Lou Raoul

- France -

Lou Raoul is a French poet. She was born in 1964, in a bilingual French-Breton environment which shaped her perception of life. Her experience of the world, from a very early stage, was influenced by the languages that people customarily speak. Her writing brings Breton close to French and expresses Breton through French. It wavers between narrative and poetic prose and, via the use of characters, delves into the issues of identity and otherness.

Lately, some of her texts have included words from other languages such as English and Croatian.

She has published ten books since 2010, and was awarded the PoésYvelines prize in 2013 for Else avec elle.

Lou Raoul gives public readings, takes part in literary encounters and writing residences, hosts writing and speaking workshops, and works in collaboration with other artists – for instance her musical reading kim m'apprivoise (kim tames me) with musician Kham Meslien –, and as a visual artist with her “livre pauvre” collection, Ko:ra, which she created in 2012 and where she invites other poets.

Her blog http://friches-et-appentis.blogspot.com/ is an open window on her own fields and on other worlds as well.

Copyright of the portrait photo Elena Rivry--Coat

Bibliography

Otok (Island), Éditions Isabelle Sauvage, 2017

Most (Bridge), Éditions La Dragonne, 2016

Kim m'apprivoise (Kim Tames Me), Approches Éditions, 2015

Traverses (Crossties), Éditions Isabelle Sauvage, 2014

Exsangue (Bloodless), Éditions Pré # Carré, 2012

Else avec elle (Else With Her), Éditions Isabelle Sauvage, 2012

Else comme absentée (Else as Absentee), Éditions Henry, 2011

Les jours où Else (The Days When Else), Éditions Isabelle Sauvage, 2011

Sven, Éditions Gros Textes, 2011

Ouvert l'album (Opened The Album), 2011

Roche Jagu / Roc'h Ugu, Éditions Encres Vives, 2010

More about the poet

Poetry

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on the pillar there it’s perched this bird
pichig-ruhig robin

pichig-ruhig chomit un tamm
robin stay a while
ho tiwaskell skañz war ma c’halon
your two light wings on my heart
pichig-ruhig chomit amañ
robin stay here
ganeoc’h e teu un amzer all
another time comes with you

all birds
various passerines thrushes too
when the sun has reached the west
the whole Stanco throbs
on the turned-up earth of the corral
two doves

both one and the other
From Jagu Rock, translated from the French by Ian Monk
sur le pilier il est perché c'est cet oiseau
pichig-ruhig rouge-gorge

pichig-ruhig chomit un tamm
rouge-gorge restez un peu
ho tiwaskell skañv war ma c'halon
vos deux ailes légères sur mon cœur
pichig-ruhig chomit amañ
rouge-gorge restez ici
ganeoc'h e teu un amzer all
avec vous vient un autre temps

tous les oiseaux
divers passereaux des grives aussi
quand le soleil est tout à l'ouest
c'est tout le Stanco qui palpite
et sur la terre retournée du courtil
deux tourterelles

et l'une et l'autre
(Untitled) / (Untitled)

in the yard that day
seizh eur da noz 'son
seven pm sounds
and the crows in the ploughed fields opposite

and right then too a woman comes over
yes that one there, this young brunette
just there looking at me
she’s standing near
the low wall
of the vegetable garden
the cows coming back to be milked

and around all around around
the voices taking off that day
the voices of all the other days taking off
my head spinning my head
From Jagu Rock, translated from the French by Ian Monk
dans la cour ce jour-là
seizh eur da noz 'son
sept heures du soir sonnent
et les corneilles dans les labours d'en face

et aussi bien une femme s'approche
oui celle-là même, cette jeune femme brune
se tenant là me regardant
elle est debout près
du muret
du potager
des vaches qui reviennent pour la traite

et autour tout autour autour
les voix envolées de ce jour-là
les voix de tous les autres jours envolés
ma tête tourne ma tête
(Untitled) / (Untitled)

up to the window of the green bedroom
come flying your voices
speaking of these gardens
and the rest that comes with winter

this pattering isn’t the rain
just the soughing of the wind in the oak
as reddened leaves
scatter in the damp air

pa 'sellan pelloc'h
kant kwech 'sav an deiz war park al lin
when I look further
the sun rises a hundred times over the flax field
From Jagu Rock, translated from the French by Ian Monk
jusqu'à la fenêtre de la chambre verte
volent viennent vos voix
qui disent ces jardins
et le repos de l'hiver venant

ce crépitement ce n'est pas la pluie
juste le souffle du vent dans le chêne
et s'éparpillent
les feuilles rousses dans l'air humide

pa 'sellan pelloc'h
kant kwech 'sav an deiz war park al lin
quand je regarde plus loin
cent fois le jour se lève sur le champ de lin
(Untitled) / (Untitled)

closed are these gardens and open the earth
the tubers piled up kept dry
as the days un
rav
el
the purple flowers in the light
and this name Anders Dahl
I bear them
under my eyelids
right now
From the Jagu Rock; translated from the French by Ian Monk
fermés ces jardins et ouverte la terre
entreposés au sec les tubercules
comme les jours s'ef
fil
ochent
les fleurs pourpres dans la lumière
et ce nom d'Anders Dahl
je les porte
sous mes paupières
à présent
(Untitled) / (Untitled)

they don’t scratch the sky
these dark trees

they look
further in this short day
the gardeners
their gleaming green raincoats
their secateurs along the hedge of holly
the order here which they maintain

they look
every day towards the yard
the passers-by
their many faces
their many images
which are there on the branches
which quite seamlessly glide
then shift away right along
the deep roots
of the old oak

hag aze emaon me ivez e-touez ar re all
and I am there me too among the others
From the Jagu Rock; translated from the French by Ian Monk
ne griffent pas le ciel
les arbres noirs

ils regardent
plus loin dans le jour court
les jardiniers
leurs luisants imperméables verts
leurs sécateurs le long des haies de houx
l'ordre d'ici qu'ils maintiennent

ils regardent
tous les jours vers la cour
les passants
leurs multiples visages
leurs multiples images
qui sont là sur les branches
qui sans heurt aucun glissent
puis s'éloignent tout au long
des racines profondes
du chêne vieux

hag aze emaon me ivez e-touez ar re all
et je suis là moi aussi parmi les autres
(Untitled) / (Untitled)

I am standing
in the depths of leafy borders
‘vel ma vefe pep tra d’he flas
as if everything were in its place

the arbutuses and gorse and broom
grow well too
the mole man comes here
twice a month

on the other side of the path
it must be said that things fall apart
From Jagu Rock; translated from the French by Ian Monk
je suis debout
au creux des lisières herbacées
'vel ma vefe pep tra d'he flas
comme si tout était à sa place

les arbousiers et les ajoncs et les genêts
poussent bien aussi
l'homme pour les taupes vient ici
deux fois par mois

de l'autre côté du chemin
il faudra dire que ça se déglingue
(Untitled) / (Untitled)

from these half-open pages
there also escapes
a memory of a childish bouquet of flowers
staring at a morning roe
a peaceful wish of men

tout pezh' zo bet laret din
pezh 'meus gwelet ha pezh 'm eus ket
pezh 'oa, pezh 'zo ha pezh 'vo
everything I’ve been told
everything I’ve seen and not seen
what was, what is and what will be
From Jagu Rock; translated from the French by Ian Monk
de ces pages entrouvertes
s'échappent aussi
un souvenir d'enfantin bouquet de fleurs
un regard vers un chevreuil matinal
un souhait paisible d'hommes

tout pezh' zo bet laret din
pezh 'meus gwelet ha pezh 'm eus ket
pezh 'oa, pezh 'zo ha pezh 'vo
tout ce qu'on m'a dit
ce que j'ai vu et ce que j'ai pas vu
ce qui était, ce qui est et ce qui sera
Itron Varia Gloazet / Lady Mary Wounded /

Hail Lady Mary
Itron Varia salud deoc’h

On the roads you walk
Look at us from time to time

Lady Mary with your angel
Itron Varia gant ho ael
By the stream a poor fisherman
Now and at the hour of his death

Are you still the mother of God?
Silver kisses for you Mary
Pokou arc’hant deoc’h Varia
Keep no trace of your seven sorrows
The series Barbata aux sept douleurs was plasticized as seven picture-cards (formatted 8.5cm x 13.5cm) and presented in a paper pouch. Five copies were printed in 2008.
A-berzh petore sant / To what do we owe the honour /

Chans vat 'hetan d’ar bugel mañ
A-berzh Sant Alar hag e geseg
A-berzh Sant Fregan, Sant Tos ha Sant Vio
Gant respet d’an amzer santel
I wish good luck to this child
On behalf of Sant Alar and his horses
On behalf of Sant Fregan, Sant Tos and Sant Vio
And respect at a holy time

The series Barbata aux sept douleurs was plasticized as seven picture-cards (formatted 8.5cm x 13.5cm) and presented in a paper pouch. Five copies were printed in 2008.
Sant Soli/ Saint Soli /

Sant Soli give them your hand
Forget-me-nots in the blue garden
In a corner of half-shadow
Drink this is water

The woolly sheep raise their heads
The moon cannot be seen

Sant Soli it is high time
Ana is no longer there
What will you do with the dust
Of the holy bread you will be given

Sant Soli, kousket oc’h?
Sant Soli, are you asleep?
Ha pad pegeit?
And for how long?
The series Barbata aux sept douleurs was plasticized as seven picture-cards (formatted 8.5cm x 13.5cm) and presented in a paper pouch. Five copies were printed in 2008.
Santez Tekla/ Saint Techla /

In your dormition
We salute you
Santez Tekla full of charm
And take care of Barbata

A cloth in your hands
Dead in her sleep she was

Give her heavy golden bread
When she comes to your table
The series Barbata aux sept douleurs was plasticized as seven picture-cards (formatted 8.5cm x 13.5cm) and presented in a paper pouch. Five copies were printed in 2008.
A man comes out of the woods /

in their beds they sleep deeply when awakenings or
radio alarms
so their bodies leave sleep there, all the dreams
it’s 6, 7, 8
they get up

they press the buttons of coffee machines, electric
tea-makers, place on the tables the sliced
bread, plastic butter dishes, jars of jam
and assorted spreads
and in the bathrooms, they undress for a quick
shower with perfumed gel, slip on thick flannel bathrobes
and in the open kitchens, they have breakfast listening to the news
flash on the radio

then they do they hair, shave or apply make-up, get dressed, put on
their shoes
and they open the doors of their home and rush out
into the streets
on foot, by bike, in the car, by bus, by tram, by metro, by train
it’s 7, 8, 9, they start to live out
a hectic morning
until smiling they get together for lunch in
the company of their colleagues or loved ones
when a man comes out of the woods

a man comes out of the woods
he limps, he stoops and doesn’t look in front of himself
but with the ground at his feet, stumbling
a man comes out of the woods, then reaches the road that leads to
the town

a man comes out of the woods each day at noon in winter, reaches
the road that goes down to the town
you can see him
you can see him he isn’t old

a man comes out of the woods
he has long blond hair down his neck, the top of his
head is slightly balding, his face emaciated
he reaches the road that leads down to the town and goes
each day to the graveyard
you can see him sitting beside a tomb

a man comes out of the woods
sitting beside a tomb each winter afternoon he’s there
and on a rainy day the police go over to him as he sits
beside the tomb and ask him to go home
and not stay there in the rain
and not come here each day

and do not say that it’s because you scare us all

he looks up, stares while squinting his green eyes, looks at the
gravestone with its engraved names
Dermot Kerreg
Met Rospiko, his wife
he nods his head

little by little the sun fades from the graveyard
for a long time neither the man nor anyone else comes anymore beside
this tomb

it’s 5, 6, 7 in the evening
when they go home all is well

the day of the police the man from the woods walking away from the tomb
says to you, Else
brav oa din behañ ‘vel-se ‘tal kichen ma re
I’d like to be so close to my loved ones

I liked being like that with my loved ones
it’s 7, 8, 9
in soft light of their homes they relax

he walks away you’d like to
he is already
far
far he is far
a man in the woods
Extracts from Else avec elle, Éditions Isabelle Sauvage, 2012 (Prix PoésYvelines 2013)
Ma’aï /

in her heart
in the April blue sun
firstly she keeps
a few sentences, words one after the other and while walking she
adds others to them, words, sentences
all one after the other
it’s in her heart
that she warms up in the April blue sun

and they note note note down by hand or on their
keyboards
otherwise they forget them all one after the other
or else forget
in their brimming hearts
in their hearts a clutter
and you too, Else, like them
and to order your days you write lists
this and that in lists

then you join her on the bench, sitting
it’s so as to join her on the bench, sitting
on the little schist bench in front of the house
which is a maisonette with holes in the roof
it’s in her heart
quietly
and gradually the years, sentences words do all that
a hundred and fifty long long songs gwerzio
in her heart by heart, their melodies too
and without hesitation standing she, singing
a series around her many people

you watch her sing in your heart, you say her name and it’s
Ma’aï
you join her in your heart that comes and goes, that comes and goes
you see that they pass by at 14kph in their vehicles
you look away
you watch her in your heart, you say her name and she’s called
Ma’aï

an April blue for everyone listening to her

'vit tout re a selaou un ebrel glas
un ebrel glas 'prof Ma'aï
profañ 'ra Ma'aï
ya profet 'vez se ganti

Ma’aï offers
yes she offers this
an April blue for everyone listening to her
Extracts from Else avec elle, Éditions Isabelle Sauvage, 2012 (Prix PoésYvelines 2013)
An amzer o tont / The coming weather /

tonight it’s so close
it isn’t the russet horse hat hauls the caravan, which knows
you are there
which, from afar, can hear you, you can see its ears, between the branches
ha ne ra nemet glav
and it does but rain

may he who is looking at tomorrow’s weather in the sky turn
around, return
ruz da noz glav pe avel antronoz, red at night rain or wind
the next day
but he who is looking at tomorrow’s weather in the sky is
further off, not with the russet horse either

may he who places in the hearth the very large log which should not
be entirely consumed turn around, return
he who holds the poker
for he warms up the souls of the dead who come back from time
to time
who come to the places where they lived
kef Nedeleg pe skod Nedeleg, the Yule log, yes,
not like a Swiss roll of a log, no, not at all
a wooden log
the cold poker, wrapped up in paper, in a cloth
the poker in the cupboard, between piles of sheets, all year

still standing the russet horse which listens to you, beyond the mound
may he who approaches be able to say as well
ar marc’h glas ‘zo deuet maes, the blue horse is out
still looking at the sky
the sky which is clearing, after the rain

you no longer know, Else
if you observed the tomorrow of he who watches the weather
returning souls, such sunny periods
this day you see the threads the flows of light
as well as the fast trains honking long before they arrive
near the men on the track
in the earth of the graveyard, the mixing dusts
and with them, your too

but before
when the night falls, into the full moon you look
not the man with the wagon
you look at the man in front of his red caravan outside inside
his bandoneon
Extracts from Else avec elle, Éditions Isabelle Sauvage, 2012 (Prix PoésYvelines 2013)

Lou Raoul

- France -

Poetry

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Itron Varia Gloazet / Lady Mary Wounded /

A-berzh petore sant / To what do we owe the honour /

Sant Soli/ Saint Soli /

Santez Tekla/ Saint Techla /

A man comes out of the woods /

Ma’aï /

An amzer o tont / The coming weather /