Posted on May 03, 2025 at 6:34 PM. / Modified on May 03, 2025 at 18:35.
2 min. reading
When the news is so overwhelming that we lose its words, I often think back to a sentence from Philippe Jaccottet. I read it a long time ago but it immediately engraved in my head. The image, even more than the words, remained in my heart, that of the poet, installed in the Drôme, who in the calm of the night, perceives the violence of the world to the point of wanting to vomit.
My words are weak. I looked for his words last night, compulsing several collections, without success. The AI has also been white. Regardless, its dazzling continues to act as if I had just read it. A room in the middle of the night, the silent countryside, just the wind that makes believe that the earth breathes. And then this long howl, this endless sob. The violence of the world, irregardable in broad daylight, which can, there, deploy this inner scene in the night. And who literally makes sick.
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