man. Above borders and clans. I sang landscapes, water, days and woman. In peace and with joy. That’s all.”   Nathan Katz


“Peu m’importe le possible   joies ou douleurs   Dans mes hymnes j’invente un évangile   je cherche un refuge   un monde qui commence   à la pointe du monde”   Adonis

“The possible does not matter to me   neither joys nor sorrows    By my songs I invent a gospel   I seek a retreat   a world begining at the summit of the world”   Adonis


“Le vert tendre des saules en amont de la rivière   je le vois comme à travers des larmes    Soudain cette idée m’est venue    Serais-je seule à connaître ces mots que personne n’emploie plus”

“The tender green of the willows up the river    I see it as if through tears    Suddenly an idea came to me   Would I be the only  one to know these words  that are no longer used”


“Qu’est-ce donc que la poésie? Un feu de camp abandonné, qui fume longuement dans la nuit d’été, sur la montagne déserte.

Retrait du monde et de moi-même, souvent je l’ai entendu germer dans la pierraille de la montagne, le grondement muet dont naîtra le tonnerre.”

“What is poetry? An abandoned camp fire which smokes lengthily in the summer night, on the deserted mountain.

Withdrawing from the world and from myself, I often heard it germinate in the mountain stones, the mute rumbling from which the thunder will be born.”

Claude Vigée


“Des choses de ce monde, il en restera deux: Poésie et bonté… ces deux-là, ces deux seules… Sans ces deux-là tout savoir blêmit tel un papier, Tellement ce couple de deux soeurs est peu banal !”   Cyprian Norwid

“Out of this world two things will survive: Poetry and Goodness… these two, only these two… Without these two every knowledge gets as pale as paper, These two sisters are so uncommon !”   Cyprian Norwid


“Je ne suis pas amoureux    j’apprends seulement la subtile distinction entre l’amour qui s’en va vers une seule et l’amour qui arrive de partout”   Christian Bobin

“I am not in love   I am just learning the subtle difference between the love going to a single one and the love coming from everywhere”  Christian Bobin


“Parole des silencieux, visage des invisibles, savoir des ignorants. Secrètement le silence murmure un nom, et l’enfant croit y reconnaître la voix d’un père.”  Gérard Pfister

“Lyrics of the silent ones, face of the invisible ones, knowledge of the ignorants. Secretely the silence  whispers a name, and the child seems to recognize the voice of a father.”  Gérard Pfister


4. “Ô rambling Rose…” , offered by Thomas Budd, somewhere in the countryside of England:



“Such a happy crew in Brazilian waters under the mature guidance of Cap’n Asher! The world at last is becoming more sane. Less bread, more taxes! A long, long way from the tempestuous waters around Aurigny with Shakespeare and his timely sprite. But maybe not so far.


There have been times during the last months when I would happily walk through the valley of death, and at others, particularly during a recent joyful ten-day sojourn in Sweden with Rose and my younger son, Timothy, and his girlfriend Toke, when life was too good to relinquish without a fight.  Staying, for the first time, at Rose’s remote house in Sweden was a special experience. It is a typical two-story wooden red ochre construction standing in its own few acres with a large barn and outbuildings, There are, perhaps, a dozen other homesteads in the vicinity. The nearest shop is ten kilometers away. She has over the last four years renovated it during visits from Holland where she has funded this arcadian remoteness by tending to the needs of the disabled. Inside, as in her, it is light and simplicity. The impeccable placement of a rug, an unconsidered piece of furniture, a book, a drape, combine throughout the rooms into serene and tranquil art. It is a place for souls.  


O rambling Rose!

No earth too poor in which to sink your roots, No interloper too foolish to intrude on your robustness, No space too remote to be penetrated by your beauty, No ground too unworthy to receive your petals.

O rambling Rose!


Strange, dear friends, the lives we lead, weaving through events, sometimes in fulness, often in isolation, each according to his talents, his destiny. While my words may often attempt to enrich and magnify an ordinary life, the living of it becomes more bare, more real, more devoid of unanswerable questions. An ordinary existence sometimes in candlelight.  


Love to you all, Thomas

3. “I learned this at least…” by Henry David Thoreau, offert par Clarisse, London:



” I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if he advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.  He will put some things behind, will pass an invisible boundary; new, universal, and more liberal laws will begin to establish themselves around and within him; or the old laws be expanded, and interpreted in his favor in a more liberal sense, and he will live with the license of a higher order of beings. 


 In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness.  If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be.  Now put the foundations under them.”


“Moral reform is the effort to throw off sleep.  Why is it that men give so poor an account of their day if they have not been slumbering?  They are not such poor calculators.  If they had not been overcome with drowsiness they would have performed something.  The millions are awake enough for physical labor; but only one in a million is awake enough for effective intellectual exertion, only one in a hundred millions to a poetic or divine life.  To be awake is to be alive.  I have never yet met a man who was quite awake.  How could I have looked him in the face?


Thoreau at Cape Cod

I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor.  It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look, which morally we can do.   To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts.  Every man is tasked to make his life, even in its details, worthy of the contemplation of his most elevated and critical hour.  If we refused, or rather used up, such paltry information as we get, the oracles would distinctly inform us how this might be done.”

Henry Thoreau (Walden)

2.“Lord Byron and the sea”, a love story, the story of his life. Offered by Ruth, California:



“Adieu, adieu, my native shore,
Fades o’er the waters blue,
The wight-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.”…
 “And now I’m in the world alone,
Upon the wide, wide sea.”…
 “Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue wave!
And when you fail my sight,
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves
My native Land – Good Night!”


“…Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean – roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin, – his control
Stops with the shore; – upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into they depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknell’d, uncoffin’d and unknown…”


“Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee:-
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Thy waters wasted them while they were free,
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey
The stranger, slave or savage; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts: – not so thou;
Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves’ plain;
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow;
Such as creation’s dawn beheld, thou rollest now.”


“…O’er the dark waters of the deep blue sea
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!”


“…Earth shall be ocean!
And no breath,
Save of the winds, be on the unbounded wave!
Angels shall tire their wings, but find no spot:
Not even a rock from out the liquid grave
Shall lift its point to save,

Or show the place where strong Despair hath died,
After long looking o’er the ocean wide
For the expected ebb which cometh not:
All shall be void,


End of “Byron and the sea” Gallery.

1. “Escapade dans la Florence du Quattrocento”, avec Pic de la Mirandole et Marsile Ficino, offert par Nicole Maestre, Paris:


Jean Pic de la Mirandole

«Si nous ne t’avons donné, Adam, ni une place déterminée, ni un aspect qui te soit propre, ni aucun don particulier, c’est afin que la place, l’aspect, les dons que toi-même aurais souhaités, tu les aies et les possèdes selon ton voeu, à ton idée. Pour les autres, leur nature définie est tenue en bride par des lois que nous avons prescrites : toi, aucune restriction ne te bride, c’est ton propre jugement, auquel je t’ai confié, qui te permettra de définir ta nature. Si je t’ai mis dans le monde en position intermédiaire, c’est pour que de là tu examines plus à ton aise tout ce qui se trouve dans le monde alentour. Si nous ne t’avons fait ni céleste ni terrestre, ni mortel ni immortel, c’est afin que, doté pour ainsi dire du pouvoir arbitral et honorifique de te modeler et de te façonner toi-même, tu te donnes la forme qui aurait eu ta préférence. Tu pourras dégénérer en formes inférieures, qui sont bestiales; tu pourras, par décision de ton esprit, te régénérer en formes supérieures, qui sont divines.» (Les modernes auraient ajouté: “Mais te faudra pour orienter ce choix, et la grâce et la connaissance”.)


Ficino et les Néo platoniciens

Domenico Ghirlandaio (1486-1490). Zachariah in the Temple [detail]: Marsilio Ficino, Cristoforo Landino, Angelo Poliziano and Demetrios Chalkondyles (detail). Fresco. Santa Maria Novella, Tornabuoni Cappella, Florence, Italy.

Affirmer que Pic est fidèle à la tradition, cela suppose que celle-ci soit connue : Louis Valcke se trouve donc amené à résumer de façon admirable l’ontologie de Platon, d’Aristote, de Plotin, de Nicolas de Cuse, afin de mieux comprendre comment Pic s’insère au sein de cette tradition et comment il y apporte son originalité propre consistant précisément à concilier, à la suite de Ficin, Aristote et Platon. De ce fait, le jeune noble qu’était Pic, ce précoce autodidacte, se tournera naturellement vers Marsile Ficin, figure majeure du néoplatonisme florentin, qu’il rencontrera afin de recevoir enseignement et conseils.


M Ficino

« Ficin, avec cette étonnante faculté d’auto-persuasion qui le caractérisait, voudra toujours se convaincre qu’il avait trouvé en Pic le disciple fidèle dont il pourra modeler l’esprit pour en faire le dépositaire de sa science et de sa sagesse, alors que Pic ne verra en Ficin, comme en tant d’autres personnages, qu’un initiateur qui pourra l’aider à franchir une nouvelle étape dans sa formation intellectuelle, au sein d’une démarche dont, par ailleurs, il restait le seul maître. » [6] L’ « orgueilleux » Pic fut ensuite envoyé à Padoue, centre de l’aristotélisme renaissant où il découvrit surtout l’averroïsme et se lia d’amitié avec Elia del Medigo, un Juif érudit qui l’initia à la Cabale.


Ange Politien (1454-1494), en compagnie de Marsile Ficin et Pic de
La Mirandole. Détail de la Procession du Saint-Sacrement (1486), de Cosimo Rosselli.

Sant’ Ambrogio,

Published in:Uncategorized ||on septembre 17th, 2009 |

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