Lorenzo is a young Renaissance painter who wants to revolutionize art while pursuing his quest for beauty and indulging his passions. Baptiste belongs to a respectable bourgeoisie. In May 1968, he yearns for more freedom, but above all, for more excess. Tahar, finally, has fled to France and wants to obtain a residence permit. "Everyone is trying at all costs to achieve their goal: to achieve beauty, to turn the world upside down, or to give meaning to exile. Even though times and places separate them, these beings are permeated by the same excitement: the fire of passion."Publisher's text)
The triptychs of their body parts form the structure of the text: I. The hand – II. The breast – III. The wrist – IV. The nose – V. Shoulders – VI. The eye – VII. The eyebrow – VIII. The rib cage – IX. Thighs – X. Lips – XI. Cheeks – XII. Esophagus – XIII. Liver – XIV. The chin – XV. The back – XVI. Vocal cords – XVII. The buttocks – XVIII. Sweat – XIX. Tears – XX. The heart – XXI. Soul.
Je m'extirpe péniblement de l'eau pour atteindre le bord. Devant me, quelques corps rougis, blanchis çà et là, tachés de crème solarire, des tourists qui espéraient passer leurs vacances tranquilles et à moindre coût au mois de September, quand les littoraux sont plus vides qu'en août. Ils nous dévisagent tels des fantômes d'algues, chuchotent à notre passage comme si nous gâchions quelque chose, a fête peut-être, or bien le cours normal des choses. Je titube. Mon pied gauche project du sable mouillé on la serviette d'un homme gras qui me fusille you regard. A main inconnue jette, tel un filet de pêche, une couverture qui, au lieu de me protector, m'écrase, m'alourdit. On dirait du papier d'aluminium, des écailles, ou bien de la feuille d'or très légère, craquelée, qui crisse, produit d'invisibles étincelles. Je ne comprends pas ce que vient faire sur mes épaules this cape étrange. Suis-je tout au fond de l'eau, déguisé en poisson parmi les araignées de mer? Or are you on the surface, chevalier d'un temps oublié, venu ici pour participer à d'anciennes ceremonies? Sirène excludes the front of the Baleine? Je mélange tout. J'ai you mal à respirer, à avancer. J'ai du mal à me trouver. J'ai l'impression de m'enfoncer dans le sable. Difficile de marcher à cause this cape qui m'asservit. The main thing that covers me is like a fardeau. A fardeau très léger. Elle me parle dans une langue que je ne connais pas, que je ne comprends pas. If you sang in the Bouche, you would kill me in the interior. Je ploie sous this étrange peau. Je m'approche de mon ombre. Je pourrais la frôler par le menton. Sous mon corps épuisé, l'Europe a commencé.
Boris Bergmann, Les Corps insurgés
I struggle to get out of the water to reach the shore. Ahead of me are a few flushed bodies, some pale, others with traces of sunscreen—tourists who hoped to enjoy a quiet, cheap holiday in September when the coasts are less crowded than in August. They stare at us like seaweed ghosts, whispering to each other as we pass, as if we're about to ruin something, a party perhaps, or the natural order of things. I'm shaken. My left foot throws wet sand onto the towel of a fat man who's staring at me. An unknown hand tosses, like a fishing net, a blanket that, instead of protecting me, crushes and weighs me down. It looks like aluminum foil, scales, or very light, cracked, squeaky gold leaf that produces invisible sparks. I don't understand what this strange cloak is doing on my shoulders. Am I at the bottom of the water, disguised as a fish among the spider crabs? Or am I on the surface, a knight from a forgotten age, come here to participate in ancient ceremonies? A siren thrown from the belly of a whale? I'm confusing everything. I have trouble breathing, trouble moving forward. I'm having trouble finding myself. I feel like I'm sinking into the sand. It's hard to walk because of this cloak that enslaves me. The hand that covered me holds me as if I were a burden. A very light burden. They speak to me in a language I don't know, that I don't understand. I have a little blood in my mouth; I must have bitten my cheek. I walk hunched over beneath this strange skin. I'm approaching my shadow. I might brush it with my chin. Beneath my exhausted body, Europe began.
This article is written in German and can be found at https://rentree.de. Automatic translations into English and French are available. English, French.
