The poetic voice makes itself heard from the first line of the poem, in "C'est le mot qui me soutient," immediately suggesting the nature of the relationship between the poet and "le mot," which functions as a source of needed support for the poet. The poet is represented metonymically as "ma carcasse," on whom "le mot," as voice, strikes to produce sound and, by extension, life. In the second and third stanzas, the voice of the poet becomes identified and fused with the voices of others, sharing with them "nos faces belles" and "nos oreilles," within the context of the word that introduces and dominates even visually those two stanzas—"Barbare." In the final stanza, the poet fully assumes the identity of "barbare" and at the same time that of "le serpent cracheur," as he addresses a "vous," whose physical presence is indicated in "la chair velue de vos poitrines."

Contrast and conflict between the barbarian group which includes the poet and the other hairy-chested group are clearly indicated by the text. The poem thus sends a message of revolt, different from "les cris de révolte jamais entendus." The revolt in the poem involves investing a word with pejorative and insulting resonances with an aura of primitive nobility and power. The resonance of the word "barbare" is a reminder of psychological debasement, represented metaphorically in the text as the rusting effect of noon on the poet's carcass, in which ironically only true barbarism, characterized by cowardice and dishonesty, is being destroyed:

C'est le mot qui me soutient
et frappe sur ma carcasse de cuivre jaune
où la lune dévore dans la soupente de la rouille
les os barbares
des lâches bêtes rôdeuses du mensonge.

In the second stanza, the poet suggests the magical power of language to affirm the validity and beauty of "nos faces"—an attitude of rejection which bears within itself the power of creation. In the following stanza, the poet uses the word "barbare" as a reminder of the past suffering and present condition of people who have been characterized as dead, but who are yet the life-blood of the earth, reminiscent of the situation of black South African miners: "des morts qui circulent dans les veines de la terre." "Barbare" is used also as a reminder of a spirit of revolt concealed behind a façade of dance and music: "et les cris de révolte jamais entendus / qui tournent à mesure et à timbres de musique."

The poet exploits the regenerative potential intrinsic in the word "barbare," so that it is represented as the magical and beautiful principle of life concealed in savage and reptilian forms normally regarded as loathsome ("amphisbène," "serpent," "gekko"), and with which he completely identifies: "Barbare moi." It is this vital principle that enables the poet to metamorphose ("qui de mes putrifiantes chairs me réveille") and adopt an attitude of direct and violent revolt ("me coller [ … ] aux lieux mêmes de la force").

Through the use of the explicit and implicit "barbare""moi"-"poète" linkage, the poem itself functions as the theatre where a subversive linguistic revolution takes place, and as the means by which the word "barbare" achieves a truly healing significance. The poet, by appropriating and transforming the various implications of the word, validates the cultural perspective of the French Caribbean.