French Literature Reviews - 2026
Éric Marty, heard / said
Poetry and Poetics
I wrote these poems until the hour when shops pull down their shutters,
Until the hour when the heart slows down, when boredom creeps in, when the pocket is torn, when the Manitou falls silent, when the woman whispers "I'm afraid of this salamander," when the bloodstain creeps to the margins of the body, when male and female cease to obey or respect one another, when words hope for silence within us, when genealogy lacks as many ancestors as descendants, when the moon has ceased to be celestial, until the hour when the marsh marauder returns covered in bites, when the sack of flour explodes, when a kiss turns into rape, and arson into a deliberate act, when the night withdraws, when the woman unveils herself unmistakably, when lips thin until they vanish, when laughter dies out as slowly as a volcano, when ink spills, when tears are as swift as a heavy winter downpour, until the hour that means nothing at all, when the devil's advocate begins to speak.
(Excerpts)
Sayings
Stone is the law, walking is the spider, speed is lightning, breasts are souls, death is the orchestra, boredom is the table, the windowpane is the thaw, electricity is paralysis, the tree is the hanging, the storm is the cradle.
The pebble is the norm, running is the lizard, swiftness is the lasso, buttocks are conscience, agony is the solo piano, sadness is the full plate, the pane is the rain, the candle is fatigue, the flower is jouissance, thunder is the grave.
Gravel is the rule, the stroll is the slug, haste is the old man, cheeks are the heart, passing is silence, worries are the cutlery, shutters are darkness, the lamp is drowsiness, the bush is desire, the thunderstorm is maturity.
Sand, the abolition of all analogies. Likewise the fall, slowness, thumbs, birth, laughter, the wall, broad daylight, the desert, dead calm.
Glances through the window
What I saw would sometimes, abruptly, take the place of me, of him, of her, of us, of them, of you. I was what I saw, and so was he, like her, like us, like them, like you. The burning image had been captured.
What I saw sometimes, abruptly, seemed to me the reflection of what lay behind me, behind him, behind her, behind us, behind them, behind you. I would turn around, and fleetingly catch sight—for a flash, but in reverse—of what was facing me, facing him, facing us, facing them, facing you.
Over the blind man's shoulder, another vision can indeed be guessed, made of fear, apprehension, premonitions, prophecies, disordered, yet essential to our survival as seeing beings.
—
Éric Marty is a writer and academic. He has published novels and photo-fictions (including L’Invasion du désert in 2017). His most recent essay, entitled The Sex of the Moderns: Thought of the Neuter and Gender Theory, was published in 2021. Today, he releases heard / said, his first book of poetry.
Éric Marty is a writer and academic who has published novels, photo-fictions, and essays, including The Sex of the Moderns: Thought of the Neuter and Gender Theory. His work heard / said represents his first book of poetry. This collection utilizes lists and analogies to explore the relationship between the physical body and the environment, engaging with the traditions of the prose poem and the aphoristic form. Readers interested in the evolution of contemporary French literary voices may find this transition from theoretical prose to poetic expression relevant.
The text navigates the tension between the act of seeing and the act of naming, frequently blurring the boundaries between the observer and the observed. Through a series of declarative statements, the writing addresses the instability of identity and the way external visions can displace the self. This focus on the sensory experience of the world and the limitations of language aligns with broader explorations in twentieth-century French literature regarding the nature of perception and the role of images in human apprehension.