Lucien Laborde










Presentation

Lucien Laborde
Portrait of Lucien Laborde (50 x 70) A Ponçon 1991

Lucien Laborde was born in Montmartre in 1923. His father was the Norman painter Gaston Laborde. Lucien started working as a painter-decorator but after some time he became a civil servant and worked for the Treasury as a till clerk. It was a stressful environment.When he retired he often told stories of how his superiors harassed him and spoke of the anguish of dealing with large sums of money. I do not know whether poets are appreciated at the Ministry of Finance. I personally like poets and Lucien Laborde was a poet by nature.
He took up writing poems as a teenager and never gave up writing till the end of his life. He first became successful when Charles Trenet interpreted one of his poems on the radio in 1938. Lucien was only 15 at that time.
In 1941 he published his first book of poetry called "Pétales de Rêve" (Editions Debresse). In the fifties he participated in various poetry circles in Paris. Several of his poems were published in literary reviews such as Sources and Gyroscope. Two of his poems were read on the radio by Claude Morand in 1958.
He took part in the work of the group Cadence in 1960 and 1961.
In 1962 he was awarded the Prize of French Poetry for his collection of poems "Partage de la nuit" (Sharing the night).
He first exhibited his paintings in Montrouge in 1964. Until the seventies he remained active in the underground world of poetry. He appeared in the Théâtre Récamier in a poetry reading while other poems were published in different literary magazines.
From 1968 he participated actively in the life of the cultural centres of Ivry sur Seine.
In 1970 his passion for prehistory led him to organize yet another exhibition there.
More poems were published. He continued to develop his multiple talents to the full.
In 1974 he organized an exhibition on the subject "the Origin of Art" in Ivry.
His keen interest in prehistory made him buy a house in Sancheville, Eure et Loir.
One Sunday while picking flints in a field near Rouvray St Florentin he happened to discover a number of prehistoric flint tools. He explored and studied this important site and finally bequeathed his collection to the museum of Chartres in 1999.
He moved to Chartres in 1979 and participated actively in the cultural life of the region. I believe that the most beautiful exhibition of that period was the one organised by Dr Bourdin in Authon du Perche.
Whenever possible Lucien Laborde liked to organize poetry readings, inviting other poets, musicians, poetry readers (among whom was my wife) and his friends.
In 1990 he published "Voyage en Sélénie" (Travel to Selenia).
He died in 1999 after a long illness.

I do not know if this short biography does him justice.
He was the archetypal artist, larger than life. A bit of Jack-of-all- Trades, a man of controlled passions and simple feelings. He painted in the open air like his father and liked to describe himself as an amateur.
A long time after his death, his wife Denise discovered some of the poems he wrote until his last moments, scribbled on bits of paper and on the boxes of his pills. His last gifts.
He was a perfectionist, never satisfied with his work, always going over his poems as well as his paintings time and time again.
Every time he went to his poetry readings he had ample opportunity to sell some of his books. But they regularly stayed in the boot of his car while others signed their works ostentatiously as a sort of cultural event.
Well, this is what happens when one is rather discreet, when one is not lucky, when one does not aim to provoke : one leaves behind two unpublished novels, countless poems and pictures all gathering dust in an attic.
What will remain of his garden so magnificently tended behind a beautiful stone farm house in a few years time ?
Artists are often egoistic, narcissistic - maybe he should have been like that, too. But he was all modesty. Like a humble wild flower, like moss on a stone, like the sky reflected upon water, like a wonderful journey, like the countryside where he liked to fade away.

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