by Peter Costantini ~ Seattle
When I was in Miami in 2004 to cover the elections, I had dinner in a Haitian restaurant in Miami Beach called Tap-Tap. I picked up a flier there that had a poem printed on it. It was by a Haitian poet, yet it captured the zeitgeist of the days just after the reelection of George W. Bush.
Later I learned that the poet, Félix Morisseau-Leroy (Feliks Moriso-Lewa), was the father of poetry in Kreyol, the lingua franca of all Haitians. (French is taught in the schools and widely spoken, but most poor Haitians don't have many years of education.) As a result of his efforts, the government recognized Kreyol as an official language.
Morisseau-Leroy was exiled by the dictatorship of Papa Doc Duvalier. He spent many years in France and Africa, teaching and promoting the development of national literature and theatre in Ghana and Senegal. Eventually, he settled in the Haitian community of Miami, where he continued to write and teach until his death in 1998.
Rereading my blog from that trip, I noticed that Tap-Tap was doing a benefit drive at the time for the victims of floods caused by Tropical Storm Jeanne. Two thousand four hundred Haitians died, one thousand were missing, and two hundred thousand were made homeless.
Trip to the MoonI'm going to take a trip to the moon I've had it with life down here Everything's already been said I'm on my way to the moon On the moon there's neither bad nor good Neither stupid nor wise No people from cities or from the hills All men are men on the moon There they speak just one language I'm finished with life down here Civilization has spent my fuel Also broken my soul Everywhere I turn to look Life turns in on itself Civilzation has finished this race So I'm going to live on the moon It stopped being civil ages ago I'm taking a trip to the moon They tell me there's no king on the moon No section chief Or country judge They tell me there's no overseer And, no, not even a pope I've got to go to the moon Great, I tell, you, it's got to be great The night is clearer than day No time, no time for sleep at all No time for work or play At night I'll watch the earth's clear glow Clearer than the sun The stars are as close as fireflies on trees And on the moon there is no heat No cold Misery Or mud Everyone there has forgotten war Civilization, too The old have even forgotten disease I'm going to live on the moon In the evening I'll tell stories to the kids And if they ask what the earth is like I'll tell them it always spins Held up by a bogeywomen they call Civilization Who crushes people like ants
- Félix Morisseau-Leroy(Translation by Jeffrey Knapp)
Mèsi Papa Moriso.