These two poets represent Haitian voices from the early
part of the 20th century, a period when black intellectuals, influenced by the
voices of the Harlem Renaissance, began to question their relationship with
Europe and affirm their African heritage.
Trahison
Ce coeur obsédant, qui ne
correspond
Pas à mon langage ou à mes
costumes
Et sur lequel mordent, comme
un crampon,
Des sentiments d’emprunt et
des coutumes
D’Europe, sentez-vous cette
souffrance
Et ce désespoir à nul autre
égal
D’apprivoiser, avec des mots
de France,
Ce coeur qui m’est venu du
Sénégal?
—Léon Laleau
Betrayal
This unrelenting heart,
whose rhythm suits
Neither my language nor my
clothing
And into which bite, like
jaws of a trap,
Borrowed sentiments and
European
Customs—Do you feel this
suffering
This despair unlike any
other
Of domesticating, with words
from France,
This heart that came to me
from Senegal?
Léon Laleau (1892-19??) was a Haitian diplomat, intellectual and
poet. An early convert to a more
authentic approach to writing than had been practised Haitian authors who
followed European models, he demonstrates originality both in his affirmation
of “Africanness” and his style. Laleau
was one of the forerunners of the negritude movement led by Aimé Césaire, L-G
Damas, and L-S Senghor.
*
Nouveau sermon nègre (extrait)
Ils ont craché sur Ta Face
noire
Seigneur, notre ami, notre
camarade
Toi qui écartas du visage de
la prostituée
Comme un rideau de roseaux
ses longs cheveux sur la source de ses larmes
Ils ont fait
les riches les pharisiens les propriétaires fonciers les
banquiers
Ils ont fait de l’homme
saignant le dieu sanglant
Oh Judas ricane
Oh Judas ricane:
Christ entre deux voleurs
comme une flamme déchirée au sommet du monde
Allumait la révolte des
esclaves
Mais Christ aujourd’hui est
dans la maison des voleurs
Et ses bras déploient dans
les cathédrales l’ombre étendue du vautour
Et dans les caves des
monastères le prêtre compte les interêts des trente deniers
Et les clochers des églises
crachent la mort sur les multitudes affamées
Nous ne leur pardonnerons
pas, car ils savent ce qu’ils font
Ils ont lynché John qui
organisait le syndicat
Ils l’ont chassé comme un
loup hagard avec des chiens à travers bois
Ils l’ont pendu en riant au
tronc du vieux sycomore
Non, frères, camarades
Nous ne prierons plus
Notre révolte s’élève comme
le cri de l’oiseau de tempête au-dessus du clapotement pourri des marécages
Nous ne chanterons plus les
tristes spirituals désespérés
Un autre chant jaillit de
nos gorges
Nous déployons nos rouges
drapeaux
Tachés du sang de nos justes
Sous ce signe nous
marcherons
Sous ce signe nous marchons
Debout les damnés de la
terre
Debout les forçats de la
faim.
—Jacques Roumain
A New Black Sermon (excerpt)
They have spit on the
blackness of Your Face,
Lord, our friend, our
comrade,
You who parted the locks of
the prostitute's face
Like a curtain of reeds
covering the spring of her tears
They have made
the rich the pharisees the landowners the bankers
They have made of the
bleeding man the bloodthirsty god
Oh, Judas, laugh,
Oh, Judas, laugh,
Christ between two thieves
like a torn flame at the height of the world
Set fire to the slaves'
revolt
But Christ is today in the
house of the thieves
And his arms spread out like
the vast wings of a vulture in the cathedrals
And the priest in the
monastery's winecellar counts the interest on thirty pieces of silver
And the church steeples spit
death onto the famished multitudes
We will not pardon them, for
they know what they do
They have lynched John who
organized the trade union
They hunted him with dogs
like a weary wolf in the woods
Laughing they hung him from
the old sycamore's trunk
No, brothers, comrades,
We will pray no more
Our revolt rises up like the
cry of the storm bird over the lapping waters of the stinking swamps
We will no longer sing our
despairing spirituals
A different song springs
from our mouth
We will spread our red flags
Stained with the blood of
our just
Under this banner we will
march
Under this banner we are
marching
Arise ye wretched of the
earth
Arise ye prisoners of
starvation
Jacques Roumain (1907-1944) was a Haitian intellectual and
author. As a founder of the Haitian
Communist Party, he was imprisoned early in his career for his political
activities, then became active in the government after the end of the American
occupation of Haiti. A student of
anthropology in Paris, he worked at the French Musée de L’homme for a time, and
later promoted Haitian anthropological studies and research. He helped found an important literary
review, La Revue Indigène, which published new writing from Haitian authors who
broke with the tradition of imitating French models. He is best known for his novels, in particular Governor's of the
Dew (1944), which presents a heroic perspective on the sufferings of the
Haitian peasantry. This poem reflects
Roumain’s revolutionary fervor and his sharp sense of social and economic
injustice.