Christian Bobin entered our lives as a poetry lover some thirty years ago when he published
Le Très-Bas
, which received the Deux Magots prize.
He remained there and his death did not erase his sweet and singular prose.
In the din of numbers and the frantic pace of the world from which the republic of letters does not always escape, his books have always constituted a perfectly audible murmur.
The Whisper
is the title of the last story to reach us.
He forces us to listen to him attentively.
It is about music, childhood, women,
“caravans of charm”,
and writing since the late Bobin entered it as if in contemplation.
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And then suddenly, the shock:
“The illness took me by the hand: - So I must come in person now so that you can go towards these suns that your writings celebrate so strongly and your life so little”.
Also read: Frédéric Beigbeder: “The world is bamboozled”
Nothing less poetic than a poet in the hospital: faced with medicine and its diagnoses, what can words and their power of escape do?
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