Haïku : the art of poetry in Japan


It is so wonderful to be asked to exhibit at the Abbaye Saint-André. I cannot help think of the magnificent painters that painteThe Haiku is a three-lines short poem, that uses the sensory language to express a fleeting image or an emotion. It principally draws its inspiration from Nature, the beauty of everyday life, the consciousness of the passing of time, or a poignant experience. In its actual spirit, this form of poetry is attributed to the Japanese poet Bashô Matsuo and dates back to the Edo period (17th century).

The writing of a Haiku is considered a mental discipline in the same way as martial arts. Their composition rule must be perfectly respected. The first line or verse consists of five syllables, the second of seven and the third of five. Namely seventeen syllables of one to two beats. The musicality of a Haiku does not necessarily contain rhymes. One of Bashô’s most famous evokes Nature’s evanescence and the art of seizing the present moment:

fu ri i ke ya
ka wa zu to bi ko mu
mi zu no o to

Paix d’un vieil étang
une grenouille qui plonge
le bruit de l’eau ( ou l’eau se brise )

The Haikus accompanying the artworks presented here have been written in Roya’s valley. They are the expression of feelings sometimes contradictory, related as much to personal events as to reactions and position statements toward abuses and disruptions that spread onto the world. They are clues that may enlighten your understanding of the story of each artwork.

Nostalgia of a blue
to try and improve
he whispers a wish


Confident and quiet
between the motionless waters
of a useless quest


Dreams strider
exhausted by a long lie
what secret eats you away?


Tale of a journey
trade winds, mirages
and a few sinkings


Coming of an angel
light orange-flavoured rain
yet nothing changes

Can be

A great draught
amber and mystery aura
solitary walker


Dizzying falls
everlasting beginnings
our stormy souls


A rainy morning
infinite delicacy
misted over look


When everything turns white
alone in the quicksands
dazzling fog


Short-lived consciences
a thousand butterflies
dazzled by bitter powers


High winds tree
imagination in ribbon
everything is transparent


Song of the Inbetween
to the dizzying destinies
and us in the middle


In the blind spots
hide distorted sounds
and lost causes

Dés enchantés

A languid source
dozing long grass
midday dreamer


I sometimes happen
to lose my way in the woods
without knowing why


On reason’s edge
bask our emotions,
our last thrills

There, while we’re gone

Ghosts and chimeras
all these crumbs in the universe
fleeting memory


Saying hardly nothing
ang knowing almost nothing.
Worse, wanting nothing


Nowhere land
well sheltered from coincidences
gentleness of a look


Twist of fate
our stowaways
get lost along the way


Age-old goblins
in the hollow of a harebrained stump
downside up

D’or et déjà 1

Thin violet shadows
by little strokes slendered
all spattered

D’or et déjà 2

Ode of a garden
off the trackless dangers
hands full of sun

D’or et déjà 3

Air and water
beyond the horizons
a reed’s dance

D’or et déjà 4

Barely a path
a few muffled murmurs
in the canopy

D’or et déjà 5

A yellow one and a blue one
nestled in vastness
but who cares about them?

D’or et déjà 6

I fly backwards
under the influence of headwinds
frivolous and light


Delicate gestures
if being here was enough
restlessness in the voice


Restless watchman
as the years go by no longer knows
why he waits

The bird

Bluish landscape
sweet oath of eternity
the instant reawakened


Dyind dream
traces faded by rain
barefoot without a sound

From isle to bitterness

If by too many wanderings
in brambles and patience
each day is an opportunity

If beauty flees as soon as we exasperate ourselves

Old fond tree
have you already understood it all
leaving life?

This silence reigns

Nothing to regret
unattainable truths

Elixir Near Death Exp.

Neither deep nor high-pitched
mingling with the unknown
whatever the outcome be

Our sleeping ones

Hope of elsewhere
so much love and fear
when so many wonders

I am the game that tricksters play

Sinking into oblivion
deep in a fait accompli
survival instinct


Tiny elfs
under a moon’s dew
frails and doubtful


Allowing oneself time
sweet promises as a legacy
to the setting suns

The esteem of days

In the folds of time
sleep troublesome dreams
and former lives


Living askew
among half-open words
that are turning to dust

Beatha Uisge

Heat hazes
languish grudgingly
the red tree in tears

Watercolor repentance