sweet death
let it be my death in a garden behind my house
between animal and flower
and the murmur of water
let it be in a luminous afternoon
with bamboos swaying in the breeze
let it be with the sun’s last ray
the wind’s last breath be mine as well
your name the last upon my mouth
heralded by birdsong
death be like a butterfly whose wings i fly on
on a day that tastes of everlasting summer
ripe sugary papaya
acid green guava setting my teeth on edge
oleanders blooming powdery pink
relinquish the spice of their fragrance
in the rain
o my heart’s joy
let it be as i hold your hand
walking through the fragile foliage
the slender trees
whispering the sweet memory of your name
let it be that i surrender willingly to the wind and the light and the sun
that i disappear in the splendor of the sky
michèle voltaire marcelin
march 1, 2010
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rift
underneath the beauty was a rift
in the heart of the land was a rift
and the rift in the land reached the rift in our heart
and we lost our people and the land…
michele voltaire marcelin
haiti earthquake-tuesday january 12th,2010 -5pm
Lost and Found
" Lost and Found " is the book of love. A CD of 25 poems chosen among the 74 in the collection is included with the text . There is an intimist tone to these poems and one can feel the poet giving herself entire to her devotion toward love. Contrary to the tone of her other book "Amours et Bagatelles", it would seem she (the poet) has found the serenity which until then had eluded her, as witnessed by this poem justly titled "Paradise":
we laid in bed
you beside me
in the heart of darkness
laughing freely
and you held me
naked under my dress
like a leaf hidden safely in another
so easily the world regained its tenderness
(Hugues St.Fort -Literary critic for the Haitian Times and Le Nouvelliste)
Baudelaire tempted his lover with "Invitation to the Voyage" :
"My child, my sister
think of the sweetness
of going there to live together!
To love at leisure, to love and to die
in a country that is the image of you!"
To entice her lover, Michele Voltaire Marcelin recites the poem "Dreamscape" from her book "Lost and Found":
"what magic names of places
shall i whisper in the dark
while you hold me
so we travel at least through the night
what sweet syllables of cities
ancient or new
what bird-laden trees
in what gardens hidden behind ornate gates
shall i offer you
so that at last i see the world with you
walk with me
through streets i have loved
in buenos aires, aix, lisbon, jacmel
keep your steps aligned with mine
walk with me…"
Michele Voltaire Marcelin’s "Lost and Found", a newly published book of poems (Editions Cidihca, Montreal 2009)
clair de lune
my love
i will give you
all i have saved for you
joyful gifts
groves clustered with flowers
filled with bird cries
mountains hidden behind other mountains
and seas older than the earth itself
my love, take the hand of this woman
who knows not her left from her right
yet knows unerringly
the way to your heart
take the warmth of her naked body
in the sweet calm of the night
her dreams flowing parallel
river flowing into your river
your river flowing into her mouth
her mouth eager for your flesh
and your flesh within her flesh
it is 4 in the morning
it has begun to rain very softly
in the sadness of the streets
rain drops as music
et puis voici mon coeur wrote verlaine
it beats only for you
my love here we are
in the metallic clair de lune
and here is this love
open your heart wide
the season of rapture is at hand
michele voltaire marcelin
(photo: krisyan voltaire)
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love is in season
in defiance
splashed by moonlight
wandering in search of her soul
she shone
facing the truth of night
the darkness of dreams
she shone
against the green brocade of leaves
the entangled nesting ground
she shone
amidst the sounds of air and wings
the prophetic flight of birds
singing their farewell note by note
she shone
despite a wrenching of body from body
and heart from heart
she shone
seeking salvation under the open soaked sky
sanctifying the place where he carved a promise in her heart
she shone
while the hand of absence clutched her throat
and in defiance of lost causes
she shone
michele voltaire marcelin
(artwork: mexican photographer mayra moreno)
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pavane for a princesse
Everyone called her Princesse because she was one: a true Haitian Princess. A courageous beauty with a sharp mind and an easy laugh who loved to dance and write poetry. She had been preparing to read her last poem “Acquaintance” at a poetry reading this coming Thursday when she was brutally murdered. She was only seventeen.
Remember her name: Samantha Princesse Revelus. Repeat it to others. Share her poem. Make her live forever.
ACQUAINTANCE
If by any chance you see that lady
With the round face,
Wide nose,
Deep brown eyes
Hair like wires curled up in a bun.
Pay close attention to her.
Notice her allure as she goes.
Simply, catch her attention before she knows.
Before any men cajole her with unreal vows.
If by any means you would want to identify her,
Speak of her not just as a woman of color,
But as a Creole marabou you won’t find around any corner.
If you would want to own her,
Show her your world in one dimension,
Teach her your method,
Arise from all lies and weak frauds.
Keep her high above,
Embrace with all your attention,
Not to mention your love and affection.
If not yet done,
Then love is worthless
And time will leave you heartless.
For she brings with her nothing but desires,
A home to welcome love and peace,
Which the heart requires.
Ignorant souls travel through her life,
With mud under their feet,
And thorns inducing cries of defeat.
But not one of them,
Not a single one of the filthy souls thought of
Reviving her.
So what lousy wind brought you here?
What values of you offer?
She’s a woman,
A queen,
A goddess,
Don’t treat her like any other.
Police shaken by Milton massacre
/news/regional/view.bg?articleid=1162092
Samantha Revelus had beauty & brains
/news/regional/view.bg?articleid=1162090
Brother kills two sisters in Milton
/news/regional/view.bg?articleid=1162062
springtime
photo: juan carlos alom
this is the way that love began
spring opened with your name
with pollen-powdered flowers
and leaves tangled green
in the after-scent of rain
fish flowed as freely
as kisses
all bloomed
luminous and startling
a miracle
of the world so beautiful
it’s spring again
again i count the days
the months
endlessly passing through and through
he loves me
he loves me not
interrogation of petals
this new season came
its resolutions unfulfilled
its ill-loved days
always too long
night falling where it will
slow tumble
killing time with wine
borrowed mirrors
promises blowing backward
words written on the wind
it’s spring again
and you slide through and through
am i a season closer to you?
michele voltaire marcelin
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shattered glass
shattered glass by shadows within
words
casually falling
from your mouth
glass
clumsily slipping
from your hands
shards of words
splinters of glass
because you do not witness blood
because the tears dry quickly
you do not think i suffer
michele voltaire marcelin
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i am woman
joy-photo mvm
( in honor of my mother who could not say these words but lives them through me)
who owns me
who owns my laughter
i say no one
a joyousness of bells
resounds deep inside me
innumerable seas rise in me
wondrous and fierce
my lavishness of spirit
inexhaustible
i rejoice in the world
michele voltaire marcelin
dream deferred
artwork - milliande
you bring me your love
like a present
and say wait to open it
wait with lowered voice
till the right day
the day of mercy
some hallelujah morning
you bring me your love
neatly wrapped with a bow
with a calendar attached
when you should
unleash a thousand wild stars
loosen the twittering tongues of birds
unfurl the seamless blue silk of the sky
unlock the water’s secret
the transparence of light
you bring me your love
as if i could wait
a lifetime
michele voltaire marcelin
offerings
rose petals- photograph michelle rhea
let me my love
lie between your legs
fragrant with rose apples and june plums
with the nakedness of keneps
to be plucked and sucked
from the hollow of your thighs
let me tongue-glide you
down into salty sweet
licking gently
all night
feeling the pulse
beat through fingertips
praying with rosary beads
take you unrestrained
lifting twisting falling
too wild to be contained
let me my love
bring you gentle open palms
and rains
moths burning their wings in desire
bring you a faded map
of lost childhood
sudden wild birds
across an evening sky
brilliant fishes
invisible stars
let me my love
love you
till darkness come
till daylight come again
till kingdom come
michele voltaire marcelin
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sebastiana
Paul Cava photograph
in love i always lost myself
my heart open to those who passed
blind wanderer in a mirror possessed
like the sky’s reflection of itself
dissolving night after night
in the changing fire of men’s eyes
seeking myself in their light
in their variegated smiles
capturing their desires’ breath
in pretty bottles kept on a shelf
saving arrows as mementoes
testaments to my tale of woes
i’ll count wearily on my fingers
with names half-remembered
those to whom i surrendered
various portions of myself
as loves there were countless
my dear but don’t begrudge me
so rare is happiness
we all should have as much
but past joy and past distress
both seem now so long ago
since my eyes gave up their search
for loves in which i lost myself
while days without you seem endless
in you i find completeness
my soul not self-forgetting
but given wings
circling upward and flying
past the blazing blue of the wind
michele voltaire marcelin
Cynthia von Buhler original artwork
love is blind
does he love you you asked
does he love you like i love you
does he
does he
you are so beautiful and sad
does he wrap himself in your skin
looking for the missing perfume
of wild roses
falling apart in the wind
does he lose himself in the jungle of your hair
say rosaries for you
scatter flowers at your feet
you
so sweet
your music comes from the throat of a bird
it runs through me
like sunlight through the trees
wild merengue nights
fallen panama hats
the ocean was green the day we met
and your laughter dazzling
do you remember
and does he love you
like i love you
will he wake up with your name
like a song on his lips
there is so much blue in you
blue in your heart
up to the vanishing point
and whispers are all around
o love is blind
and is he brave enough to enter
your world
how you love so hard
does he feel a fever like i do
and will he love you
love you like i love you
like i drink from your mouth
and say your name as if
it were every month in the calendar
repeating the same rhythm
always and forever
will he
give you leaves rustling in the night
moons that burn a hole in the sky
i would fly through time to hold you
in my arms
i would fly
would he
know how to calm your wild animal eyes
the breathlessness of your fear
your heart frantically beating
you were in the moonlight
glowing like a saintly image
would he know what this signifies
look out the window
are there walls around your city
he would climb
to come to you
will he
chase after you in the rain
tear you off the ledge
will he hold and keep you
does the world stand still for him
when you appear
like it did for me
will he love you as long as he has breath
will he be there waiting
until the end of time
michele voltaire marcelin
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lovers
chagall
i love my love and he loves me
let happiness come in freely
through wide opened doors
so much of me
waited half a lifetime
for wished-for words
i love my love and he loves me
suddenly the lion in my bed
who stands growling
guarding the gates
laid down to sleep when i said
i love my love and he loves me
michele voltaire marcelin
artwork: Marc Chagall
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the color of wanting
Photo-ECM
what is the color of wanting
my lips will guard the secret
i have survived solitude
life after life
love after love
until i came at last to you
i know the color of wanting
was everything before you
meaningless child’s play
misspent days running away
at the touch of least rain
wrapped in the color of pain
blood pulses under my skin
lust and love crisscross
the hollow of my back
this is the color of wanting
claim this woman as yours
dive breathless into her arms
suck her sweetness dry
as she dissolves
and surrenders to your touch
claim this woman as yours
inscribe your name in her heart
erase the color of wanting
michele voltaire marcelin
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sweet peace
how long
shall we wander
through the ruins
of forbidden cities
and lost kingdoms
facing the impossibility of love
how long
till sweet peace
is restored
michele voltaire marcelin
Artwork: Donna Kaunike
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night poem
what is the cause of things
we part and days go by
it seems we belong to no one
it is late in the city
and i am left alone
to sort out
my pain
what use are words
that cannot bring back
the face i knew and loved
michele voltaire marcelin
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against my will
artwork: katarina vavrova
against my will
there’ll come a day
when the sudden nearness of you
will not be greeted by a song
words circling around my head
behind my eyelids
pushing their way
past my teeth
i will ask what lies
between your body and mine
what memories
i can’t erase with my skin
even as my breath flies inside you
and we don’t know whose scent is whose
lovers should take their bodies
with them when they leave
and not leave them behind
with treacheries of the past
and miseries of daily life forgotten
glossed over by absence
emerging later
with newly discovered souls
and verities
saying
our house
our children
our bed
our life
claiming back their place
i am but a squatter in your heart
with my bare self
inventing our current existence
step by step
so much distance to cover
time lost and found and lost again
our chosen life
ours to hold but for a while
love is not for the faint of heart
breathing in and out
irregular heartbeats
marking the time
a hand on a drum
marking wishes
that can’t be spoken outloud
squandering feelings
trying to remember
what it was like
to live with whom and whose
habitual hands closed your eyes
and the comfort of old clothes
this dreaming does not end
what happened once happens again
against my will
i’d set fire to my name
leaving nothing to salvage
no trace of my passage
in the temporary shelter of your heart
against my will
i’d dance in the wreckage
under the eviction notice
michele voltaire marcelin
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tangled thread
day after day
i sit and sew
pieces of you pieces of me
fasten you close
with my feverish hands
crookedly bonding us together
the needle going in and out
tucking in our frayed edges
stitching white
to mend past lies
colored to embroider shared pleasures
pin-pricked fingers
tear-pricked eyes
obstinately patching hearts
trying not to let the fabric unravel
through the clumsiness of my mind
or lack of hope
pieces of you pieces of me
even tangled
like thread in a sewing box
love is still what i believe in blindly
michele voltaire marcelin
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sweet wine
i would drink
anything
offered from your palm
water would be sweeter
water would turn to wine
wine from your palm
your palm wine
your sweet milky wine
would be mine
i would drink
anything
that flowed from your palm
michele voltaire marcelin
*According to African folk tales, palm wine carried power to the first person to touch and drink it. Supposedly, women would evaporate into thin air because they weren’t capable of withstanding such power. So, for a long time, women were forbidden to drink the wine.
Photograph by D. Perry
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soul victorious
soul victorious-eric fitzpatrick
what seems to tear me alive
my troubled tongue cannot explain
life not being what i intended
and love not forthcoming
grief, a fishbone stuck in my throat
pain blinding me, naked light
shadows on the wall turning bright
seeing another day, the only miracle
so i go on living
it hardly matters where
out of myself, against a wall, beneath the stars
my body overtaken by the noise in my mind
sudden wild birds in the air
i fled with them once
nothing could impede that flight
not the thousands of glances
transmitting implacable judgments
habitual messages
read in the moaning of the trees
the shifting of the stones
in a taptap the wind tapping on my mind
strangers as friends
more tightly pressed than the fingers of the hand
to a dark-in-the-night shantytown
grief eliminates many places
streetwalker among rubble and silence
sleepwalker on the tightrope of chance
until i’m barefeet at the gate
~a glowing of a lamp~
did you say it was my soul?
do i have a soul in the secret depth
where no words need to be spoken?
things must burn to glow:
i have passed through the fire
michele voltaire marcelin
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adieu
for a moment this was real
for a moment i believed it
but happiness long expected
long delayed
no longer seems probable
even if it leaves me inconsolable
shall we put this dream to sleep
but before you turn away
and walk out into the evening
with your body and its dangers
your scar, your crooked smile
and the gesture i’ve grown to love
your hand traveling on the table
take what will not serve again
the dark blue river of my veins
the door that frames your absence
and closes on so many wishes
thread my heart to a red string
a forget-me-not necklace
wrap your perfect kisses in this shawl
take my eyes
since they will discard their use
and see silence after you
but take also my mouth
as it will not do with anyone
what i have done with you
and through the window where
often we glimpsed the moon
as i watch you walk away
may the sky open and swallow you
before my not so astonished gaze
michele voltaire marcelin
Photograph: Susan Burnstine, “Forest Through the Trees”
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i speak of palestine
I speak of Palestine by Robert L. Green,
I speak of your insistence
on believing what you’re told
to be so blind:
you must have learned
what not to know
to be so cold that you can say
“These people do belong
inside this tomb.”
They cannot move
or live
or eat
And, yes,
I speak of Palestine.
You cannot hold
its fate is just
and not be part
of grinding up
their bones and blood
to mix with desert earth
and olive oil
to build your state, your jail;
a wall surrounds
their place, like this:
a torture room
a starving field
a stolen home
a human shield
a bullet for a child
and poison gas on village streets
their food, their food!
Their food is gone
you cleanse
and push
and punish
taking what you want
to have for you alone.
We know it’s rape,
and though the world records
your names and deeds,
the future courts and trials
will not revive
the dead, displaced and missing.
And yes, I speak of Palestine.
“The believers, in their love, mercy, and kindness to one another are like a body: if any part of it is ill, the whole body shares its sleeplessness and fever. “
Prophet Muhammad
Palestine is unusual in the history of nations—it has been under military occupation for 55 years, its people undergoing constant persecution and torture, while the rest of the world has simply stood by and watched. There are four and a half million Palestinians living in Palestine, yet you cannot find it on a map. You may wish to call someone in Palestine – say, in Gaza — but not be able to find an international code in the phone book. You may wish to mail a letter to Palestine, but the post office clerk will tell you that there is no listing for this country. There are five million refugees from Palestine, yet they belong neither to the country they’re in, nor the country they came from, because it isn’t recognized.
The culture of the past hundred years in Palestine has been one of resistance.
A land may be occupied, but people who have lived on that land for thousands of years cannot simply be erased. Resistance will confront the oppressor by day, and haunt him at night.
