Clarence St. Hilaire

When Poets Laugh

It was a night of great pleasure of the mind.
To them, the living poets, the world seemed very kind.
Blue skies.turned to white skies.
Lies became truth and truth lies.
You could simply say so what?
Suddenly, just like that,
This simple so what question gets new meaning.
Solamente poets know what is fascinating.
It was a night of great pleasure of the mind.
Toi, Molly, Jason, Cornelius, Marie, Tom, became our delight.
Through poetry reading, we saw the light,
From them shinihg for the human kind.
They took me with them to higher grounds.
Like a tuna fish in a can, I felt contained.
I dreamed of waters of life.
I wonder what poets think of when they think?
How can they describe our life?
When we feel too mundane
These narrators of feelings, dreams destroyed?
I met across the street, a naked man
His name was written all over his body.
Can you dig it? He said to me.
I replied: are you from the poet's land?
1 was happy to see him.
He was a strong human.
I have not seen him since he left with a caravan.
It was a night of great pleasure of the mind.
I heard a voice saying "stop being blind!"
And I thought of you Ernest, a "clean, well lighted place".
I thought of Toi, Molly, Jason, Cornelius and Marie
As the good ones with grace

Whose happiness filled the room.
Their kindness reigned on my heart.
I learned to laugh with them.
When poets laugh, I feel like one of them.
Was it inside my vein?
What was my proper domain?
When poets laugh,
The world seems happier and brighter.
When poets laugh, why should you laugh?
It can also be pain
Or real disdain.
When poets laugh, it is like mother nature,
A real metamorphosis.
When poets laugh, you can see
Beautiful or ugly teeth,
Heavy lips and funny noses in action:
But there is only one thing,
Deep inside that you can never see,
A beautiful thing:
You feel it!

La Révolution

J'ai perdu mon enfant.
Contre la révolution,
A qui porterai-je plainte?

Dans le néant de son sang,
Je revois les détentions.
J'ai perdu mon enfant.

Pour que tes ciimes d'antan
Soient effacés par I'ablution
A qui porterai-je plainte?

Ma douleur, depuis longtemps,
Marche toujours avec ce son:
J'ai perdu mon enfant!

Au nom de tous nos enfants,
Je dis alors en avant!
A qui porterai-je plainte?

Dans cette farce du temps:
Pintade-lavalas révolution,
J' perdu mon enfant.
A qui porterai-je plainte?

Forgive Me

If my heart, at the greatest risk of my life,
While neglecting your good law,
One day, would rise against thee,
Honor conferred, alas upon
The one who envies,
Sigh of a cruel existence,
Forgive me Lord!

If my harsh voice, may be too wicked,
Deep inside my friend,
Degraded and martyrized
By this crushing society,
Would grow a tiny seed of misfortune,
Erase all hope of happiness,
Forgive me Lord!

If this barefooted man,
Half-naked under the sun
Which turns him to disdain,
Would like to offer me his friendship
Which I would mercilessly kill,
Forgive me Lord

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