It will be 6 a.m., the time when my dreams wake me up and begin their descent into the amnesia of the day. There will be a few of us, at least two, and the janitor too. We will stretch out in the new sun which, on June 4, will already be up.
I write so as not to forget myself. I write so as not to sink under the weight of my thoughts that play the sarabande, jumping and screaming. I write to meet myself.
Only when I’ve unweighted myself down a bit, can I start to move.
But I write without looking back. I let the words form and the keyboard decide their spelling, as if to confuse the tracks, when sometimes I try to retrace my steps. I accumulate. I dream of neat tables, tidy and orderly cupboards, but the versions pile up. I scatter my sentences between notebooks, sheets of paper and various applications. I spread.
Often, worry, emptiness, make me rummage through these piles. Electronics allow me to search by keyword, and I extract texts that I do not recognize. Like those forgotten dreams.
On the night of June 3 to 4, the incredible Barbara Polla was entrusted with the organization and curation of the poetry night by the Geneva Museum of Art and History and invited me, with many wonderful poets including my precious Julie Pugeat.
Barbara Says
« Both intimate and public, the Night recalls peace, with this polysemous proposal by Melissa Cascarino: YOUR TONGUE / YOUR LANGUAGE IN MY MOUTH (*); and we read in French, German, Italian, Kurdish, Russian, Greek, Turkish, Ukrainian, Persian… We read in full consciousness, engaged in the textes we have chosen and listening to others. Reading poetry together for a whole night is an act of peace, and an act of love, too. We do need poetry. Poetry is useless. It is therefore essential. »

The night of June 3 to 4, I’ll be hunting for dreams and hope that we will be together to honor them.

(*) in French langue means both tongue and language

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