Saturday, April 17, 2010

What Kind Of Weave Does London Lauren London Have

Mr Arthur Rimbaud, merchant

Arthur Rimbaud aged about thirty years in Aden. This is the only good quality photo of her adult.
© CODA / Booksellers associated

A photograph (9.6 cm x 13.6 cm) Rimbaud was recently discovered. She was taken to Aden in Abyssinia (now Ethiopia), between 1880 and 1890. At that time, Rimbaud was a merchant. This photograph, where he sits with six others, was discovered by two Parisian booksellers ( Alban Caussé and Jacques Desse ) among a batch of thirty others taken from the same period Aden. Between the photo of Stephen Carjat , where " man with soles of wind " was old 17 years, and very blurry self-portraits made shortly before his death in 1991, there were far no portrait of him. "On expansion, his face seems distant, and these traits are those of a mature man. The thick hair, cut short, is thick and identifies a high forehead and wide, under which, sunken, the eyes of rights are sweet, sad, but with a sharp look, like some former convicts exiled from their country that may be encountered in the most unlikely places in the world. In this photo enlarged, the nose is missing a summary one nostril to give us an idea. The little mustache highlights a beautiful sensual mouth and has learned to be silent. "I suggest you study this picture (I've enhanced the contrast to give relief to the lines) and write your impressions. Follow the link above for more information and especially to see the photo in full, taken on the steps of Hall of the Universe where Rimbaud was staying. But is it really him? What do you think? Andre Chenet

It Jean-Jacques Lefrere , Rimbaud specialist and author of a posthumous correspondence of the poet will be published by Fayard , who authenticated the photo that will be presented to next public exhibition of antique books from tomorrow, Friday, April 16, 2010.

Some comments on Facebook :

Didier Manyach , poet: Bet I love this picture because at the bottom of the expulsion, exile, loneliness and the infinity always resurfaces as a figure, a star and the life that sparkles
, inommable, desperate, as expected each day and every night grieving. Those who have drifted away from shore are also trying to get back to us. Black holes can not win against the light years that we go through ...

Xavier Laine, poet: It's terribly moving: put a face on this man. His eyes still look to the poem, but already, here also ...

Loïc Deltour artist: Thanks Andrew for sharing this find! What a journey, what a life! I will be happy to do without the DVD in my humble short film " Rimba " (as he sometimes signed) on 24 of his short life ... a race and put into an abyss of his earthly existence and dizziness Rimbaud! Cheers! and thank you again!

Vasil Quesari photographer: Yes, in my opinion, this is IT ... It is moving to contemplate this picture

Cristian Ronsmans , philosopher and lecturer: I do not know, like all of us, if it's him. But so what, after all. We are children and need to think beyond our illusions, the force evoked by this picture of the symbol, indeed, very moving. Because everything seems distant in this photo. The cliché itself, face "ectoplasmic" and that look. That look that seems to come from afar to go to I do not know where.

Norbert Paganelli, poet: You can trust Lefrère who has written a voluminous biography of Rimbaud with a few pictures of him in adulthood. the man who is in this picture looks very much like Rimbaud adult. Moving ...

Christian Andersen Erwin, poet and polemicist: it's really irrelevant: when one is Rimbaud can afford not to cover his face and arms dealer to be supported by the republic to further their colonial designs. When Rimbaud is we would not on facebook or on rmc ... and when it is not Rimbaud farm: the twilight of the idols were yesterday and yet it again tomorrow! Rimbaud was a herald of anti-imperialism: all his short life on earth was spent in fighting the empire of reason and the vowels in a mumble anarchist primer ...
I too am moved but do not tell ...

Andre Chenet : Rimba have certainly experienced the technical advances of our time (including communications) as he used those of his own. It might have been on Facebook but how he screwed up paddling when he was 17 or 18 years. Most of us'auraient may be removed from their "friends". You're well on Fb, you ... Remember, he was himself in many ways also thirsty for recognition and was furious sometimes be misunderstood by his contemporaries. One of his projects was to enrich themselves to return to the prestige of the great lords in his country. Whether it's him, I grant you readily that hardly matters. However, "something tells me " it is indeed him especially since the Europeans were not so many in Aden in the late nineteenth century.
Thank you for your comment, and I thank all those who lent themselves to the game that I proposed. I too have been affected by this portrait of a human anonymously among his peers, as we all are, despite our relationship.

François Bon, poet, writer: "... Today we receive a photograph of Rimbaud in Harar. There are stories today. One can, if one is a former bookseller, open a safe and invent the legend one more episode. Rimbaud's gaze in this photograph is not objectionable, and that includes Rimbaud and have turned their backs. Poetry is the violence, it is this denial.

We add a new chapter to Rimbaud by this look, like photography found to Isidore Ducasse standing (85% verifiable, you said, Michael Pierssens ?) and added to our text entry Lautreamont that brought together the publishing Corti, and his portraits invented fantasies? ... " François Bon


Didjeko , poet and musician: I m''en fuck Force 8 on the Richter scale!
Frankly, what does that has to fuck this photo? Is it more important than Michael Jackson wearing the shirt of the OGC NICE ? Or a St. Christopher suspended from the rearview mirror? Or an autographed photo of Michel Sardou on the bedside table? Or a poster Haile Selassie I , King of Kings himself? One Love
PS The real interest of this photo is for its happy owner, who is a max of wheat on the bottom of idolatry.

Nathalie Riera, poet and revue-director: Him or not he strange anyway! suspect even all that ... it makes me think of an "expert"!

Andre Chenet: ago, and the two guys who say they researched the cliché " treasure hunters." They will certainly make it full excavation. Can we expect at least they make a donation to the society of poets in the process of starvation? When I say that Rimbaud is worth gold! It's worked like crazy for a belt of gold bullion who ended up sleeping horribly on a stretcher (He kept it around his waist despite the threatening gangrene). During his convalescence in Roches, after the amputation of his leg, he had a fixed idea: to return to Abyssinia.

Erwin Christian Andersen : ultimately the one among us who seems to have been the wiser seems to me Didjeko buccaneer WHEN IT DRAWS ATTENTION TO THE RISE IN IDOLATRY

Norbert Paganelli poet: Unless he idolizes his balls well to force 9 .... so long that I prefer to idolize Rimbaud fair because you have to idolize something ....

Delcorte Arnaud, poet Rimbaud if it is I am the queen of England. The eyes are dead and the guy looks like a tram controller, or even a trader lollipops (or weapons?). Rimbaud in there was "beautiful" and at 17 he was damn sexy.
look at my icon, is it me?
and read reviews just arcane sub section of the evening: .
php (well, ok, I go back to sleep!) ___________________

Hello Andrew,
's the small text that this picture inspired me. In friendship

Gilbert Casula

"This photo is a fake is a fake. Clearly it is that of a thirty, probably Mr. Rimbaud, saying negotiations, not the poet's poet namesake died ten years before.
The discovery of this face remains anecdotal for me and yet it continues to be disturbing. Why?

Is it because she just reminded me something terrible that I had buried in the unthought, something that challenges the vision of the disembodied world of letters in which single letters matter?

As a final blasphemy, "real life" broke into paradise tainted, bringing back the same time the death is still on his feet. "


Commentary Raphaël Zacharie de Izarra , Be on the Le Soir (first link above):

Sketch of André Chenet

Raphaël Zacharie de Izarra said ...


I see that some journalists are smarter than others. I was pleasantly surprised to find an article by Jacques Quentin who speaks to me with great clarity ... I find it very flattering that a journalist (province) a bit smarter than the other has the audacity to put forward a very pertinent argument about this new "discovery", that I would be the author of a yet another joke at media basis of Arthur ... It must be said that Jacques Quentin knows his game: it is to my knowledge the only one who has complained in letters and without any ambiguity the enormous izarrienne joke about the "Dream of Bismarckian k". That was in April 2008.

This time I did not even need to go spread alarm on the web explaining that I am indeed the author of a new setup for this photo: this reporter provincial head cold it is responsible for me ... This shows the depth of his insights! It is true that he knows his beloved Izarra, mystifying obsession Purpose strictly egocentric: it does me no gift when it comes to me dissect his pen as sharp as the truth, I knew about this point too stingy with tweezers against gullible commentators that I enjoy making bray rimbalesques pranks with my semi-professional quality of common large scale media ...

My detractors will appreciate.

Raphaël Zacharie de Izarra

Raphaël Zacharie de Izarra said ...


Jacques Quentin's article about me:


She looked like a girl may look like his father.

With good faith, the sincerity of his whole soul, his heart franc (inevitably lucid), the public was not deceived them. France was convinced!

Except that DNA tests had rendered their verdict, petrifying: genetic disagreement between the full and final girl and her alleged father.

cold shower.

Who does not remember this painful matter Aurore Drossard, Montand's daughter imaginary? The lesson, authentic case study should prompt us to adopt in the future extreme caution in this kind of information which subjectivity can confuse the best runs.

But with the latest incarnation on Rimbaud, we are in a process hysterical media-exactly the opposite: this time they are the "experts" who, intoxicated by fumes learned, have convinced themselves. And what then you ask? The worst: the sinister-looking a Rimbaud at odds with his legend aesthetics.

The pill hard to pass in true-false admirers of the poet who Charleville, with this innate sense denotes profane and the ignorant, skeptical.

The discovery of the photo is two years. Disturbing at the same time some Izarra shouted to anyone who would listen-and no one seemed to want to pay serious attention to his rantings, he was the author of "Dream of Bismarck," another priceless treasure Rimbaud Saved from scrap a bookseller in Charleville-Mezieres. Certainly, the chance goes a long way in the environment of this enigmatic Izarra ...

But back to the head of Rimbaud. Specialists including the famous Jean-Jacques Lefrere were based on four of his pictures (more or less distinct) already known and recognized for establishing a new dogma with dizzying certainty that the exegetes of their own level, high in white bread. Flour university has undeniable virtues of intellectual safety ... In short, it is with the same conviction, if not the same fervor that the "Dream of Bismarck" was declared authentic.

Nothing is more like a portrait that another picture, if only the heart is racing. We will discuss the methods employed by these reckless specialists seeking to convey to posterity the face of a perfect anonymous Rimbaud confused with the pretext of a hotel brand as a (false) to track stars Parnassus , Hunting Myths ... Bertillon? Forensic identification? DNA testing? The laugh laugh.

convictions for less subjective, in other words highly fanciful-Jean-Jacques Lefrere and his followers are a good slap to remind us that through this kind of sensational revelation full of vagueness associated with the world of Rimbaud Izarra one can always hide another.

Scholars shriveled add: today more than yesterday. Suspicion therefore


Jacques Quentin


See also " Rimbaud and his false scrambling " http://

Response Andre Chenet additional information sent to date by Raphaël Zacharie Izarra :

Dear Raphael Zahara de Izarra,

I can not thank you enough for the light you brought me. If I am among those who, I admit without difficulty, had wanted to believe that discovery of a photograph of Rimbaud (although I do not find myself among the "iconodules"), I expressed some reservations , (especially as regards the root hair on the forehead!) who encouraged me to put online a small article on Facebook and Danger Poetry. I have to agree with your post, the result exceeded all my expectations. I did not really know where I went: I had to do it, that's all. I quickly went through your blog that literally enchanted me. I will come back, I promise you, as soon as I finish with mine emergencies that have at the moment. I put clearly your comments online. I have the impression that Quentin jealous man than you are, it apparently does not know "where to take you." Clearly he admires your butt and your talent. Now I await the result of events "with relish". I say that Rimbaud would have laughed with you.
I salute you Regards,
                                                                                                Andre Chenet

A must read:
" Rimbaud, unfaithful to the photo icon "of Andre Gunther , which tends to prove, according to the studies, it is indeed the picture that makes discussion of Mr. Arthur Rimbaud, a merchant in Aden.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Car Sales Coverletter

On the threshold of Desirade


" But, before, in swine turds
fries Let these languages envious!
" Francois Villon

I am a bit old fashioned, antediluvian, I
have nothing to prove
I dream, dream too much,
spends a lot of time dreaming
and this may wring
calms me, eases my pain

and these are my daydreams
life denser

J 'I chose - finally chosen -
to be on the side of indigent

not by impotence - as I have long believed -
Not even out of spite, especially not by disgust

Only Hungry
able to live the dream awake

justice as I see it is

behave as proof that human beings have some capacity

to recognize each other
ie never

they profane the temple of love that builds

collectively in the heart all

I open fire as my friend shouted Tristan
Fou d'Aigues-Mortes
who takes the time to pull up his suspenders

before shoot on sight

I saw it burn,
the day of the year 2008, a city in southern

by lighting candles
a Christmas tree is too dry
he had found on a sidewalk
him as he dreams
in restoring order with
a great sense of indiscipline

in this world where too dry
candles Christmas
bleed instead of singing

Yesterday I went up and sang the current

Green River has its source in a clearing

Sitting on a rock in the midst of turbulent waters
I I am a health
again while I gazed
like a Templar returning from the Holy Land
naiads voluptuous nude
surprises among the reeds

They grew frightened cries of

I'm kind of under the altar a rain
false note lyric a cripple

I wear the black booty of the sun on my back
and write with my voice
one that imposes on me and my lonely, heartbreaking voice

The voice that comes from land of the dead suffering in
miles violence
She writhes like a creeper
until I
silence fierce nebulae

I wear
children dead in the depths of the night

Fairy henbane
floods me a sap violet

I saw burning

many of my friends at the stake


Shrapnel tore me
diamond prospects in

of infinity

I do
and n love it
that beauty inspires me

feats of strength
an ongoing challenge in the middle

Rose des Vents
whose hair swirls like a heavenly
Gulf Stream Sandy
above sea

large desert locusts
and I am damned to find a god

I lived like a recluse

lepers on the threshold of paradise

I stole the key of heaven before returning

alive in the body of a minstrel

I speak now
a burning
from which
and I'd better shut up -
hell is child's play
playing to scare
by goofing
in a distorting mirror

I'm an easy target if the desire inflames

I have the wings of distant
to travel outside of myself I write

despite emergency
that populate my loneliness I write

withstand the agony and the fervor to find some brothers and sisters

in a chaos of humanity
tiny demons

hidden behind swollen ass of
a goose that lays golden eggs
I see these demons burst
a Pandora's box
they make one of our newspapers and
pay on our head
firms Vanities

I am a crook
ie a poet
a matador moods
without a romantic melancholy
a mutant in the vicinity of Orion

I know clover ermine gull

I know the storm and as I lie down flat lion

eyes half-closed
until calm returns

I can do
face the faceless angel

disfigures me two shots and a few puzzles

knife in the back

I'm a raving prophet
pressed the chrome counter
a neighborhood bar
that looks without flinching
the future in a steaming cup of black coffee

A man with few illusions
whose heroism consists
a follow-up
the stories he tells to do
Be silent, like an idiot

This man takes no thought for tranquilizers

man hard
secrets that take the form of poems
to perish a little less
to bottom before re
to "air free "

Imagination is an Aladdin's lamp
on the path of truth and madness

A lamp that illuminates not in daylight
residents risky night

These do
will show gaps between moments Good

They called Arthur Rimbaud and Antonin Artaud
and seek neither fame nor fortune

They deliver the words that kill

spells to break the "charms" They

François Villon called
and Isidore Ducasse,
before entering the legend, they are all
Raiders Fire
horrible workers
visionaries, perjury or

They called or
not they spend in our minds
such volcanoes spewing
throwing embers

be a poet is not afraid
flowing into the rapids of the existence

fingerprint is read messages from the unseen heart of a
lost continent

is to discover a word
changing the words of the tribe into a reality
where each beat of blood, every gesture reveals
deep emotion
a tremor of the universe that could be
the origin of this "Mouth shadow "
talking about the Father Hugo
and Baudelaire evoked
beside the tomb

I'm just a brother of the albatross,
I have a hole in the chest

The song of a cricket as much as a marvel
industrial landscape under snow
or a juxtaposition of colors
in a Flemish painting and post-modern

I do not find myself writing these lines wobbly
I rediscovered that in other times

It could be that I stay on my hunger
at the moment to make my last breath

I have nothing to confess
if not a wild joy of living
overflowing pain and doubts ...

Andre Chenet
La Colle s / Loup, on 12/04/2010