Maud Bougerol and Léon Pradeau are the editors of Transat’, a magazine of experimental poetry that straddles the Atlantic Ocean, with footholds in Chicago, Marseille, and Paris among other cities. Transat’ is unique among poetry magazines for its focus on the French-English exchange among transatlantic poets, its ethos of community building, and the specificity of its physical format. I sat down with Maud Bougerol and Léon Pradeau via Zoom to discuss the origins of the magazine, their respective roles in shaping each issue, and what it might mean to take poetry seriously while also being down to lounge.
What are your backgrounds? How did you meet?
Léon Pradeau: I moved to the U.S. six years ago to start a PhD in French at the University of Chicago. Over time, I understood that I didn’t want this move to be a permanent severance from my life before and from the French writers I had met and worked with before moving away. I had the idea of starting Transat’ during my second year in Chicago. I wanted to have a project that would keep both sides assembled. I finally started working on it in the fall of 2023. The first reading I ever hosted was for the launch of our first issue in May of 2024. Maud showed up: that was the first time we met!
Maud Bougerol: I don’t come from poetry at all. I’ve been doing research in ultra-contemporary North-American fiction for a while, but I’ve only read poetry for my own pleasure. When I met Léon, I had developed a taste for mid- and late-20th century US poetry, and I was also reading a lot of new stuff online. A few days after I got my first associate professor job, in June 2024, I saw on Instagram that one of my favorite young emerging poets and editors, Francesca Kritikos, was reading in Paris with other people whose names I recognized (Maxwell Gontarek, Kai Ihns) for this cool new journal that was doing the things that I really enjoyed about US online mags, while also publishing other interesting, more established voices I really liked, like Ben Lerner’s. I thought, “I need to attend this reading.” And there was Léon, managing it all. I started talking to him before the reading even began and asking him a thousand questions. That’s how we met!
Maud, you have a PhD in experimental American literature.
MB: Yes, I work on the reception of ultra-contemporary fiction, late 20th, early 21st century. More specifically aesthetics of reticence, the texts resisting the reader and the critic.
Which authors did you focus on in your dissertation, and who are you reading now?
MB: I wrote my dissertation exclusively on Brian Evenson, whose very unsettling writing I love. Right now, I’m working on Vi Khi Nao’s hybrid fiction and poetry, specifically A Brief Alphabet of Torture, Fish in Exile, and the chap she published with Sputnik & Fizzle. I have an article coming out with Routledge in a collective work on Ben Lerner called Edges of Genre. I’m also reading Danielle Dutton’s Prairie, Dresses, Art, Other; Adania Shibli’s Minor Detail;and Steve Tomasula’s anthology of conceptual writing.
Léon, what about your academic work?
LP: I’m about to defend my dissertation. I work on a range of poets from France and Québec. Not quite contemporary—by that I mean most of them are very old now. My authors started their career in the ’70s, so I really focus on that moment of avant-garde and experimental literature. Part of the reason I chose this corpus is that as writers, we can get quite heavily influenced by our readings. I like that there’s at least a few decades and thousands of miles between my professional objects and my creative work.
I’d love to do a journal that would be a transatlantic journal, that would have French and English poems, and that would act as a sort of bridge between poetry scenes.
Why did you decide to do the magazine? How did the Transat’ project come together?
LP: The whole story is that I was maybe 20 the first time I attended a Double Change reading at the atelier Michael Woolworth in Paris, a series mostly hosted by three people, Olivier Brossard, Vincent Broqua, and Abigail Lang. I ended up meeting them and reading their books, all of them between scholarship, poetry, and translation. I was really marked by the Double Change readings I got to attend over the years—these were my first encounters with celebrated poets like Ron Padgett, Lisa Robertson, Lyn Hejinian, and Anne Waldman. I thought it was amazing to have a community that brought together people from both sides of the Atlantic. Double Change has always been a role model: since then, the curators have become friends and colleagues and I’ll always be thankful for everything they brought me.
When I started working on Transat’, I had a very low-scale project in mind—probably not in print, maybe a small blog… And then—I don’t remember exactly when the big decision happened—but I decided I wanted to work with a print publisher for this. The reason why I wasn’t thinking of making a journal is because I didn’t know how to make a journal. But what if I teamed up with someone who did? That’s how Camille Boisaubert, who runs Éditions les murmurations, became involved. I had briefly worked for her at an art gallery, we were friendly and I loved her creative approach to bookmaking. So I approached her with that project of: hey, I’d love to do a journal that would be a transatlantic journal, that would have French and English poems, and that would act as a sort of bridge between poetry scenes. And she was thrilled about it, which, at first, I couldn’t even really believe. I was like, how can a serious person be excited about a project of mine!? But that’s where it started.
What does the name Transat’ mean?
LP: Transat’ is an abbreviation of Transatlantic. There’s also something else, and that’s kind of why I chose the name because in French, a transat is a… What’s the best word?
MB: I’m not sure there’s actually a word for that in English.
LP: A deck chair, a lounging chair…
MB: Yeah, it’s kind of a beach chair, but like…
We call it an Adirondack chair.
LP: No, no: a transat is textile! You recline much deeper in it. It’s called transat because these chairs used to be on the decks of the transatlantic boats, some of which were operated, in the first half of the 20th century, by the Compagnie Générale Transatlantique. And then these chairs kept their name beyond the boats. I thought it would be a great name for a magazine that is transatlantic and kind of loungy. The lounging thing pleased me because I wanted Transat’ to be a journal of poetry that took language seriously, but at the same time, didn’t publish poetry that took itself too seriously. Doing some thoughtful curating, but also publishing poetry that’s down to lounge—to have fun to have a conversation, rather than come from the top of the aesthetic heavens or something. So, just lounging in a chair.
Speaking of aesthetics, the cover design of the magazine seems to be the product of careful and deliberate planning process. Can you talk about the magazine as an object, and why it’s important to have a physical magazine?
LP: Camille Boisaubert is a book artist—she has a degree from La Cambre in Brussels. She approaches Transat’ in that perspective, with an artistic approach to the book as material object and to the reader’s experience. Her work on Transat’ makes it quite a different object than simply a medium for distribution. That’s definitely not how Camille thinks about it. So from the start, it was all going to be quite intentional: our visual identity, our subscription model, the choice of monolingual editions, etc. The first big conversation we had was the font. We chose this one called Peignot, which is a historic advertisement font that was very popular in both the U.S. and Europe until the late fourties—so, about the same hayday as the Compagnie Générale Transatlantique! I feel like there’s a lot more Peignot left in the U.S. than in France: I’ve been seeing a bunch of old signs using Peignot on Chicago streets and every time I see one, I’m like, “Hey, here’s our font!”
Léon, you are based in the United States. What about you, Maud?
MB: I’m in Marseilles; I handle our readings there and contribute to the journal’s relationship with bookstores, poets, and institutions. Léon, who is editor-in-chief, is based in Chicago, and Camille is in Paris.
LP: Camille handles everything that’s graphic design, printing, and French distribution from Paris; I’m in charge of assembling the pieces and doing distribution in the U.S. From the start, I also wanted us to have guest editors, one on each side of the Atlantic. The first year, we had Tancrède Rivière in France, and cj nizard in the U.S. After them Maud joined us from Marseilles, and Kai Ihns from Chicago. The idea is that, if we’re really taking this transatlantic thing seriously, we should also to try to represent both sides as well as we can and to have more voices and opinions brought into the mix. Guest editors introduce Transat’ to new voices I might not have thought of seeking out. And that’s been great.
I wanted Transat’ to be a journal of poetry that took language seriously, but at the same time, didn’t publish poetry that took itself too seriously.
What is the commonality among the poets published at Transat’? What brings them all together?
MB: People often ask me what we’re looking for. My answer is always, “Read the magazine, and you’ll figure it out!” I think that the people we publish all attemps to go beyond their own limitations, whatever they may be. They attempt things, without trying to be somebody they’re not, or trying to emulate a certain sound, a certain kind of poetry. They’re not trying to adhere to certain aesthetics. They’re taking poetry seriously, and they’re taking form seriously—not in the sense that they’re using a specific meter or whatever. It’s just that they’re being serious about producing something—I don’t want to say that has meaning, because that’s not what it is—that is authentic. I don’t really like this word, but that’s the best one I can find right now. They are authentic in their relationship to language and literature as a whole. I know it sounds very vague, but I think that’s the best I can come up with. But also, the interesting thing about Transat’ is that because we’re different editors—editors and guest editors—and because we have very different tastes and very different experiences with poetry, both in English and in French, every choice is the product of a conversation between different individualities. That’s why it’s very hard to pinpoint anything in terms of aesthetics, at least for me. What do you think, Léon?
LP: The point of Transat’ is that language is not a monad. It’s not something that works on its own, like little conduits of obviousness that we just use to communicate whatever we want writing to do. The uses of language in Transat’ are porous to one another and one another’s culture; mutual exposure reveals something from within your own language that maybe you thought was obvious, given, or universal. That’s what I mean by taking language seriously, and it’s the only thing that’s non-negotiable in what we publish in Transat’. We’re not trying to impose a clear aesthetic canvas. Some journals have strong aesthetic lines, and that does make it more legible for some people who open a page of Chicago Review, for instance, and know that it obviously is a place for them—or obviously isn’t. I don’t think that Transat’ will ever have that: I’m more interested in extending various kinds of invitations to see how a writer’s language might travel into another culture or setting. That’s also why, instead of being a bilingual journal, Transat’ only features each text in one language: its form and reading experience become invitations for writers and readers to expose themselves to the other language and its possibilities.
MB: I also consider the poetry in Transat’ as an invitation to estrangement. Léon and I are both native French speakers, but we consume a lot of poetry and literature in English. We also express ourselves and communicate in English in various contexts in our daily lives, be they professional or personal. So we both have this experience of estrangement, even though we are bilingual and fluent. And that’s also the case for the American editors who read French. This experience of something that is just not perfectly straightforward or easy. I want our readers to, not be challenged, because it’s not a competition or whatever, but to experience something that is creaking a little bit, something that isn’t completely lisse, smooth.
LP: There’s some friction in there. You expose yourself to problems of communication, otherness, and miscomprehension that are very important to me. So, thematically speaking, Transat’ is interested in questions of communication, culture, and estrangement in and out of community. These questions get asked as soon as you start thinking about the transatlantic conversation we’re a part of.
Do you think there is anything that English is able to achieve poetically that French isn’t, and vice versa?
MB: When I started working on Transat’ with Leon, I had very little experience with reading contemporary French poetry. I did study French poetry in school and at university, but it was a long time ago. When we met, I was only reading American poetry—not just poetry in English, exclusively American poetry. Most of the poetry books that I own are American, most from the twentieth century. In France we are taught poetry from a very young age. We learn poems from Victor Hugo and Paul Verlaine from primary school. Our exposure to poetry is very canonical in a way. What I found in late 19th and 20th century American poetry, that I came to very late, is a sense that things could be different, less standardized. But very soon, working on Transat’, and discovering so many French poets that are alive today, be they in their 20s or in their 60s, 70s, I realized that the richness and the intensity and the force that I was finding in American poetry was actually also there all along. That’s my personal experience with poetry. I have to say, I’m still figuring it out. I think I might give you a better answer to this question in thirty years or something!
LP: No, I don’t think there is [anything that English can achieve poetically that French can’t and vice versa]. Because I don’t think that languages are incapable of doing anything. I don’t think that “English” is able to do things that “French” isn’t. I think it’s more about what people make of language—not just writers. Some poetic experiments are happening in the French-speaking world that aren’t happening in the U.S., and the opposite is also true. I don’t feel qualified to say what a language can or can’t do, but I want to see what people are doing with their language on both sides of the Atlantic. And then maybe we can transfer some of those strategies into the other language or make them merge in productive ways.
Maud, you mentioned canon and how it’s a feature of French culture to be reading poetry from your youngest years. In France, you have this deep cultural heritage that’s based around major poetic figures. Might that change your approach to writing poetry? And might that change the product or what you’re able to achieve poetically in French versus in English?
LP: I don’t agree with the premise. I don’t think that the culture influences what you may be able to achieve. Yes, your culture influences the way that you think about the world, but it doesn’t dictate what you can achieve or change. If you can only achieve a reproduction of your cultural canon, that means you’re a terrible writer. But working through it means that in time you’ll be able to do something else, learn from it, do your own thing. Otherwise, why write? If cultural reproduction is all you can achieve, then just stick to reading, you know?
Well, what about, instead of reproduction, reference and allusion?
MB: Those are great, but you can also enjoy poetry without getting all the allusions, all the layers of the palimpsest. When I’m reading Forugh Farrokhzad for example, who’s one of my favorite poets, I’m sure that I’m missing a ton of references and allusions to Iranian literature, to Iranian culture, and beyond. I’m sure that the texture of the original Persian influences her poetry in myriad ways that I can’t hear or feel or understand because I’m reading her in translation. I think it’s probably different for every poet and different for every generation. But what’s interesting to me is not necessarily the canon itself, but the relationship people’s poetry has with the canon. In Marseilles, poets tend to look at the canon right in eyes and sidestep it in interesting ways.
LP: One of the things I learned from Abigail Lang and others who compared transatlantic literary cultures is that the French tradition is much more tied to the idea of les belles lettres, this ideal of the autonomy of literature—poetry of course being the highest art. Much of this ideal is rooted in classist and racist imageries of political life. I think a lot of people in poetry and criticism are working against that. Not to say that canon and culture are irrelevant—but to say that, this is not all there is to it. Our role is to work through and beyond them. Reading Baudelaire is good (he has many young American imitators!), but it doesn’t mean you know what poetry can or should do in the present day.
[W]hat’s interesting to me is not necessarily the canon itself, but the relationship people’s poetry has with the canon.
Here in the United States the culminating test for the French high school students is the advanced placement test. In order to pass this test, you have to reproduce this idea that French culture is unique, and it’s a product of the language, and the language is a product of the culture. So that’s why I was asking you those questions.
LP: Yes, I’ve heard that so many times! And I’ve been asked by American institutions to teach this version of France and French language. Teaching younger people about literature, you always bump up against this problem: the supposed uniqueness of French culture. But that’s what it feels like to live here, in general. Americans love to tokenize the French and the French culture.
MB: The French love to tokenize the Americans as well.
LP: Right. I guess that’s also one of the purposes of Transat’ to be, like, listen. Yes, there are differences, but there are so many ways in which we can cross pollinate.
That tokenization, though, is a large reason why here in suburban New Jersey we have these flourishing high school French programs. There’s no French diaspora here, right? But I think the French consulate has really taken and run with this idea that they can sell a certain idea of Frenchness and hook young people on this notion of Frenchness that’s kind of cliche.
LP: That’s so interesting! This sounds like a little detail about institutional strategies, but it’s actually crucial. This is one of the reasons why I think Transat’ might have some importance—on a very small scale, of course. To break down the constant tokenization and identity-defining. I think that might be an important part of our job as writers and editors.
MB: I think the greatest danger of seeing French culture as something monolithic is to have blind spots. France is far from a homogeneous block, it’s a collection of different cultures, that’s why it’s so rich.
What is the ethos of the magazine?
LP: The community, the relational aspect, is extremely important. One of the things I’m most proud of is the writer-translator duos we’ve introduced to each other, hosted in bilingual readings, and watched as they grew over the years. I think that is the ethos of Transat’. And that might be more important than anything I’ve said about aesthetics. When I see some of these new duos continuing beyond Transat’, it’s like, “Yes! we’ve achieved what we’re here for.”
Are there any upcoming Transat’ events?
MB: We are very lucky in France to have found independent bookstores, and places of poetry that encourage the work that we do, that host events that we organize, and that welcome us, beyond just distributing, by contributing to making the magazine a living thing. That’s the case of After 8 Books in Paris, and Zoème in Marseilles. They are doing tremendous work, and a lot of community work bringing together people interested in both languages, and in experimentations with form. Generally, when we release an issue, we have readings at both of these bookstores. We hope to do that as well for the next issue that’s going to come out in early September.
LP: Right now, we’re making decisions for our fifth issue, and there will be a bunch of events in September for the release! On both sides of the Atlantic, for sure—Marseille, Paris, Chicago, and who knows? Maybe elsewhere.
Are there any details that you feel speak to the heart of what you’re doing that I didn’t address?
MB: Putting out this magazine is very much a collaborative effort. I think my favorite part of doing Transat’ is the editorial meetings that we have for each issue. They can run a little bit long sometimes, but in a good way. Having people on different sides of the Atlantic discussing the poets, the poems that we like, exchanging about them, especially knowing that we have different experiences with poetry, really is the best part of being an editor. Léon, Kai and Nathan write poetry. I don’t, just essays. I only started translating poetry a year ago because Léon encouraged me to do it! Every piece of poetry that ends up in the magazine is something that has been discussed between all of us, with all our different backgrounds. Apart from our solicitations that are our own, of course.
LP: Transat’ is a labor of love across long distances. Camille lives in Paris. She has a family. I live on the other side of the ocean. We’re trying to make the journal exist in as many places as we can. I want to use this opportunity to thank Maud. You only came on as a guest editor a little over a year ago but you’ve already done so much to make the journal travel and shape its communities, in Marseille and elsewhere. I’m really grateful for that. I really hope Transat’ keeps finding pockets of community and new conversations on both continents.
The first four issues of Transat’ are now available from Editions les murmurations.
Maud Bougerol is a translator and associate professor of contemporary American literature at Aix-Marseille Université in France. She specializes on 21st century experimental works and the circulation of avant-garde literature.
Léon Pradeau is a poet and translator. He has published a few books and chapbooks of poetry, including vaisseau instantané / instant shipping (Les murmurations, 2024). His translations from the French include Cécile Mainardi’s Superliquid Water (PRROBLEM, 2026), translated with cj nizard, and Anne Portugal’s My Domestic Robots (The Year, 2026, forthcoming). He is one of the curators of the COMPORTMENT reading series in Chicago.
Cristina Politano is a writer from New Jersey. Her essays and fiction appear in Identity Theory, The Dodge, and La Piccioletta Barca, among other places. Twitter/X and Instagram/BlueSky: @monalisavitti.
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