Raymond Queneau Exercices Styles Adapted to Asiatic Poetic Style

Telling a short story, working on everyday emotions to turn them into actions, evacuating traumatic markers to help make the right decision and create?

Using the following expressions: "Be red with anger", "be scared to death", "cry with joy", "shake like a leaf", "have a tight throat", "can't believe your eyes 

 

You're going to tell little stories from your experience to clear your brain of traumatic markers in your daily life, and work on your daily emotions to turn them into actions after stepping back from your emotions. When these emotions cool down, you can make the right decision. 

 

An example from my own experience.

 

I was red-faced with anger as soon as my father placed his worthless, lying, debauched and corrupt son on top of us and damaged my knees.

I was shocked when I passed my competitive exam with honors for a job in Rabat at CNOPS as Communications Officer. Now they're bringing in the sick daughter of a commissioner, thanks to her name and her father's profession.

I was distressed when I was followed everywhere I went.

Despite my knowledge and diplomas, people with little education, no experience, no skills and no foreign languages were employed for money or services.  All the while accessing public or online training courses and using our Gmail and phone numbers of the course participants. Digital marketing and sales objective. In addition to our jobs, they take our phone numbers and Gmail to do business at home.  Never give your number to anyone and change your numbers every time.

 

 

I was red-faced with anger when my brother didn't believe me for over 15 years. I told him that I was being followed and that I was being chased wherever I went, even on the train, and that my phone had been stolen twice before his and that of my other brother, my nephew and my niece.

 

I've been scared blue six times. Followed by thieves three times.

 

The first time, I was at college, I crossed the boulevard and a bus driver almost ran me over, fortunately, he stopped near a lock of my hair. In a moment, I felt hot and thought to myself, I'm going to die so young.

 

 The second time in the ancient city in my hometown, I was with my older sister, and the gold necklace around my neck was stolen.

 

 

 

 

 The third time, accompanied by the wives of my newly-married brothers. 25 years ago, I was followed by a criminal who wanted my head, you could see it in his eyes. His mouth was salivating, his eyes were fixed on me, not on my brothers' wives, and he had a long knife hidden under his grey coat.

 

The third time, when my expensive watch was stolen from the bookshop.

 

I couldn't remember how the watch was stolen. I saw myself opening a letter I found inside a book I had just bought. The letter began with an inverted verse from the Koran and a message of love in the middle. I was shaking like a leaf, I remember that emotion or sensation.

 

 Fourthly, four years before the Covid pandemic I had just graduated from Dar Bouazza in Casablanca, a thief attacked me with his knife and stole my phone. He only wanted my phone, not my laptop and not my IPad. When I was five years old, I had a lump in my throat when I first watched a Drama film in the cinema and when I watched Alfred Hitchcock films or religious or historical or epic films.

This is the true picture of Morocco without lies or propaganda. Never give your real social network phone number to anyone, even for a job application.

 

 

 

 

Style exercises adapted from Raymond Queneau

 

 

                Style exercises inspired by Raymond Queneau and adapted to Asian poetic styles are designed firstly to be fun, and secondly to help you learn to write and create. Thirdly, to calm anxiety and individualize by connecting with oneself.  And finally, to develop good practices in sustainable development and energy, or to protect nature and the environment through different Asian poetic forms.  Tell the same short story several times (99 times) differently, respecting the body of the story in prose or poem form, and answering the questions: who, what, when, where, action and moral.

 

 

 

Here's an example of a short story to be told in prose to develop good practices in sustainable development or nature conservation, which can be adapted to Asian poetic forms.

 

 

 

It happened on a day like today. It was a Friday in the autumn season of September, the wind was blowing and the leaves on the trees were blowing and their shivering sounded in my ears like the shivering of my body that morning. I got up very early and prayed the dawn prayer. I left our house to visit the grave of my mother, who had been dead for five months. Ahead of me, I saw a very elegant man walking briskly. He was dressed in a black suit, black tie and carrying a black briefcase. I picked up a piece of paper that had fallen to the ground, read the message it contained and threw it on the floor.

 

 At that moment, the wind was blowing very hard and blew the letter into the air. I then took a cab to my destination. Suddenly the cab stopped and picked up another customer. To my surprise, it was the same man in the black suit and briefcase. Then he pulled out a piece of paper. He read it and threw it out of the window. I was amazed and disgusted at how a man of such class and apparently high social status could do such a malicious deed against nature and the rules of benevolence. I arrived at the cemetery and thought no more of this man.

 

 As I recited the Koran in front of my mother's grave, weeping.  I glanced around and saw a boy with a woman wearing a white headscarf and a white djellaba. Their sad faces were bowed to the ground and they were crying in front of a grave. The boy saw a piece of paper in front of the grave. He read what was on the paper and then threw it to the ground. It was at that moment that I realized I had done the same thing to nature. What people don't realize is their own behavior. What they criticize and exasperate in others is often what we exasperate and criticize ourselves for in others. I didn't want to disturb them in the face of our shared sadness. There was an immediate connection, like looking in a mirror (the self) at the grave of a loved one. When they left, I approached, curious to see what was on the paper. I was petrified. I exclaimed: incredible! I couldn't believe my eyes!  It was the same letter I'd picked up off the floor when I left the house. The letter read: "One day, a beautiful girl was leaving her house early in the autumn to visit her mother's grave. She met an elegant man carrying a briefcase, and they got into the same cab, picking up a letter that had fallen on the ground and throwing it away after reading it.  Then she saw a boy with his sad mother in front of a grave.  The boy picked up a paper that had fallen on the ground and threw it away after reading it. This letter is for anyone who has lost a loved one and remembers the dead. Smile! You're still alive! ''

 

 I returned home with a smile on my face and an air of amazement at the mysteries of fate and life. And that was the beginning of a collection of short stories....

 

 

 

                                    End

 

 

 

Loubna Khriss