Jaccottet and Bonnefoy are often presented side by side, as the two great poetic voices of the 1950s, the two poets who were keen to inhabit the world after the ravages of the world war. However, the two poets are very different, and I love them for different reasons. I love Jaccottet’s fragile, almost hesitant voice at times, and his absolute humility, especially in the face of death. Bonnefoy is more solemn. He has the art of transforming the every day into a moment of grace. It is one of these moments that I offer you today.
Fire of the mornings,
Breathing of two beings who sleep,
The arm of one on the shoulder of the other.
And I who came
To open the room, to welcome the light,
I stop, I sit there, I look at you,
Innocence of relaxed limbs,
Time so rich in itself that it has ceased to be.
These lines end the poem entitled “Passing by the Fire”. I chose them because they reveal the grace of a stolen moment. The poet surprised a couple sleeping. We don’t lie when we sleep. We no longer have control over our bodies. So the poet perceived a moment of innocence. These two beings thus express, through their sleeping bodies, a love whose authenticity is absolute. Their synchronized breathing, their intertwined limbs, say more than a declaration of love. This vision has nothing voyeuristic or erotic about it. The poet is not spying on lovers. He remains frozen by this almost sacred vision, and cannot do otherwise than contemplate. This is not voyeurism, this dimension is transcended by the sublime character of this vision of love. It is a seemingly simple moment, born from the banal desire to open the shutters of a room, but of a rare intensity, as ephemeral as it may be. It is truly a moment of grace that Yves Bonnefoy offers us.
