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Ian Charles Lepine's poetry seeks to capture the paradoxes present in each moment. For the past five years, he has explored the sonnet form (in its English and Italian varieties) as well as other rhymed forms, as the ballad. He sees poetry as a psychological autobiography, capable of concentrating the infinite sensations of a life.

Poetry Anthologies

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Contrapuntos del Alma

El corazón late en birritmias de sangre y los sueños desembocan en tresillos entroncados. El cuerpo tiene su ritmo en contrapunto con el alma. Las voces corren hacia el lado opuesto del espectro, como ninfas que huyen de su perdición satírica, pero, congelados en estatuas de mármol,

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Sonnets to the Eternal Feminine

Sonnets to the Eternal Feminine is a collection of art dedicated to a platonic impossibility. Apart from sonnets dedicated to some of the masterworks of painting, music, literature, and sculpture, this anthology features Ian Charles Lepine's terrifying voyage into Topus Uranus, as narrated in ‘The Artist's Archetype: A Short Story of Love and Horror.’

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The Siren of Solitude

An anthology of sonnets to the Eternal Feminine, poems on Greek and Roman mythology, and narrative works, including The Siren of Solitude, by the award-winning poet Ian Charles Lepine. I dreamt a woman of the sea She came from fathoms of my mind. She drew on the sand what life could be: The waves caressed what they could find.

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The Art of Solitude

Written at the height of the covid pandemic, The Art of Solitude explores the depths of a poet's sensibility and the relationship between desire and completion. This book presents one hundred sonnets in English and French that confirm Rilke's quote: 'Works of art are of an infinite solitude.' The Art of Solitude is calm and silent, But like a river running through the gloom, Though shrouded by the dark is ever violent, And yet it feeds the flowers bringing bloom. The Art of Solitude, unlike all others, Produces men instead of works of art; Through poetry the soul one day discovers The solemn ruins of its ancient heart. The Art of Solitude cannot be shared: There are no accolades, no fame, no prizes; From the Art of Solitude no man is spared And each must bear the anguish that arises. But most of all, this art does never end For silent to our soul we ever tend.

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Vox in Tenebris

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Au Bord du Temps

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Songs of Isa


Songs of Apollo,
Songs of Dionysus

Vox in Tenebris collects one hundred and one sonnets written between 2018 and 2020 on the themes of art, love, poetry, and beauty . The poems are originally written in four languages: English, French, Spanish, and Italian. Je hurle dans l’abîme ; ma voix est noire, Mais le silence serait encore plus sombre. Il faut écrire l’horreur dans la mémoire, Il faut décrire la haine, la peur et l’ombre Pour créer de la beauté où il n’y a rien. N’importe qui pourrait chanter les louanges Du jour, soleil et de l’amour Cyprien ; Mais comme le ciel, l’enfer a bien ses anges. J’écris leur évangile avec ma peine, Comme ce sonnet qui est né de l’abandon ; Et si un jour d’ennui je vois la Seine, L’impulse de vie devient ma punition. Alors comme des bougies qui éclairent la nuit, Tous mes poèmes de mort décrivent la vie.

Dans l’idée du Temps se cache toute constance et toute mutabilité. Ces poèmes, écrits tout au long de trois années et dans plusieurs pays, montrent une image du kaléidoscope humain que c’est une sensibilité poétique. On est toujours animé par une essence qui change avec les circonstances dont elle est entourée. En effet, la voix poétique qui a conçu le premier sonnet dans cette collection est tout à fait différente de celle qui en a écrit le dernier. Parfois elle ne la reconnaît pas, et en effet chaque vers composé après le premier poème a constitué une palle de terre sur le tombeau de l’artiste qui l’a conçu.

There is a godlike beauty to your smile That like the sun when rising from the East To shower in gold a Grecian peristyle, Presents to mind and eye a lavish feast. I try to look away my love to shun, As from the heavens one averts one’s gaze When most refulgent shines the glorious sun Or e’en at dusk, adorned with purple rays. But though I lower my eyes, again I look, A maiden beckoned by a poison flower Or a despairing fish that seeing a hook Knows he shall bite and can’t resist its power. Towards the sun bold Icarus did fly And I believe at heart he knew he’d die.

We can but share some instants knowing well Eternity is waiting by the door. The hounds of Time are howling, foul and fell, At times mortality will ask wherefore To try, to dream, to build upon this sand The very ruins it will haunt a ghost. There’s nothing to possess upon this land, Not wealth, nor love, that we should value most. And yet, the tower crumbling, let us kiss; There’s nothing lasts, this sadness even so. So, take my hand. Let’s try our short-lived bliss. A lifetime in a moment oft can grow. The rose’s petals crack upon the strain, Come spring at last you’ll see they’ll live again.

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Per Aspera

A collection of multilingual poems documenting the artist's path through depression and bereavement to recovery and his rediscovery of beauty and the arts

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The Life Poetic

I feel the pangs of something being born; The present panting, hurt beyond repair Must die in labour bringing forth the morn And find in death its cure, not its despair. The Life Poetic is half journal intime, half philosophical reflection on life experience and being with others. Written in the cultural exile that is life away from one’s country, this book chronicles the spiritual suffering necessary for the birth of a new personality.

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