Writing work carried out as part of Atelier 62: putting oneself in the place of an object, here a pen, and telling one’s story with an inkwell.

The first time I saw you, I had just gotten out of the Kraft paper wrapper that had been used to protect me during the trip between the paper mill on Avenue Coty – where I was wisely waiting, tucked away in a locker, for someone to buy me – and Rue Daguerre where Miss Meunier, my new mistress, lived. Mlle Meunier was then a teacher at the girls’ school on rue d’Alesia.

Sitôt arrivée dans son petit appartement, ma maitresse m’a déballée, et la tête encore toute tourneboulée, je t’ai vu, de loin d’abord, puis très vite de tout près, car Mlle Meunier d’un coup de pouce t’a ôté le chapeau, alors que de l’autre… Ce fut très rapide, mais je suis tout de suite tombée amoureuse de ce liquide d’un noir profond et mystérieux qui te remplissait. J’y ai vu le signe d’une personnalité sérieuse, profonde et stable. Je crois que, sans le savoir, je t’attendais depuis longtemps, moi qui ai dans les gènes de virevolter sans cesse et de danser dès que je suis au contact du papier, avec de grands sauts plus ou moins rapides et fréquents dans la bouche de ma maitresse ainsi que d’autres, plus réguliers, mais toujours aussi agréables, vers toi mon bel encrier au col si accueillant et à l’encre noire comme l’immensité de l’amour qui nous lie.

The day of our first meeting was undoubtedly the strongest and most beautiful day of our lives. My teacher had fallen behind on her students’ report cards. To tell the truth, she never liked to write them and always did them at the last minute. That week, she had delayed the deadline so much that her old pen, which had been so badly beaten at the time, had broken on a zero score. Catastrophe! My Mistress ran to find a stationery shop still open, when it was already evening, and then came back, running again, but relieved, with me in her bag. She then sat down at her table, and it was a torrid evening between us. From paper to you and from you to paper, with almost no steps between the teeth of my Mistress. We saw each other at least a thousand times that first night. I was able to drink so many times at your source that I finally abandoned you, almost dry, in the middle of the night, while I could finally, exhausted but happy, find my feather rest for a short night.

There were other moments like this one afterwards, but none were ever so long and intense. There were harder moments too. I remember one of them. It was the first year, everything was going well between us, summer had started and suddenly nothing. Me, on my feather rest, unable to move, and you, with your hat stubbornly screwed on your head, but still drying out little by little. It lasted about two months. Two months of sunny days and a few magnificent storms, without any encounters. I thought I would never see you again. I thought I was going mad with despair and I even resented you, because to escape madness, you needed a culprit. Then the weather cooled off a bit, September came and, to my great relief, our meetings resumed. As time went by, I got used to the interruptions of a week here, a fortnight there and the always trying summer.

Time has passed, and now we both live in our memories. We are not far from each other, on the same shelf, but our beautiful encounters are over. It’s been since that Parker guy came along. My Mistress then totally abandoned me… so all that remains is the memory of those long years when we met, kissed and fed each other. Now, old and worn out, I have to admit that I couldn’t keep up with them anymore. The year 1968 was a particularly difficult year, as I sometimes stumbled over the paper or even stained it with small, but unintentional leaks. No doubt, my step became too imprecise, arthrosis no doubt… finally this forced rest suits me, even if I miss our fiery encounters.

Par Jean-Yves

Translated with http://www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)