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This section is a playful gathering of poetical writings drawing alternatively attention to the shaping resulting from the form and dynamic of writing, or rather to movement created by the articulation between sentences, to the sonore echoes of language up to the pure pleasure offered by the simple being and merging of words.

Drawing Poetry
Poetry for Melody
From words to Movement
For the beauty of words
Drawing poetry
Photograph from publication Les Mains Liées, by C. Roded and P. Raybaud
Mai 2017

  This is a four hands project in collaboration with C. Roded, inspired by the surrealistic book Les Mains Libres by Paul Eluard and Man Ray.

In the form of a pastiche, this collection is a dynamic dialogue between writing and drawing, illustrating visual poetry with one another's words, melting lines together, for an instantaneous interpretation and a visual translation of the space created by linguistics.

  The book can thus be read in different ways, vertically and horizontally, visually and physically in the handling of the book that has to be swift from left to write, from drawing to text, as one part is written in french, the other in hebrew, allowing the white and the black page to successively alternate in the viewer's eye for him to embrace our two worlds, here made as one.

-Download PDF to see the collection of poems-
-printed booklet available on demand-
Poetry For Melody
-Series in progress-
This is an ongoing series of musical poetries and lyrics.
Some are in the linearity of P. Amougou's organic filmic series, meant to evoke a quite mystical atmosphere, and thus aiming for a woody and dramatic language.
Further series will be devoted to the Roots digging project made in Cameroun, for which the 16mm film footages are still in process of development.
Others are intended for musical slang duos with singer Ion, aiming for a more simple and straightforward linguistic impact based on rhythm and sonorities rather than meaning.
Like seeds from the soil,
Growing out of river and sun
Like spikes of light surrounding my breath
Into me the rhythm of my dreads
Don't even try to strangle my roots,
My only ressource.

The entire cosmos crossing through,
Are you sure it's true?

I'm floating so high,
past the cloudy sky
Forgetting the how and why
Searching for a place that could be mine.

Expanding my branches 'til they die
Freeing hands from desire
To grab and hold and fly
A pain taking us higher.

Floating between lines

Looking for your signs

From the roots of my mind an my land

And turning away the wavy sea

Into milk dripping from my hands.

The entire cosmos crossing through,

Are you sure it's true?

Clear and warm you see,

Just like water from Aphrodite

If you know you're still thirsty after it

the only way be

to come inside me

to grow into me 

so that you smell and see

what if feels to be me.

Poem Seeds from The Soil, extract of ongoing series for P. Amougou

C’est pas ça tu comprend pas

Je suis pas triste je pleurs de rage

Tes baisés ils sentent l’amour, 

tu me parle d’envol

de courage

oh le bel appât!

Mais t’oublies où j’ai atterri,

regarde moi bien,

mon bec fendu, mon aile cassé,

regarde! regarde!

rah et puis tu ris?

tu te crois déjà vainqueur?

Penche toi sur ce coeur, 

ce lambeau,

ce bout de chair que je traine, une pate en l’air l’autre sous terre

tu comprend pas!

je pleure de rage, 

je pleure pour tous ceux qui m’ont déjà fait voler, écraser, les ratés, les drogués, les mal nés les mal baisés

ils sont passés tu sais, 

oui sur ce corps, oui entre ces ailes,

oui ils m’ont enlacés, oui ils m’ont fait décoller, oui oui mile fois je les ait aimés,

regarde moi bien,

regarde donc cette aile cassée, ce bec fendu, tu le trouve beau? ce bout de chair que je traine là et là 

toujours plus lasse

toujours plus vide

toujours plus bas

les gouttes qui perlent sur ce visage brisé, non ce ne sont pas des larmes

ce sont des armes que je me suis taillée à la sueur de la trainée que j’étais, 

de l’abusée,

de la délaissée,

de celle qui a trop donné,

trop aimé,

regarde ce lambeau, 

regarde! tu le trouves beau

il n’en reste plus qu’une image, ratée, usée, disloquée. 

Extract from song 'La metaphore de l'oiseau' in collaboration with Ion.

My first bloody Moon

Under the sky of Cameroon

I only dreamt of touching her soil

Now I’m falling under her boys


The mother land I had in mind

Now in my head I make it mine

Childhood images flourishing in my head

Finally rooting up to my feet

And back to the ground to reach its peak

Again I lay in my mother’s bed


Oh father, father, father look at what you dropped into my veins

This seed is now ready to blow

I know you kept it for later

But no more tomorrow, its time for me to grow

Its a new game, no more blame nor pain


Yes brother I came back for you

Now look above the sky is blue

and if it rains open your mouth

You two sister for I love you both

Listen to the fuel dripping back into your soul

Back to the moon i'll make it shine

And if its not enough I give you mine 

Extract from song 'Bloody Moon' in collaboration with Amougou.
From words to movement
This is an introduction to the concept of performative writing, a type of exercise embracing the moving and rhythm procured by the word's sonorities, dynamics and assimilations to recreate and invent its spacial and corporal translation, its performative counterpart. 

  And again and again and again and again again again


Everyday same landscape

Forever the same mistake


She stands there defying me 

With her eyes of a fury

And a smile more than empty


   And again and again again again and


I look back sadly at her

All the lines become a blur


Yet the clock keeps on running

The sound of time repulsing

A mirage of me crying


   And again!


Like a loop from my own tape

forever repelling shape


Naked with myself again

Heart beating with the worst pain 

better and stronger every tic tac tic tac tic

Again and again and again and and


In the darkness of her voice

I can hear the same old noise


Soon the sound covers the tic

And my pulse follows the tac

tic tac tic tac tic


And again and ag


My hands then enter the dance

My fingers follow the transe


Now holding on the mirror

And the nails scratching with horror

This image I can’t ignore


tic tac


And again and again and again !


Hitting her head against mine

Making sure we are one line


Soon the glass lays at my feet

And our hands drip with the beat

tic tac tic tac tic


And again. 

For the beauty of words
-Ongoing writing-
Here some fragments of writing awaiting to become, collected through a dynamic of visual lining, drawing a space in movement within the form of writing itself. A space echoed from and back to the narratives. 
 Copyright © Pauline P. Raybaud
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