Déflagration Rimbaud

"Our pale reason hides the infinite from us: Arthur Rimbaud"
There will be Arthur's vowels, their esoteric side, new glimmers, a love season with Paul Verlaine, Illuminations (and love weeks too) with Germain Nouveau, flesh and words, letters, the music of Léo Ferré, Barbara's L'Absinthe, Allain Leprest, the silence of the Charleville cemetery, Oscar Wilde, the sound of the minarets calling, the Sleeper in the Valley in Sappho's underground version…
We will not confine Arthur to any certainty, he who, with a sublime gesture of disidentification, rejected all his writings, describing them, as we know, as rubbish.
It will be a matter of immersion. A metabolic upheaval. Of "emerging from the carnage," as Yannick Haenel writes. Because "Rimbaud, we forget, only spends one season in hell: in other words, he leaves it. To leave hell is to be rewarded."
"of knowledge about the malevolent underside of human life."
To become someone else, or finally ourselves. To know ourselves completely.
I will plunge into the abyss of songs and reveal the pure presence of poems, and vice versa.”
Alain Klingler