Cinq Petits Collages

These poetic ‘collages’ were born from a freedom left to words to arrange themselves in images, almost without the assent of thought. I say ‘almost’. In this field, regardless of what one might allege, true abandon does not exist; the game consists of placing expression on probation; reason, in the background, is no longer a warder but only half-closes an eye. If it lets this interminable train, this bruised path, this child’s room, this hourglass go by, it is because they are not foreign to it. So much for the texts. On the other hand, their musical setting intends to leave nothing to chance, to its muddled fantasy or its approximations: I am not one of those who improvise at every chance, sowing their notes like Tom Thumb strew his pebbles in the hope of finding his way. Thus, I have imposed a bit of discipline on wilding words and, in so doing, as strange as that may seem, have encountered their truth. Vowels and consonants sometimes speak less loudly than quavers and semiquavers – and Fauré’s ‘En sourdine’ says more than Verlaine’s…

Guy Sacre
(translation: John Tyler Tuttle)