In 2006, I wrote a preface for Denis Emorine's book, Au chevets des mots (A Step Inside). I remember reading this little book and becoming quite delighted with it...it spurned my desire to quest for that which is unsaid or cannot be said...that is, the pauses between "words" that say EVERYTHING. (Kalinauskaite, previous entry)
It was liberating to lose myself in this wistful reverie.
Preface: Here is a collection of vignettes that invites the dreamer into the elusive, entrancing perpetual fever of poetry. Here you are in the town square of language, where words elope, make love, fight, and part like unsatisfied, restless lovers into the night. It is never enough, it seems, when it comes to language. There are words that masquerade and manipulate, and there is the purity of meaning, as Emorine seems to suggest from the opening quotation used:
"And then, we'll be able to talk without stumbling into those words that cause time to bleed." --Jo Bousquet.
...The heart of this collection is in the segment "Fever", when Emorine declares: "Only silence has the bedside manner needed to respond to words broken down by their plentitude."
-Lina ramona Vitkauskas