ma negritude n'est pas une pierre,
sa surdite ruee contre la clameur du jour
ma negritude n'est pas une taie d'eau morte
sur l'oeil mort de la terre
ma negritude n'est ni une tour ni une cathedrale
elle plonge dans la chair rouge du sol
elle plonge dans la chair argente du ciel
elle troue l'accablement opaque de sa droite patience
-- Aimé Césaire, excerpted from notes on a return to the native land
i've seen this poem translated so many different ways and each conveys a different mood and sometimes vastly different meanings ... so i'm posting one that i think comes close to preserving the meaning and beauty of this short passage, my favorite since i first heard it spoken in high school (who says urban public education is bankrupt?)
My negritude is not a stone,
Its deafness hurled against the clamor of the day
My negritude is not a speck of dead water
on the earth's dead eye
My negritude is neither tower nor cathedral
It plunges into the red flesh of the soil
It plunges into the ardent flesh of the sky
It perforates opaque dejection with its upright patience.
