Some time ago, I came across a glass pen, elegantly twisted and fluted as of old. From then on, I lived the thrill of writing with this crystal quill. It seemed that the inspiration and the years of my youth had returned.
But one day, it fell by mischance to the ground. I don’t know who it was passed by and crushed it underfoot.
In a break with the traditional motifs and registers of Provençal writing, his novels depict the idlings of leisured dandys on the French Riviera, haunted by the pointlessness of their existence, while his poetry expresses, with a touch of sadness, the erotic fervour of a rediscovered hedonism.
An enquiring mind and a penchant for research drew him to the study of Occitan literature, from the troubadours to twentieth-century writers.
His extensive familiarity with the literary canon made of him a discreet craftsman, forging, from the Occitan language, literary works of extraordinary precision.