J’ai effacé les preuves

The gentle melodies of Olivier Adam... As we know, his world is one of boundaries—tin boxes filled with Polaroids and memories, places we love but eventually leave behind. Paris and its suburbs, the Atlantic coast, beaches at low tide, peninsulas, and that “Finistère heart”—sailor or buccaneer—which “yields to the cliffs” and surrenders to the surf. The poet, who is publishing his second collection here, is in search of an inner sea, a place where one would take him at his word since he invents nothing. A place common to all beings, where one could welcome the exile, the desperate friend, and the ghosts of our lives. A place where one does not hear the petty refrain of identity, origin, and rejection. A place to live freely, without house arrest.