Klòch sonm té ka sonnen an laplas vil-la.
Pa Dyab-la, mé mwen konnèt li byen.
Mwen té ka maché asou gwan lawi-a bò koté’y kon on ti-manmay ki pa konnèt anyen, té tounen koté i ka dòmi-an.
Toujou tounanté pa an kuryozité ki pa ni bout, pa kaché pyès detay ban mwen.
Klòch sonm té ka sonnen tout apwémidi-a, mé ou mantjé yo.
Twòp fon adan pè lavi-a pou ou té sa wè sa,
Twòp bizi ka kalkilé mannyè pou lévé drapo wézistans.
On ti-not pèsonèl sòti koté édito politik-la <mété magazin gwòch radikal>, nou tèlman dézolè nou pa sa piblyé sa kwiyé-ou pou wévolisyonè-an.
Sa pa fè anyen, lè jounal litérè-a ka mandé pou tout sé powèm mwen-an ki pi cho-a.
Klòch sonm ka kontinyé sonnen chak lè apwézan.
Mwen kouché, épi dé-twa wégrè an lanmen mwen, nan mitan lanmè-a,
Kenbé anlè pa on lanmou ki pa ka kanyen, on gwan twézò mwen chéri nan gwan kalm sa-a ki pa ni bout.
(rough English translation)
Somber bells rang out from the city square.
Not the devil but I know him well.
Roamed the boulevards beside him as a callow youth, gone back to where he sleeps.
Forever burdened by a boundless curiosity, spare me no details.
Somber bells rang all afternoon, but you missed them.
Too mired in existential dread to notice,
Too preoccupied with contemplating mass resistance.
A personal note from the politics editor at <insert radical leftist magazine>, so sorry we can’t publish your call for revolution.
No matter, when literary journals are devouring my most incendiary poems.
Somber bells keep ringing every hour now.
I lie, few regrets in hand, in the middle ocean,
Buoyed by an unwavering love, a cherished treasure in these eternal doldrums.
Hayden Winston 