from 'Zakwato'
Translated from the French by Todd Fredson
Author note: A fragment of the long poem Zakwato is published here. In the poem, Zakwato is trusted to be on watch for his village but falls asleep. He wakes to find his village decimated. Bereft, Zakwato travels toward a distant smith to have his eyelids removed. Like this, he will be forever vigilant of foreign invaders.
from Zakwato
ZAKWATO
The exalting word comes to me so that through uncooperative ears this rabble understands. The naked word finds me to reveal the truth to those who are backwards. I am not the dew, which limits its adventures to mopping up the bushes. I am not the drizzle happy with spitting on the ground to relieve the earth’s thirst. I am the thunderstorm, I am the tempest and I am the flood, my word uproots the Irokos, Fromagers, Baobabs and Palms. My word hypnotizes the land’s giants. Voice — my voice breaks the enthusiasm of irrational forces. I am the feline who toys with the lovers when night closes its eyelids. I am the dove that carries the golden fruit of paradise under its wings!
ZAKWATO!
Time, because of deceitful men, has buried my name in the beggar’s cemetery. Time, because of the wickedness of men, has buried my exploits in oblivion’s abyss. Time, because of men’s ingratitude, has tarnished the splendor of the shell from which my renown hatches.
ZAKWATO!
de Zakwato
ZAKWATO
Me vienne le verbe exaltant pour que m’entende la gueusaille aux oreilles récalcitrantes. Me vienne la parole nue pour dire la vrai vérité aux attardés. Je ne suis pas la rosée qui limite ses aventures à éponger la broussaille. Je ne suis pas le crachin qui se contente de cracher sur le sol pour lui donner l’envie de soulager sa soif. Je suis l’orage, je suis la tempête et je suis le déluge, mon verbe déracine irokos, fromagers, baobabs et palmiers. Mon verbe fait coucher tous les géants de la terre. Voix, ma voix brise l’élan des forces irrationnelles. Je suis le félin qui caresse les amoureux quand la nuit ferme les paupières. Je suis la colombe qui porte sous ses ailes, les fruits d’or du paradis !
ZAKWATO !
Les temps, à cause de la fourberie des hommes, ont enterré mon nom au cimetière des gueux. Les temps, à cause de la méchanceté des hommes, ont enfoui mes exploits dans l’abîme de l’oubli. Les temps, à cause de l’ingratitude des hommes, ont terni l’éclat de l’écrin qui couve ma célébrité.
ZAKWATO !
Excerpt from Zakwato, © Vallesse Éditions, 2009. Translated by Todd Fredson © 2016.
An introduction to contemporary Ivorian poetry
Edited by Todd Fredson