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French pianist and poet living in Paris, Laure Cambau coaches lyrical singers and takes part in poetic readings improvising at the piano. She was invited to participate in several festivals around the world such as the “Festival de Poésie Internationale de 3 Rivières”, “Encuentro de Poesia del mundo Latino di Morelia”, “Feria del Libro di Mexico”, “Poetic Evenings of Struga” in Macedonia,“Tetovo’s Festival”, “Rencontres Internationales Poétiques de Dakar”, “Festival of Poetry in Novi-Sad” in Serbia as well as in various poetic events in France and abroad.

Laure Cambau published several poetry books among them “Boulevards Lunatiques” (Brocéliande Publisher, 1998), “L’Home dans la baignoire” followed by “Nuages des Temps Ordinaires” (Amandier Publisher, 2001), “Latifa, la petite fille qui pleurait des mots” (musical tale, music R. GAGNEUX, Durand Publisher, 2000), “Et le Pourboire des Anges”, (Amandier Publisher, 2005) and “Le couteau dans l’étreinte” (Phi Publisher, Luxembourg, co-published by “Ecrits des Forges”, Québec, 2007).

For her last book “Lettres au voyou céleste suivi de Blanc sans blanc” (Amandier Publisher, 2010) she was awarded the Poncetton Prize of the “Société des Gens de Lettres” as well as the Simone Landry Award and the Naji Nahman Prize (2015). Her most recent publications are “La fille peinte en bleu” (Ecrits des Forges Publisher, co-publishing Caractères, 2015) and “Ma peau ne protège que vous” (Castor Astral Publisher, 2015).

Laure Cambau is also drawn to working with other artists. This has led her to collaborate with painters coming from various horizons such as J. Vimard, M. Cambau, C. Texedre, P. Helenon, E. Burgos. Lately she published two books with the Balkan painter Omer Kalesi (ed. Globus, Tirana, 2010, 2015).

Laure Cambau’s poetry appears in many literary magazines and renowned poetic anthologies (Seghers, Gallimard…). She is translated and published in several languages and countries. Some of her work has been adapted to music.

In addition to her poetry work Laure Cambau holds a teaching position as vocal accompanist at the Conservatory in Paris (XVII arrondissement) in the class of Leontina Vaduva and regularly gives recitals with singers and instrumentalists in France and abroad. In 2010 she recorded a disk of romantic music with Oboe (Laurent HACQUARD, Hybridmusic).

 * * *
Au confluent des sens et de la langue
tu mets des chaussettes aux arbres
un bonnet au sexe des statues
et des mots sur les papillons de l’intérieur


At the confluence of senses and tongue

you put socks on trees

a hat on the sexes of statues

and words on inner butterflies


————–


Quand nos œufs et nos seins seront carrés
la ponte sera géométrique
et ta main blessée
par mes angles

When our eggs and breasts are square

the brood will be geometric

and your hand injured

by my edges


——————-

Dormir loin de la flamme
oublier chair caillou
prière horizontale,
des bigoudis sur l’auréole
parler aux réverbères
se confier aux poissons rouges
éteindre les arbres
oublier l’homme outil
des larmes dans les entrailles
parfumées à l’absent
disparaître
loin de la lame loin de la bête
et pour jamais
s’unir à l’ange gardien
pour filles en vrac

To sleep far from the flame

to forget flesh stone

horizontal prayer,

curlers in the halo

to speak to streetlights

to confide in goldfish

to snuff out the  trees

to forget man tool

tears in entrails

fragrant with nostalgia

to disappear

far from the blade  far from the animal

and for ever

to be united with the guardian angel

of love-struck girls


  —————




La Rédemption Par L’extase

Ta chambre est une île
sur un fleuve de vin chaud
dernier vestige du cri de rédemption…
J’ai croqué le tatouage de ton épaule
de la sueur des os et des ondes
gobé ta petite mort
des œufs à l’encre rouge
mélangé le tout
dans les viscères de mon cerveau
ton corps ne tient pas dans ma tête
mais que ton arbre cache ma fièvre

Redemption Through Ecstasy

Your room is an island

on a river of mulled wine

last vestige of the cry of redemption…

I crunched the tattoo from your shoulder

sweat from bones and waters

swallowed whole your orgasm

red-ink eggs

mixed them all

in the viscera of my brain

your body will not fit in my head

but may your tree conceal my fever