Occitan poetry  980-2006

by Joan-Frederic Brun



Felip Gardy  (1948)

Medieval poetry: the kingdom of love
XVI-XVIII century: tasty baroque antiliteratures
XIX th century: toward a renaissance
XIX th century (1854-1914):  spreading and sclerosis of the Provençal miracle
XX th century (1920-1965): the anguish of no future
XX th century (1965-1981): "un país que vòl viure" (a country that just wants to live)
XX th century (1981-2000): postoccitanisme
XXI th century: just a living literature among many other ones? 


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Philippe Gardy : 

Born in 1948 at Chalon-sur-Saône in a family  where occitan and catalan were usually spoken. His first poems appeared in occitan literary journals when he was still a teenager, while at Nimes his professor was Robert Lafont.

After he was for a while teacher of French and Latin, he became later a professional researcher specializing himself in baroque poets in Provence and Languedoc, and, more recently, occitan literature of the XXth century. He founded in 1977, the journal of  sociolinguistics "Lengas" (Montpellier), whose he's nowadays the director.

He wrote in many occitan journals  (Viure, Amiras, Dire, La Revista occitana, Òc, Reclams) and is now director, together with Joan Pau Creissac and Joan Claudi Forêt of the poetic editions " Jorn". He also manages the literary collection « Pròsa occitana » at  editorial Trabucaire,   Perpignan

Author of several books of poetry that surely make him one of the leading occitan poets at this time. 

 (L’Ora de paciéncia, 1965 ; Lo Païsatge endemic, 1982) and more recently:  La Dicha de la figuiera (2002) ; Mitologicas (2004), A la Negada (2005).



Tota dets e bocas

bèla flor de transparéncia
lo cèu copa
de nívols ambé dins lo clar pus clar
lei mans
de mans a bodre boleguivas
escaumas vivas de pèis
en noviatge de mar blanca

un refofum de lutz miraclosa
ta preséncia
pausada leugiera
sus la poncha dei cimas
tota dets e bocas
de sau linda

nòstrei paraulas en trena
de l'esposc a l'esposc
ambé coma un regiscle
l'ombrina muda
de la mòrt


E de mostres marins

t'ai presa dins lei vertigis
balbucejaires de la mar t'ai presa
dins lei bocas dubertas
dau temps que crèma
coma un fuòc longàs
d'èrbas ancianas

de tu ai bastit meis istorietas
de bestiaris mòrts de la set
e de mostres marins
oblidats sus lei ribas dau mond nòstre

e siás pas mai que meis imatges
enanats mei foliás
de pèus mòrtas
e d'agachs negats dins la clartat vueja
dau jorn que nais

a ton desir me rènde
e m'i fau lo tomple negre
ont tot s'i rejonh
dins l'abséncia dau temps




Cristina dei mauvalats
dins mon camionàs que vai querre la mar granda
ton sèxe de persègue
e de tabat verdau
fai sei païsatges de pluèjas nusas
a l'entorn de mon viech
confle coma merinjana au pimentòli

macarèl Cristina
ta boca de cerieras foscas vai lèu emmantelar
o sabe
mon deliri de descauma e de benzina


in : « Lo radèu de la Medusa » N°2


All fingers and lips

beautiful flower of transparency
the sky cuts clouds
with during the course of clarity
so many restless hands
lively scales of fishes
in marriages of white sea

an overflow of miraculous light
your presence
lightly put
on the top of summits
all fingers and lips
of pure salt

our braided words
from foam to foam
with like a splash
the mute shadow of death


 And of sea monsters

I took you in the twitching
dizzinesses of sea I took you
in the open lips
of time that burns
as a very long fire of old grasses


 of you I built my small stories
of beasts dead of thirst
and of sea monsters
forgotten on the shores of our world


and you are nothing more than my visions
gone away my madnesses of dead skins
and of drowned looks in the empty clarity
of that day which is born

 to your desire I surrender
and I become the black abyss
where all converges in the absence of time




Oh! you, Christine of the roadsides! in my big truck going away in search of the ocean, your cunt of peach and green tobacco offers its undressed landscapes of  rains around my cock, inflated, so inflated, just like an eggplant with a spicy sauce. Gosh!  Christine! your dark cherry mouth quickly will wrap up -  I'm sure of this - my delirium of sperm and gasoline.

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