Paul Wamo Reads “Blue Rebirth.”
Being Black with My Own Night
Four texts from a series titled “Black Fear” about my relationship with otherness during my stay in France as a black-skinned person, 2014–2019.
I See Him
I see him walking, he stops, he walks again, he doesn’t walk the way he did just before, it looks as though he’s sweating, he’s in a hurry, he passes by us, he sits down for a moment, his face is telling us something, what? what? He’s being watched, from a distance now, people approach, he moves away, we run, perhaps he needs us, perhaps or definitely, someone else arrives and then someone else, and then another one, we follow them, they look ill, or maybe they’re lost, maybe, we follow them, they laugh, they’ve got a strange laugh, are they really laughing? not quite, people don’t laugh like that, “excuse me, did you laugh?” one of them answers us, “yes,” he’s got a strange accent, we move closer, we listen to them, “what country are you from?” I turn around I see us I see myself I reply “from here” I walk, I walk, straight ahead and straight behind I walk and the more I get ahead the more I pull back and the more I see you looking at me
I see you
Black Fear
They have seen my feet
And I have seen their eyes
They didn’t open their mouths
And I could hear their eyes
They almost lifted their heads
And I saw their eyes
(eyes that slipped
Between Dream and Nightmare
Danger and Desire)
Bandages for All
for Rokiah Dialo
Just give me
If you go
Something to believe
To suck on urgently
That looks like our volcanoes used to
That sings our praises
Something that looks like a World
Where Band-aids
Come in dark colors too
Rage Hiding Deep in a Hole
Rage hiding deep in a hole
Shall we become what we promised ourselves we would?
Who are you?
What are you doing here?
Where do you come from?
Laugh so as to see if
YOU are really what YOU are?
The fanfares have fallen away
Along with the night
Street lying on its belly
So clean
So white
So flat
And well-behaved
I am the new tenant
The skin on my ass is the baton’s target
BLACK
Walking in my new street / counting the 110 steps of my
BLACK
toes
Inside my new apartment building
Walking back up my new street
Nearly every day nearly
Everywhere HERE
The same fussy questions
Aimed at my forehead
Angering me
Rage hiding deep in a hole
Shall we STILL keep on
Repeating the same answers?
Pulling the same faces?
Singing the same cries
When across from
HERE
All around my new street
On every floor of my new apartment building
The same refrain
Returns as I appear?
And then
The fanfares have fallen away
Along with the night
Blue Rebirth
The original titles of these poems are written in Drehu, the language spoken on the island of Lifou (also known as Drehu).
Hna kuca kö (What Must Be, Will Be)
Come let us be together
In ultimate oneness
Come let us redraw
Spirals on our rocks
To tattoo the Moon
Inside our secrets
Come let us say
That everything that happens
Happens because it must
Loi ju ë (Enough, Already!)
We shall sleep no more on the pillow of echoing pathos
Nights of sowing whose flowers
Bring forth no praises
Of Silence
In a fiery circle
In herds
In vines clutching throats
Enough Yes Enough
Of promises where curving lips do not hold the dawn
Aborted into children’s games
Enough Yes Enough
We shall rest our foreheads no more
On memory’s breast
Not born from our laughter
And of those buried
As far off as possible
We say
At the rising of the Drums
Our eyes shall want to open
To a new now
Hnagejë (Ocean)
When the rushing waves repeat
Horizontal
Blue as the eyes of a summer season sky
Faithful to the Silence
Faithful to the Perfume
Of the salt-tongued shores
The sea
Like an embrace
Like a respirator
Like a call
Enough to make us believe that Time
Will not catch us again in the trap
of Tomorrow or Before
Enyi (Wind)
Give up everything you know
Let go of
Name Age Sex Past Future
Set them down for a moment
At the foot of the Bamboo stakes
Then deeply
Draw in your breath
And blow forth again and again
The seeds of a new flowering
“Je le vois,” “Peur Noire,” “Pansement pour tous,” “La rage cachée au fond d’un trou,” “Hna kuca kö,” “Loi ju ë,” “Hnagejë,” and “Enyi” first published in Littéramā’ohi 25 (2021). Copyright © Paul Wamo. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2024 by Jean Anderson. All rights reserved.