Comme un mauvais rêve
par Flora Beillouin
Une série de courts poèmes illustrés. Incursion de bêtes sauvages, menaces de pénurie, pulsions meurtrières ou rêves de retrouvailles : que disent ces songes de ce qui travaille notre inconscient collectif ?
Like a bad dream - English version
Thank you Kwasi for opening this conversation with a dreamlike image. To continue on the theme of « Dreaming, Imagining », this week I have collected ten stories of dreams of confinement around me to create a series of short illustrated poems. Incursions of wild beasts, threats of scarcity, murderous impulses or dreams of reunion: what do these dreams say about what works our collective unconscious?
Hordes of monkeys are melting over the city…
In the howl of the sirens,
A bus is tearing me out of the crossfire,
Drags me to the hill of a thousand tin beds
To stretch out fresh sheets
To the bodies to come.
The avenue is wide
You suddenly appear
Another version of me
Ugly and bald.
And I’m grabbing you, Uncle,
I’ll squeeze your throat until you die.
I want you to know how much I hate you…
For making us suffer.
On the side of the mountain watch
A chiseled sphinx, white marble.
The Egyptian desert is immense of lonelyness.
I feel ridiculously small.
Yet my hands have shaped the bread.
It now rests on a stone, like an offering.
But the lioness that prowls around me grabs me by the throat.
The sacred grass
The doorbell rings.
It’s the dealer.
My brother double-crosses my dad to get to the door before he does.
And I’m cutting him off.
Down with the hypocrisy, since we’re cooped up as a family,
Then we will share the sacred grass.
We’ll take all your supply and lie no more.
In the dark eyes of my mother
I read, however, that there are still limits
« Leave or stay? »
I repeated to myself in an echo.
« Leave or stay? »
On an unresolved world map,
Toxic, dear or admired people who had crossed my path…
Sailing between the waterlines…
By combining the formula
Like an incantation.
« I go or I stay, you go or you stay, we go, you stay… »
When I woke up, my uncle had left this world.
The streets of Lille are empty.
In the opaque night, a silhouette of ink
From which come the muffled sounds of repeated blows.
A man unsuccessfully hits a condom dispenser.
Then the silhouette moves away with a shrug.
And I, in turn, strike the sterile metal box…
To test the resistance.
Suddenly, cascades of gold coins spring forth from it.
The world then
Had banned cats.
The undesirables were
Trampled, defenestrated, crushed.
The men began to prefer them…
Their hairy bodies were
Caressed, worshipped, cuddled.
But is it really any crazier?
In an unreal city,
Not quite my own,
Not quite your own,
We finally found each other.
We live together
In a huge workshop bathed in light.
I cradle our unborn baby girl
While you’re writing
I’m opening my window on street life.
On the other side, the bust that I can see
Wasn’t a statue
But a decapitated head
Who’s watching me
With his basement eyes.
The golden dragon splits the skies.
I ride him and it’s exhilarating…
To go into battle.
Under the belly of the dragon,
You can hear the roar of the battlefield
The human tide.