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Niagara
Seen on a Night in November
How frail
Above the bulk
Of crashing water hangs,
Autumnal, evanescent, wan,
The moon.
Adelaide Crapsey
(1878—1914)
Niagara
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I heard a Fly buzz
– when I died –
I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air –
Between the Heaves of Storm –
The Eyes around – had wrung them dry –
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset – when the King
Be witnessed – in the Room –
I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable – and then it was
There interposed a Fly –
With Blue – uncertain – stumbling Buzz –
Between the light – and me –
And then the Windows failed – and then
I could not see to see –
Emily Dickinson
(1830—1886)
I heard a Fly buzz – when I died –
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The Lover and the Moon
A lover whom duty called over the wave,
With himself communed: “Will my love be true
If left to herself? Had I better not sue
Some friend to watch over her, good and grave?
But my friend might fail in my need,” he said,
“And I return to find love dead.
Since friendships fade like the flow’rs of June,
I will leave her in charge of the stable moon.”
Then he said to the moon: “O dear old moon,
Who for years and years from thy throne above
Hast nurtured and guarded young lovers and love,
My heart has but come to its waiting June,
And the promise time of the budding vine;
Oh, guard thee well this love of mine.”
And he harked him then while all was still,
And the pale moon answered and said, ‘I will.’
And he sailed in his ship o’er many seas,
And he wandered wide o’er strange far strands:
in isles of the south and in Orient lands,
Where pestilence lurks in the breath of the breeze.
But his star was high, so he braved the main,
And sailed him blithely home again;
And with joy he bended his footsteps soon
To learn of his love from the matron moon.
She sat as of yore, in her olden place,
Serene as death, in her silver chair.
A white rose gleamed in her whiter hair,
And the tint of a blush was on her face.
At sight of the youth she sadly bowed
And hid her face ’neath a gracious cloud.
She faltered faint on the night’s dim marge,
But “How,” spoke the youth, “have you kept your charge?”
The moon was sad at a trust ill-kept;
The blush went out in her blanching cheek,
And her voice was timid and low and weak,
As she made her plea and sighed and wept.
“Oh, another prayed and another plead,
And I couldn’t resist,” she answering said;
“But love still grows in the hearts of men:
Go forth, dear youth, and love again.”
But he turned him away from her proffered grace.
“Thou art false, O moon, as the hearts of men,
I will not, will not love again.”
And he turned sheer ’round with a soul-sick face
To the sea, and cried: “Sea, curse the moon,
Who makes her vows and forgets so soon.”
And the awful sea with anger stirred,
And his breast heaved hard as he lay and heard.
And ever the moon wept down in rain,
And ever her sighs rose high in wind;
But the earth and sea were deaf and blind,
And she wept and sighed her griefs in vain.
And ever at night, when the storm is fierce,
The cries of a wraith through the thunders pierce;
And the waves strain their awful hands on high
To tear the false moon from the sky.
Paul Laurence Dunbar
(1872 – 1906)
The Lover and the Moon
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Depuis qu’il a survécu à une fièvre mortelle, personne n’a vu son visage.
Chaque nuit, l’enfant quitte le presbytère où il a été recueilli et s’enfonce dans les bois. Sous la lune, la forêt devient son territoire. Cette vie clandestine le protège du regard des autres.
Alors qu’il entre dans l’adolescence, une jeune fille apparaît parmi les arbres. Elle ne ressemble en rien aux habitants de ce village perdu, hanté par des haines ancestrales. Mais elle aussi porte un secret et rêve d’échapper à l’avenir qui lui est promis.
Le Visage de la nuit est un roman éblouissant, traversé d’éclairs sur l’adolescence, la violence et le désir.
Née en 1990, Cécile Coulon consacre sa thèse de Lettres Modernes au « Sport et à la littérature ». “Le Roi n’a pas sommeil” a obtenu le Prix Mauvais Genres France Culture / Le Nouvel Observateur 2012, et s’est vendu à près de 20 000 exemplaires. Avec “Le Rire du grand blessé”, en 2013, elle nous a offert une fable d’anticipation sur la place de la littérature dans notre société. Elle est considérée comme l’une des voix les plus prometteuses de sa génération.
Cécile Coulon: « une sacrée raconteuse d’histoire » – Le Figaro littéraire
Cécile Coulon:
Le Visage de la nuit
Grand livre
Éditeur: Iconoclaste
Date de publication: 8 janvier 2026
Langue: Français
ISBN-10: 2378805713
ISBN-13: 978-2378805715
Broché
€ 21,90
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Snow
Look up…
From bleakening hills
Blows down the light, first breath
Of wintry wind…look up, and scent
The snow!
Adelaide Crapsey
(1878—1914)
Snow
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Retrouver la douceur est le nouveau recueil de Cécile Coulon. Au fil des poèmes, elle saisit avec justesse les émotions, les sentiments et parvient à conserver l’instant présent.
« Je suis en train de dépasser mon enfance en marchant trop vite
à ses côtés : je lui demande de me suivre
mais le passé s’arrête dans chaque ravin
respirer l’odeur des fleurs séchées. »
Cécile Coulon nous entrouvre les portes de son univers où les fantômes de l’enfance côtoient la douceur des instants volés et la joie des petits riens du quotidien.
Le temps passant, il laisse place à l’incertitude et à l’absence. La douceur et l’amour deviennent alors deux compagnons de route essentiels. Les souvenirs quant à eux persistent à travers les paysages et les lieux aimés.
Cécile Coulon, née en 1990, est une romancière, nouvelliste et poétesse française. Elle publie son premier roman, Le Voleur de vie, à seulement 16 ans. Après avoir obtenu un baccalauréat option cinéma, elle poursuit ses études en hypokhâgne et khâgne au lycée.
En 2012, elle publie Le roi n’a pas sommeil, qui remporte le prix Mauvais genres et le Prix Coup de foudre des Vendanges littéraires. Ce roman est également finaliste du prix France Culture-Télérama. En 2013, elle publie Le Rire du grand blessé, qui est sélectionné pour le Prix littéraire des jeunes Européens.
En 2017, son roman Trois saisons d’orage est publié et remporte le Prix des libraires. Ce livre explore les relations humaines et les liens entre l’homme et la nature, thèmes chers à l’auteure. En 2018, elle publie son premier recueil de poésie, Les Ronces, qui reçoit le prix Guillaume-Apollinaire et le prix Révélation de poésie de la Société des gens de lettres.
En 2019, Cécile Coulon publie Une bête au paradis, un roman qui remporte le Prix littéraire du Monde et confirme la place de l’auteure parmi les voix prometteuses de la littérature française contemporaine. En 2021, elle publie Seule en sa demeure, un roman qui continue d’explorer les thèmes de la ruralité et des relations humaines complexes.
La Langue des choses cachées (2024) est un roman poétique et sombre qui suit un jeune guérisseur dans un village reculé, explorant la noirceur humaine et la force de la nature à travers une nuit de terreur ancestrale.
Retrouver la douceur (2025) est un recueil de poèmes qui capture avec justesse les émotions et les sentiments, tout en préservant l’instant présent à travers des souvenirs d’enfance et des moments de douceur quotidienne
Cécile Coulon est également active dans le domaine du théâtre et de la poésie, participant à divers festivals et collaborant avec d’autres artistes.
Retrouver la douceur
Poésie
Auteur: Cécile Coulon
Editeur: Castor Astral
Date de parution: 03/04/2025
Collection: Poesie
EAN: 9791027808106
ISBN: 1027808107
Nombre de pages: 109
Format: 14,10 x 20,60 x 1,30 cm
SKU: 5671952
16,00 EUR
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Almost!
Within my reach!
I could have touched!
I might have chanced that way!
Soft sauntered through the village,
Sauntered as soft away!
So unsuspected violets
Within the fields lie low,
Too late for striving fingers
That passed, an hour ago.
Emily Dickinson
(1830—1886)
Almost!
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Rouge et Noir
Soul, wilt thou toss again?
By just such a hazard
Hundreds have lost, indeed,
But tens have won an all.
Angels’ breathless ballot
Lingers to record thee;
Imps in eager caucus
Raffle for my soul.
Emily Dickinson
(1830—1886)
Rouge et Noir
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Feeling All the Kills is a dazzling new collection that breaks the poet’s silence on what it means to experience and live in the wake of a violent assault and rape.
Calcutt weaves stunning musicality with raw, unhindered storytelling, as the poems both collectively, and in their individual power, explore the distinctly connected, yet fractured selves of ‘sexual being’, ‘mother’ and ‘abused person’.
Through the poems’ breathtaking and vital vocabulary Calcutt brings the physical, emotional, and sexual nuances of life to the foreground, with strength, subtlety and beauty, and courageously harnesses a sense of ownership over such a lasting trauma.
At the heart of this collection is a personal desire to navigate a way back to a sensual, whole-feeling self, to shamelessly ‘feel all’ — with authenticity and power.
Helen Calcutt is a leading artist and choreographer working with a specialism in text embodiment within theatre & movement. She is the author of three volumes of poetry and Artistic Director of dance-theatre company ‘Beyond Words‘.
Her writing has been published globally. ‘Somehow’ (Verve Poetry Press, 2020), was a PBS Winter Bulletin Pamphlet & Poetry School Book of the Year (2020). Anthology ‘Eighty-Four’ (Verve Press, 2019), created in aid of the suicide prevention charity C.A.L.M. was a Saboteur Award shortlist & a Poetry Wales Book of the Year, 2019. Her full-length collection ‘Feeling All the Kills’ was published by Pavilion Poetry, April 2024.
Feeling All the Kills
by Helen Calcutt (Author)
Pavilion Poetry
Publisher: Liverpool University Press
28 April 2024
Language : English
Paperback : 84 pages
ISBN-10 : 1802074724
ISBN-13 : 978-1802074727
£10.11
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Wild nights
– Wild nights!
Wild nights – Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile – the winds –
To a Heart in port –
Done with the Compass –
Done with the Chart!
Rowing in Eden –
Ah – the Sea!
Might I but moor – tonight –
In thee!
Emily Dickinson
(1830—1886)
Wild nights – Wild nights!
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I’m Nobody!
Who are you?
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Dont tell! they’d banish us – you know!
How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell your name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!
Emily Dickinson
(1830—1886)
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
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My Life had stood
– a Loaded Gun
My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun –
In Corners – till a Day
The Owner passed – identified –
And carried Me away –
And now We roam in Sovreign Woods –
And now We hunt the Doe –
And every time I speak for Him
The Mountains straight reply –
And do I smile, such cordial light
Opon the Valley glow –
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let it’s pleasure through –
And when at Night – Our good Day done –
I guard My Master’s Head –
’Tis better than the Eider Duck’s
Deep Pillow – to have shared –
To foe of His – I’m deadly foe –
None stir the second time –
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye –
Or an emphatic Thumb –
Though I than He – may longer live
He longer must – than I –
For I have but the power to kill,
Without – the power to die –
Emily Dickinson
(1830—1886)
My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun
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