Mona by Pola Oloixarac

Author:Pola Oloixarac
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

CAFÉ

Le temps c’est un exercise

d’attente, de prémonition

de penser que tu es

et tu n’es pas

ARBRES

le temps c’est

les vagues des arbres

le souffle

du soleil

dans mon visage

NUIT

la nuit c’est mon ocean

le jeu et les lumières

le vertige du labyrinthe

le temps où tu n’est pas

et le temps que tu es

avec moi

Her lines weren’t sublime but they felt fresh. And there was something fundamental about them: the air of something too easy, something effortless, stolen, unelaborated. We can never know what true poetry is, Mona reflected, but what makes a piece of writing recognizable as a poem is the feeling that you’re getting ripped off. In the era of technocapitalism, Raoul once told her, the sublime no longer exists; poetry, therefore, has to include a feeling of theft, an intuition of a comparison and competition—value itself should be totally accidental. What’s vital is to communicate the feeling of having somehow swindled language—that surely that couldn’t be a poem. If that couldn’t be a poem, that’s exactly why it was one. She reread her work with pleasure, then typed out the poems on her phone and sent them over WhatsApp to Mathilde, who was waiting for them on the other side of the world. The fourth poem she wrote in French, but translated it immediately. It was about foxes in the forest, who would soon realize their fur was being darkened by a rising tide from which there was no escape.

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