J’essaie de respirer par les poumons depuis quelques jours, voir comment assumer le p’tit rôle de commentateur impuissant des réseaux sociaux, de la déraison raciale. Prendre en main sans me pendre, le p’tit rôle de témoin-clé des portes fermées. J’observe la bouche ouverte, en poisson d’aquarium la trouble réalité du monde. George Floyd, j’essaie...de respirer avec ton nom en tête, j’essaie de respirer par les poumons, pour te prolonger, te continuer.
I've tried to breathe from my lungs for a few days now, to see how to assume the little role of the powerless commentator of social media, of racial madness. To take on, without it taking me away, the little role of the key witness to locked doors. I watch with my mouth open, like a fish in a bowl, the troubling reality of the world. George Floyd, I'm trying... to breathe with your name in mind, I'm trying to breathe with my lungs, to prolong your life, to keep you going.
Agrandissement : Illustration 1
PRIÈRE NOIRE
(à la mémoire de George Floyd)
Seigneur pardonne-moi
je suis presqu'athée
j'adresse ma prière noire
à tous ceux qui prient
dans les mosquées
dans les églises
les monastères
les temples vaudous
j'adresse ma prière noire
à toutes celles qui prient
et qui pleurent
des larmes noires
à force de prier au petit jour
une prière debout
qui ne se plie pas
aux règles du jeu
qui ne se soumet pas
au catéchisme de l'horloge
une prière qui cible
les genoux du policier
celui qui a pris
le cou de Floyd
comme point d'appui
une prière debout
un chant gospel
qui vise les genoux
les froids genoux du policier
celui qui a pris
le cou de Floyd
comme point d'appui
Dépêche-toi Seigneur
je suis presqu'athée
Faites que ce dernier
Ne puisse plus marcher
James Noël, Veules-Les-Roses
1/06/2020
BLACK PRAYER
(To the memory of George Floyd)
Lord forgive me
I'm almost an atheist
I address my black prayer
to all those praying
in the mosques
in the churches
in the monasteries
in the Vodou temples
I address my black prayer
to the women who pray
and those who cry
black tears
through the early morning prayer
a standing prayer
that does not bend
to the rules of engagement
that does not submit
to the catechism of the clock
a prayer that targets
the knees of the police officer
the one who took
Floyd's neck
as a fulcrum
a standing prayer
a gospel song
that aims for the knees
the cold knees of the police officer
that took
Floyd's neck
as a fulcrum
Hurry Lord
I'm almost an atheist
Act so that this man
Can no longer walk
James Noël, Veules-Les-Roses
06/1/2020
PRIÈRE NOIRE
(à la mémoire de George Floyd)
Seigneur pardonne-moi
je suis presqu'athée
j'adresse ma prière noire
à tous ceux qui prient
dans les mosquées
dans les églises
les monastères
les temples vaudous
j'adresse ma prière noire
à toutes celles qui prient
et qui pleurent
des larmes noires
à force de prier au petit jour
une prière debout
qui ne se plie pas
aux règles du jeu
qui ne se soumet pas
au catéchisme de l'horloge
une prière qui cible
les genoux du policier
celui qui a pris
le cou de Floyd
comme point d'appui
une prière debout
un chant gospel
qui vise les genoux
les froids genoux du policier
celui qui a pris
le cou de Floyd
comme point d'appui
Dépêche-toi Seigneur
je suis presqu'athée
Faites que ce dernier
Ne puisse plus marcher
James Noël, Veules-Les-Roses
1/06/2020
BLACK PRAYER
(To the memory of George Floyd)
Lord forgive me
I'm almost an atheist
I address my black prayer
to all those praying
in the mosques
in the churches
in the monasteries
in the Vodou temples
I address my black prayer
to the women who pray
and those who cry
black tears
through the early morning prayer
a standing prayer
that does not bend
to the rules of engagement
that does not submit
to the catechism of the clock
a prayer that targets
the knees of the police officer
the one who took
Floyd's neck
as a fulcrum
a standing prayer
a gospel song
that aims for the knees
the cold knees of the police officer
that took
Floyd's neck
as a fulcrum
Hurry Lord
I'm almost an atheist
Act so that this man
Can no longer walk
James Noël, Veules-Les-Roses
06/1/2020
Translated by Nathan H. Dize, Nashville
PREGHIERA NERA
(Alla memoria di George Floyd)
Signore perdonami
Sono quasi ateo
Rivolgo la mia preghiera nera
A tutti gli uomini che pregano
Nelle moschee
Nelle chiese
Nei monasteri
Nei tempi vudù
Rivolgo la mia preghiera nera
A tutte le donne che pregano
E che piangono
Lacrime nere
A forza di pregare all’alba
Una preghiera in piedi
Che non si piega
Alle regole del gioco
Che non si sottomette
Al catechismo dell’orologio
Una preghiera che mira
Al ginocchio del poliziotto
Quello che ha preso
Il collo di Floyd
Come punto d’appoggio
Una preghiera in piedi
Un canto gospel
Che mira alle ginocchia
Alle fredde ginocchia del poliziotto
Quello che ha preso
Il collo di Floyd
Come punto d’appoggio
Sbrigati Signore
Sono quasi ateo
Fai che quest’ultimo
Non possa più camminare
Tradotto da Giuseppe Sofo
Ich versuche seit einigen Tagen über die Lungen zu atmen, um zu sehen, wie sich die kleine Rolle des ohnmächtigen Kommentators der Sozialen Netzwerke angesichts Rassistischer Netzeübernehmenließe. Diese kleine Rolle des Hauptzeugen vor geschlossenen Türen in die Hand zu nehmen, ohne Hand an mich zu legen. Wie ein Fisch im Aquarium sehe ich mir mit weit aufgerissenem Mund die verstörende Wirklichkeit der Welt an. George Floyd, ich versuche… mit deinem Namen im Kopf zu atmen, über die Lungen zu atmen, um dein Leben zu verlängern, um dich am Leben zu erhalten.
Schwarzes Gebet
(zum Gedenken George Floyds)
Herr, vergib mir
ich bin schon halber Atheist
ich richte mein schwarzes Gebet
an all diejenigen die beten
in Moscheen
in Kirchen
in Klöstern
in Voodootempeln
ich richte mein schwarzes Gebet
an all diejenigen, die beten
und in der Frühe
schwarze Tränen weinen
ein aufrechtes Gebet
das sich den Spielregeln
nicht beugt
das sich dem Katechismus der Uhr
nicht unterwirft
ein Gebet das auf die Knie
des Polizisten zielt
der sich den Hals von Floyd
als Unterlage nahm
ein aufrechtes Gebet
ein Gospellied
das auf die Knie
die kalten Knie
des Polizisten zielt
der sich den Hals von Floyd
als Unterlage nahm
Beeil dich, Herr
ich bin schon halber Atheist
Mach‘ dass Letzterer
Nicht länger laufen kann
Übertragen von Rike Bolte
ORACIÓN NEGRA
(en memoria de George Floyd)
Señor, perdóname.
Soy casi ateo.
Dedico mi oración negra
a todos los que rezan
en las mezquitas
en las iglesias
los monasterios
los templos vodú
Dedico mi oración negra
a todas las que rezan
y lloran
lágrimas negras
de tanto rezar de madrugada
una oración de pie
que no se doblega
a las reglas del juego
que no se somete
al catecismo del reloj
una oración que apunta
a las rodillas del policía
el que tomó
el cuello de Floyd
como punto de apoyo
una oración de pie
un gospel
que apunta a las rodillas
a las frías rodillas del policía
el que tomó
el cuello de Floyd
como punto de apoyo
Apúrate, Señor.
Soy casi ateo.
Haz que este último
Ya no pueda caminar.
Traduccion: Yasmina Tippenhauer
https://lithub.com/black-prayer/?fbclid=IwAR31bjASniVJvDNmkYOGvZCqk_90yqAlMt-PPqCo981u62Cezjajb4XA_eU
Ma lettre à Donald Trump, publiée initialement en janvier 2018 lorsqu'il avait qualifié certains pays d'Afrique et Haïti "de pays trou de merde". À l'époque, l'Europe, l'Asie, les autres pays sur d'autres continents n'étaient pas directement visés. Ce n'est plus le cas aujourd'hui. Trump tire à postillons et à balles réels sur tout ce qui bouge. Et même sur des cadavres. En ce jour des funérailles de George Floyd, je reprends la lettre, en français et en anglais.
Dear Donald Trump,
I am writing to you from Kolkata, India, where I have been attending a writers-in-residence program for the past 10 days. I take the liberty to bow down to you — not to send you arrows but to speak to you as one would speak to a troubled friend, or a difficult younger brother, or maybe a baby who hasn’t been weaned yet. Since your election as president, I can't help but see you as this tormented baby who throws tantrums, swings wildly in his cradle, and throws his bottle and toys around.
I could be wrong, but I am preoccupied enough to feel profound compassion for you. It is curious that, in the hustle and bustle of a city so far from my home, I am taking the time to think about your situation while so many different people are already reacting to your blunders and nauseating declarations.
I don’t need to react to this umpteenth whim of yours but it so happens that I come from one of the countries which happen to be the subject of your insult. What would a poet have to say to a poor billionaire ready to aim his revolver on the rainbow that, according to him, suffers from a color problem?
These differences seem to play a lot of mind games with you: the moment you find something is not white, it becomes suspicious. The world’s complexity does not seem to welcome a flexible take on things. When we look at your vision, it compels us to think it is tough and opaque. Impervious to light.
Many people think you do not think at all, and they prefer to keep quiet hoping that the nightmare you have unleashed will pass. The problem is that you do think all right, but your very thoughts wreak havoc on the world. You have succeeded in suffocating the atmosphere, one tweet at a time.
You have this habit of being fussy, of being carried away, and of course, of contradicting yourself. One day, the earth is round, the next day it is as smooth and flat as a golf course. You seem to view the world with one eye closed, for you believe you are aiming for the bull’s eye. And then, you don’t miss a single opportunity to take refuge in these blackouts by claiming you had not said this or done that. You have been playing Russian roulette ever since you came to power, and your new insult is no more an attack on the people than on yourself.
To make things worse, anyone Black, Blue or Arab evidently comes from a “shithole country”. You are what we call in Haiti Mr. President, a Beautiful Wonder, a catastrophe.
Between inaccuracy and outrage, you managed to get yourself elected as the President of the United States of America by talking nonsense, without really believing it, by talking bullshit as they say.
Hearing you say “shithole country” doesn’t really come as a surprise, since you are constantly squelching in your universe of scatology. Shit is your passion, one would say it’s your magic potion even. You feel right at home.
Speaking of your wife, the First Lady, you told an interviewer that “Melania does not fart”. Indeed, what a beautiful poetic retreat. We don’t know if you represent a constipated United States, but one thing is clear: if your predecessor was a bandage to heal America, you are a suppository.
You are no ugly duckling, you are the Donald, a caricature surfing the web. How does a super power come to this?
I am writing these words knowing that you most certainly won’t read them. I am still giving shape to them to erect a bridge and a new solidarity between countries that should not crumble under the simple idea of one man. After all, these countries are on your radar, and their citizens your potential targets. If your people let you be, particularly those who elected you, as emphasizes Raoul Peck, they will be accomplices.
Under these circumstances, a lullaby would not do the trick. This letter will be worth what it’s worth, a little attention from the edge of the world, a small stone against the “Trump tower” of deceit, a fart in the cosmos.
En français:
https://blogs.mediapart.fr/james-noel/blog/200118/lettre-donald-bebe-cyclope-de-l-amerique
James Noël, né en 1978 (Haïti), est un poète aux visages multiples. Plusieurs fois récompensé, il est l’auteur d’une quinzaine de livres. Ancien pensionnaire de la Villa Médicis, il a reçu le Grand l'Internationaler Literaturpreis 2020 pour son roman, WAS FÜR EIN WUNDER (Litradukt), la traduction allemande de Rike Bolte de BELLE MERVEILLE (Zulma, 2017). Animateur de la revue IntranQu'îllités, il a également dirigé une Anthologie de poésie haïtienne contemporaine réunissant 73 poètes, Éditions Points (Seuil). Son dernier livre « Brexit suivi de la migration des murs » est publié chez Diable Vauvert, France.