Every work of art is an uncommitted crime

-Theodor Adorno-

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Τετάρτη, Ιανουαρίου 20, 2010

Michel Sanon -ένα συγκλονιστικό ποίημα για την Αϊτή και την Αϊτινή επανάσταση

Haiti the rebel

Who is to tell me when
To celebrate my history?
Who is to tell me
When to dress my wounds
And to reminisce
My trials, my sorrow
When to shed tears
Over my brave children
And to glorify their names?
They suffered and died
Every bloody month
Of the bloody year.
I was born
Of abject inhumanity
With the noble destiny
Of carrying the sword
Of precious humanity
In a New World
Cursed by the West Storm
And raped by the powers
Of greed, wickedness, and death.
I am the mother of martyrs
Of survivors and overcomers.
Alone, I faced the wrath
Of this world's powers
In March of 1802.
Their mighty venom
Could not cripple me.
I stepped on the snakeís head
In May of 1803
And created for ever
The symbol of my pride.
How many now really know
My history?
How many care?
Alone, with my hurting hands
I broke the first link
Of the mighty chain
Of human curse
Called slavery.
Alone on the traitorous hill
Of the New World
I carried the cross of a race
Into this century
Of furious revolution
And industrialization
Refusing to get crucified.
I've been chained
I've been robbed
I've been raped and stabbed
And I have fought back
Fearlessly, continuously.
Alone I have paid and paid.
I have paid the senseless price
I have paid the endless price
For my vital exploits.
Humanity at large
Enjoys the benefits
Gratelessly, pompously.
Every bloody month
Of every bloody year
I have fought constantly
With a burning spear
Stuck in my chest.
Sometimes it weakens me
But I always rise
High above the pain
And the wickedness
Of powerful forces
From near and far
To claim my dignity.
I have friends
Who suck up my blood
When tired I fall asleep.
They set my house ablaze
To scare my children away
From my wounded heart.
Though today I choose to stand
And stand in pride and love
With my dear family
To celebrate in harmony
Our common history
In the month of February
I was alone when in Vertières
I rose to face the Devil
When hell broke loose
Unleashing its fire storm
With waves of flame rushing
To engulf me whole...
Alone in the vast universe
I froze hell over
And walked on its ashes
To create my own history.
Nobody stood by my side.
I alone remember.
It was the eighteenth day
Of a month called

Michel Sanon

Σημείωση: 18 Νοεμβρίου του 1803, η τελευταία μεγάλη μάχη προς την ανεξαρτησία των Αϊτινών που συνέτριψαν τους Γάλλους εισβολείς)
Σημείωση δεύτερη: περισσότερα ποιήματα θα βρείτε εδώ. Αυτά τα ποιήματα με έχουν σοκάρει, πραγματικά.

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