The second sea in the Mediterranean is poetry. The waves of words build up to the speed of a tsunami, and they make defensive walls as fragile as the pages of newspapers.
Rodolphe Burger, the former leader of the group Kat Onoma, sings one of the finest of all love songs, the Canticle of Canticles (4th century BC, originally in Hebrew, “your breasts like two fawns, twins of a gazelle”), and the overwhelming nostalgia of the Palestinian Mahmoud Darwich (20th century AD, originally in Arabic, “here, between the debris of things and nothingness, we live in the outskirts of eternity”).
Nothing escapes the handsome Iraka (21st century AD, “you wanted the boss’s suit, but that can be read in your eyes”), an off-beat slammer who follows the blue flow. All by himself, he is one of the ports of Marseille, a cavern open onto my inner self.