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Sarah Marylou Brideau was born in the Acadian Peninsula, in North-Eastern New-Brunswick, in 1983. In 2001, she published her first poems in Éloizes (no. 30).  In 2004, Sarah was invited to join the great numbers of international guest authors at the world reknown Festival International de Poésie de Trois-Rivières. A Spanish translation of one of her poems was subsequently published in Arena, in Mexico. In February of 2005, her second collection of poetry, Rues étrangères, was published at Les Éditions Perce-Neige.

Sarah is currently working on a Masters Degree in French Language and Literature at McGill University under the guidance of Catherine Leclerc. She collaborates to the Montreal blog Midnight Poutine. Joining together her passion for writing, music and photography, most of her articles focus on the local music scene. Her webpage is http://sarahbrideau.com.  A photostream of her work can be found here at Flickr.

Je voudrais te faire un film 1
J’ai tellement plein de belles images
enfouies loin dans ma mémoire
j’aimerais t’en faire un film indiscret
de toutes mes pensées superposées
au-dessus de tous mes souvenirs
des pensées réelles
instantanées
des pensées qu’il faut capter
à l’instant même
sinon elles se perdent
loin, loin, loin
pour se métamorphoser
qu’occasionnellement
et réapparaître
sous la forme d’un souvenir lointain et flou
je voudrais t’en faire un film

from Rues étrangères

Je voudrais te faire un film 2
Je voudrais te faire un film
y mettre mon Acadie
mon Équateur
ma poésie
tous les moments fous
tous les voyages
même les p’tit road trips
y glisser mes émotions
la pensée qui ne se métamorphose
jamais en paroles
ou en écrit
je voudrais te les envoyer
en cartes postales quotidiennes
t’envoyer les senteurs
les bouts de conversations
le monde et les rencontres
comme un immense combo
Mettre un seal sur le moment
pour s’assurer qu’il ne se perde pas
et pour le partager avec toi

from Rues étrangères

More Jazz

Jazz is
the sounds that bounce off
everything at every moment
Jazz is
an inexistent definition
for words are short of breath
in its existence
Jazz is
multiple orgasms
on the street, in a café, on a stage
Jazz is
the delicate gentleness of men
that I didn’t know before
and that allowed me to love them again
Jazz is
the silent “e” in love
Jazz is
the accents
of a foreign language that I love to learn
Jazz is
the breakfast fit for kings
and a lullaby…
…a bedtime story
Jazz is
le coup de foudre
Jazz is
eternally free thoughts
that were caught by instruments
Jazz is
the mockingbird
that comes before the diamond ring
Jazz is
the taboo whispered words
Jazz is
the colours
that are everything but basic
Bastardized métissage
of tongues too tied to speak
Jazz is
the silent narration
that dances in my head
Jazz is
the brilliance of a blue moon
Jazz is
the lack of sleep
that you enjoy when you’re fulfilled
Un rêve envahissant
qui poursuit l’éventualité
Jazz is
effortless meditation
Jazz is
unplanned first dates
with brilliant musicians
Jazz is
surprises that leave you breathless
and makes you rewind
Jazz is
unexhausted words
who forget to speak
Jazz is
developed thoughts
too intelligent to describe
that makes my poems
seem like a begin excuse
for words on a page

Previously unpublished