A powerful continuity perpetuates itself – and deepens – in MCDem.'s work, that of a double movement bringing together the plunge into the mystery of being and the expulsion of the "cry/primal poem" in the moors of Howl-Lyre*. This dialectical duality pushes the gaze away and forces us to see and admit a new lucidity.
Murielle Compère-Demarcy gives us on the one hand to test the momentum of reality which – contrary to what all appearances can lead us to see – is never at rest. She deploys it in a movement where “turn turn muddled leaves”, where “the redstart glows/from the warm secret hearth of dawns/to the reddening hearth of dusks”, “where the words/motor and reactive breaths/signal to the wings of desire/fleeting and fugitive”, where “Writing runs in the interstices/of the green ray/In the red madness of the night/your poem spins its lunar web/(…) its words of blood and blue-poetry/in the ocean of the text/a sail/inflated on the fence of vertigo/pushed towards the open sea”… The reader is thus confronted with the dilemma of detaching himself from the poem to resume the lazy everyday life of illusion,
On the other hand, and in the same vein, like the poetesses of transcendence, her writing is brought into contact with what passes through us, thus making the experience come to pass in the soul, and from this, this pen which will "write the tear". In a disorienting mise en abyme, the mirrored poem gives a cry to its own expulsion, in the manner of brilliance, to the limit point of its own beginning. Each authentic poet has a rhythm and a vision which establish their specificity, their irreducible singularity. Opening Dante, Lautréamont or Artaud we plunge into a universe which beats according to a single heart. It is the same for Murielle Compère-Demarcy. Reading her is to offer oneself to a separation - of the gaze, of the heart, of the mind, of the breath. Reading her is to live a total poetic experience, constituted by the plunge into the abysses of being.
But this, this dive, in its dialectical duality, does not engender a fusion, but an embedding² of being and reality – both uniting, but each preserving its own soul. We are here in the purest mystery, even a mysticism where this new dawn unfolds, which constitutes “the insurrection finally of love and dawn/which join the shores”. A lucid unveiling brought to light the movement by which interiority and exteriority nourish each other: “Poem-Cry/primal which expels itself/Unique Cosmos/Poem-World/into the world”.
The writing movement is therefore the highlighting of an enigma, vital at the same time as undoubtedly truly insoluble, that of the very source of the Word nourishing the poem. Poetry illustrates its scope – in all the meanings that this term can evoke – in magnificent verses, such as: "The column of air rises and travels/sucked into the breath of the universal cosmos/by the vortex of the stars of Language/Poetry gives its soul/to the slime of speech."
This existential – and cosmic – thrust, similar to the Nietzschean “chaos” that one strives to make “become form,” is constantly a maieutics of the Word that each poet carries – in spite of himself, always without being in any way responsible for what lies potentially in the soul –, a “Storm conceived in the belly of the sun/while between lips and fever/remains the quest for the Word/experiences Living.” This “belly of the sun,” always in action, constantly lets the vast cosmic energy that nourishes the great creators and the great mystics pass through it.