Give back my black dolls
that they can dispel
the image of wan whores
selling love and promenading
on the boulevard of my ennui
Give back my black dolls
that they can dispel
the constant image
the unreal image
of heaps of spanked puppets
whose miserable mercy
the wind brings to the nose
Give me the illusion that I’ll no longer need to comfort
the need splayed out
before the snoring mercy
under the world’s unthinking disregard.
Give back my black dolls
so I can play with them
the naïve games that come naturally
lodged in the shadow of my laws
my heart recovered
my daring
I become myself again
newly myself
from what I was Yesterday
yesterday
quite simply
yesterday
when the time of uprooting came
Will they never know this resentment in my heart
the eye of distrust opened too late
they made off with the space that was mine
the clothes
the days
the life
the song
the rhythm
the work
the way
the water
the shacks
the grey smoked earth
the wisdom
the words
the palaver
the elders
the beat
the hands
the tempo
the hands
the foot-stomping
the sun
Give back my black dolls
my black dolls
black dolls
black
black
for Robert Romain
Léon Damas (1912 - 1978) French Guiana
Translated by William Seaton
Source: Poetry on the Loose (Willam Seaton's blog)
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