La poésie de Bianca Casady est une clé pour pénétrer dans une nature pleine de beauté noire, cousue de scènes solennellement décadentes aussi sacrées qu’obscènes. Au bord du Ciel nous rapproche de personnages parfois muets et immobiles, perpétuellement suspendus entre la vie et la mort, le ciel et la terre. ÉDITION BILINGUE
A mix of scarecrows, butterflies, dust, milk, honey, being dew-drunk, beach combing. Hidden behind these raw materials lie contemplations on loss, mortality, life and what we are made of. “A castle of bones and milk”, a phrase I think I might have read (or maybe not). For those who speak French and English we can’t decide what page to read, left or right. I think I’ll re-read everything in French and see how it changes my impression. I liked the errors done on purpose. When I read it it feels like there are some homages to Jean Genet, Sylvia Plath and maybe Rimbaud but I’m not sure the author would admit it. Bianca has constructed this realm in her music, except her sisters sugar pop-classical lightened the weight a bit in their collaboration, while pure Bianca poetry goes into a dust and graveyard-fest without that many lighter points (there is some hope in here, though). It redefines beauty as something dusty blue of death and rosey. I think I’ll read it some more times to see if it integrates into my life as some ritual or talisman, or if it on the other hand will be a distant memory from my reading history. It still feels like a writers first book, but it’s very good.