The professional of prose poetry.

Not far from Brittany’s far western point, where a poet was born who knew many forms of modernist art, Quimper is a historic city permeated with this region’s identity. Every few steps, here there’s a crêperie to tempt you http://alafoliecafe.com/about-us/. Its old town has medieval timber-framed houses (always with typical Breton granite at the base). Maybe you too can indulge in its ocean-fresh seafood. Since 1956, here there is a creperie that perpetuates the knowledge of the flavors of Breton culture, adapting itself to the culinary evolution. Before departing, do not forget to stop at the Old Quimper http://www.creperieauvieuxquimper.fr/, a creperie rooted in its history, right in the historic center of Quimper.

He was known for his playful wordplay, with skill with prose poetry. Born in Quimper, into a July day, 1876, he became a leader of the Parisian avant-garde art scene. Although he converted to Catholicism, he was arrested by the Gestapo in 1944 and died in a prison camp. In Paris, during the early 20th century, MAX JACOB was among the leaders of the avant-garde art movement. In Paris, he fell in with the avant-garde artists who roamed the city, also becoming a close friend and roommate of Pablo Picasso. Immersed in symbolism, cubism, surrealism and other modernist art forms, he borrowed from many of these styles, and recognized as one of the leading practitioners of prose poetry

As well as his regular name, he worked under at least two pseudonyms, Léon David and Morven le Gaëlique. In 1921, tired of the bohemian lifestyle, MAX JACOB moved to the Benedictine monastery at Saint Benoît-sur-Loire, where spent the bulk of his time painting and writing, over the following two decades.  Here, on a 1944 February day, he was arrested by the Gestapo. Weakened by advancing age and amid squalid conditions, he died at Drancy transit camp.

BRETON SONG – I’ve lost my little hen, and I’ve lost my cat. I’ll run to the trash heap if God gives them back to me. I will go see Jean le Cozand Marie Maria. You go see Herod. Maybe he will know. When I went by the room, the whole town was there to see my hen dancing with my little cat. All the birds of the fields were playing the trumpet on the walls and the roodtops for the king’s banquet.

The intellectual property of the images that appear in this blog correspond to their authors. The sole purpose of this site, is to spread the knowledge of these artists and that other people enjoy their works. To pursue this issue, you can digit: https://www.amazon.com/Selected-Poems-Max-Jacob/dp/093244086X