SOURCE: "Link and Lance: Aspects of Poetic Function in Césaire's Cadastre—An Analysis of Five Poems," in L'Esprit Créateur, Vol. XXXIII, No. 1, spring 1992, pp. 54-68.

[In the following essay, Hurley discusses five of Césaire's poems taking into account peculiarities of his French Caribbean heritage and its lack of literary tradition.]

It would be difficult to examine the notion of poetic function in relation to Aimé Césaire without taking into consideration the tension and ambivalence of Césaire's situation as a black intellectual and as a poet, functioning within a profoundly alienating white French sociocultural context. On the one hand, as a black man, and particularly as a black Martinican-Frenchman, Césaire is constantly confronted by identity issues, grounded in the unhealed and perhaps unhealable wound of slavery, of colonization, and of relatively forced assimilation into an alien culture, as well as in potential isolation and separation within the black/African diaspora. As a poet and black intellectual, Césaire serves as the voice of a leader for an audience and a people (fellow Blacks) on whom he depends and to whom he is inextricably linked for the integration of his identity. Césaire's situation therefore suggests the tension of a poetry that would tend to function simultaneously inwardly and outwardly, personally and politically, as both link and lance: as a link for exploring identity issues, a means of searching and solidifying, of facilitating and articulating identity; as a lance, a weapon of personal and political liberation, but also an instrument to open the festering wound of alienation and self-hatred in order to create hope and healing.

At the same time, Césaire is a citizen of France, albeit black and Martinican, writing poetry in the French language within an established French literary tradition with its own socio-symbolic order. While Césaire's awareness as an educated black man might tend to incline him towards consciously or unconsciously rejecting or subverting the French social order, he does not become "un-French," and both his use of the French language and his renown as a French (Caribbean) writer would tend to validate, and contribute to the survival of, the French social order to which he belongs.

A discussion of poetic function in relation to Césaire should therefore take into account the peculiarities of his French Caribbean situation and the ambivalence of his relationship to a metropolitan French literary tradition. The term poetic function itself, however, though part of the rhetoric of the Western sociocultural tradition, tends to be somewhat elusive. Its meaning, for the purposes of this study, may be said to lie within the parameters of two modern critical and linguistic approaches, advanced by [Julia] Kristeva and [Roman] Jakobson. Kristeva's approach captures the irony of Césaire's position vis-a-vis metropolitan French society. She posits a revolutionary and subversive function for poetry or poetic language within the context of a socio-symbolic order; poetry thus serves paradoxically both to transform the social order and to ensure its survival:

Dans cet ordre socio-symbolique ainsi saturé sinon déjà clos, la poésie—disons plus exactement le langage poétique—rappelle ce qui fut depuis toujours sa fonction: introduire, à travers le symbolique, ce qui le travaille, le traverse et le menace. Ce que la théorie de l'inconscient cherche, le langage poétique le pratique à l'interieur et à l'encontre de l'ordre social: moyen ultime de sa mutation ou de sa subversion, condition de sa survie et de sa révolution….

Kristeva's approach in relating poetry to the context of a social order shares linkages with Jakobson's analysis of linguistic communication. Jakobson identifies six constituent factors in linguistic processes: "destinateur," "destinataire," "message," "contexte," "code," and "contact." He relates poetic function to emphasis placed on the "message" itself: "l'accent mis sur le message pour son propre compte est ce qui caractérise la fonction poétique du langage…." Césaire's poetry indeed necessarily emphasizes the "message," since it serves as a concrete manifestation of a communication link between poet and self and poet and people. In this study, therefore, poetic function will refer to the role of the poet and of the poem in relation to the sociopolitical context within which the poet writes.

The interpretation of Césaire's poetry as revolutionary, in relation to the nature and direction of the poet's communication, was suggested, long before the articulations of Jakobson and Kristeva, by Aristide Maugée, Césaire's close friend, fellow Martinican and co-contributor to the early 1940s Martinican journal, Tropiques. In a 1942 article, Maugée suggests aspects of the functions of Césaire's poetry that will become almost clichés in the years that follow: the poem as liberation, as verbal magic, as a means of exploring and discovering inner truths. He asserted:

[Césaire] faconne da mots nouveaux, crée da images nouvelles pour exprimer la nuance exacte de sa perception, trouve des sonorités neuves pour libérer son chant interieur.

Magie du son. Sortilège du Verbe.

[…] par la désintégration du réel, le poéte recherche un monde nouveau: un monde de beauté et de vérité.

Où le trouvera-t-il sinon dans la profondeur de sa conscience?

Moreover, Césaire himself, in his 1943 article in Tropiques, "Maintenir la poesie," had indicated that poetry as he conceived and practiced it had a deliberately subversive function, in relation to the existing social order:

Se défendre du social par la création d'une zone d'incandescence, en deça de laquelle, à l'intérieur de laquelle fleurit dans une sécurité terrible la fleur inouïe du "Je"; […] conquérir par la révoke la part franche où se susciter soi-même, intégral, telles sont quelques-unes des exigences qui […] tendent à s'imposer à tout poète […].

Ici poésie égale insurrection […]

Césaire's poetics have perhaps been most comprehensively articulated in "Poésie et connaissance," in which he established an opposition between poetic and scientific processes of knowledge, affirming the superiority of the poetic process as a means of true cosmic knowledge. Césaire thus aligned himself with the revolutionary adventures of poets like Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Mallarmé, Lautréamont, Apollinaire and Breton. "Poésie et connaissance" ended with a summary of Césaire's poetics, expressed in seven propositions, the first of which asserts that "la poésie est cette démarche qui par le mot, l'image, le mythe, l'amour et l'humour m'installe au cccur vivant de moi-même et du monde".

Césaire's explicit alignment with these luminaries of modern French poetry has opened the door for Euro-centered critical approaches to his own poetry. Such approaches, however well meaning, however brilliantly executed, feed into the same dilemma from which Césaire as a French Caribbean writer has tried so courageously to escape: absorption into a socio-politico-cultural entity that has, through slavery, colonization, and assimilation, consistently denied a voice to him and his people. French Caribbean poets like Césaire are necessarily characterized by the problem of cultural identity, including the struggle of separation from France, and their textual voice is grounded in the geographical and sociocultural reality of the French Caribbean. Because of the peculiar situation of such poets, in terms of the dynamics of geography, language, history, and culture, it is inevitable that the signs of this situation will be literally inscribed in the texts produced. If these signs are unrecognized or ignored, much of the "significance" of the literary work will be missed.

Moreover, any approach to Césaire's poetry and indeed to the literature of the Caribbean that ignores the existence of an authentic and valid voice which compensates for an orality lost or repressed over the last few centuries will inevitably fall short of determining the profound significance of the literature.

No analysis of French Caribbean literature is ultimately meaningful if it does not directly engage the problematic of cultural identity with which every Caribbean writer is confronted. Approaches to Caribbean texts through the mediation of European theories tend to devalue and deny the pivotal thrust of French Caribbean literary production, which is ultimately to proclaim and assert its validity as an authentic cultural manifestation.

A problem arises, however, for, while it may be inappropriate to rely on Euro-centered critical approaches to explicate French Caribbean poetry, there is a lack of alternative approaches sensitive to this problematic. Since critical practice necessarily has political implications, there is a need for critical activity by scholars sensitive enough to the challenge posed by the special situation of French Caribbean letters not to adopt the easier task of imposing a traditional, metropolitan critical framework on French Caribbean texts, but to seek to develop approaches which will support the evolution of a French Caribbean literary canon on its own terms.

The investigation which follows centers on the notion of poetic function in Césaire's Cadastre, with specific reference to five poems. Cadastre, published in 1961 by Seuil, is the re-edition of poems from two previously published collections, Soleil cou-coupe of 1948 and Corps perdu of 1950, with some of the original poems omitted and others revised. Césaire's poetic practice in this collection has been analyzed by A. James Arnold, who has sought to reconcile contrasting modernist and negritude approaches to Césaire. Arnold's assertion of a paradox in the negritude movement in that it "simultaneously cultivated a rhetoric of protest and an intensely subjective poetics", which colors his readings of Césaire's poems, suggests a practical and unreconciled separation between "lyrical" and "polemical" functions in Césaire's poetry not borne out by the texts themselves. Ronnie Scharfman, who has also produced penetrating analyses of many of Césaire's poems, seeks to address and supplement "the absence of a problematic that could simultaneously articulate the difficulties of Césaire's poetic discourse and its political engagement." Scharfman consequently reads each text "as an enactment of some conflict by or for the subject". While her analyses are consistently insightful, she has, by defining Césaire's genius as the "textualization of marginality", and by imposing European critical approaches on Césaire's poetic practice, perhaps underestimated the importance of the relationship existing between Césaire and his chosen "others."

As the title of this collection (Cadastre) suggests, the poet is concerned with making a survey—taking an inventory of his situation as a black man and as a poet. The poems suggest the tension implicit in the ambivalence of the relationship between the poet and the social order within which he functions, and serve to concretize the message of liberation. As mentioned earlier, Césaire's poetry operates in two directions simultaneously, inwardly and personally, and outwardly and politically: inwardly, the poetry serves as a vehicle for the poet to explore and resolve issues of personal identity and liberation, and as a means of personal salvation; outwardly, the poetry operates as a means of communicating with his people and with the supporters of the alienating social order, and as a means of affirmation, education, disalienation, and even of subversion.

Linking these two functions which represent the personal and political thrusts of Césaire's poetry is a connecting function which may be identified as creative, concerned with the poet's exploitation of the magical and prophetic potential of poetry. By a close textual reading that resists the temptation to assimilate the poetry into a predetermined European theoretical model, and that refrains from considering the poetry as other than what it is (French Caribbean poetry), I propose to illustrate the specific ways in which these functions operate. I shall attempt to answer the following questions: What voices speak within the poem? What are the roles and characteristics of the poetic voice? Whom does the poet address within the poem? How does the poem link poetic voice, addressee and context?

1. "Magique"

The title of this opening poem of the collection anticipates the magical metamorphosis which occurs at the end of the poem: the repositioning of "un dieu noir" (line 18). This metamorphosis takes place against a background of natural phenomena, an overcast sky in which only a thin slice of blue is visible ("une lèche de ciel"), and high winds ("vous bêtes qui sifflez"), which are characteristic of the destructive "tornade." The island, "ce quignon de terre," is represented as virtually dead, "cette morte," threatened by and at the mercy of the "bêtes" and the "fougères" that are shown to be already "libres." The metaphors signify a geopolitical context of conflict, between "vous bêtes" and "cette morte"; between "vous libres fougères" and "les roches assassines"; between "les conques," suggestive of the island, and "leur destin"; even between the implied light of "midi" and the darkness associated with "les étoiles." Césaire suggests here a conflict between forces of oppression and destruction and other forces with an impulse toward liberation. The struggle takes place on an island, but one that shares a situational bond of worthlessness with other islands, in that they are "englouties comme un sou," and "oubliées comme un sou."

Against this background, the poetic voice identifies itself through the plural "nous" of line 14 ("mol glissement des grains de l'été que nous fûmes"). This is significantly a communal identity, with an already realized potential for regeneration and metamorphosis. The poet also assumes the roles of "bouche," of "suffète des îles englouties," and of "prophetè des îles oubliées," attempting to communicate with an audience, designated as "vous bêtes" and "vous libres fougères." The context evoked, within which this communication takes place, is that of "l'île," "cette morte," featuring "roches assassines" and "conques trop vastes pour leur destin."

The voice of the poet in this situation attempts to transcend the limitations of the island: "la bouche aux parois du nid." The poet assumes the role of responsible leadership, that of "sufféte," but also that of "prophéte" announcing the future of his people. Through the vision and the prophecy of the poet, the dead island, "cette morte," is restored to life; through the poetic activity implicit in the poem a metamorphosis takes place, "ce mol glissement des grains d'été que nous fumes."

The hope of change is implicit throughout the poem. For, even in the midst of the atmosphere of menace and danger, signs of hope appear: the "lèche de ciel" bore within itself signs of good weather to come; the "étoiles" suggest not only darkness, but also light, with associations of good fortune, "trèfles au ciel," and vitality, "gouttes de lait chu." Hope is at the heart of the "message" of this poem: the restoration of the divinity of the black man ("réadjustent un dieu noir mal ne de son tonnerre").

The poem functions as a means of concretizing this hope, and of articulating the poet's prophetic voice, his sense of responsibility and leadership. It illustrates the identity dilemma confronting the French Caribbean poet. The poet as a linking voice magically emerges out of the silence historically imposed on Blacks in a neo-colonial situation. It is essentially through the poem that the "black" voice acquires validity.

2. "Couteaux midi"

In the first pan of this poem, the subjective presence of the poet appears in the possessive and object pronouns of "ma foi," "mes paroles," "mes cris," "mes crocs de poivre," "mes lèvres," and "m'absente." The poet is evoked as a disembodied voice and mouth, involved in a dialogue, as the questions "Ils tirent à blanc?" and "Midi?" (posed five times) indicate. The poetic replies to the questions are always an affirmative "oui," which suggests the validity of the propositions advanced.

These propositions relate to the activities of blacks, and specifically to what the poet suggests occurs "quand les Nègres font la Révolution." He intimates, with evident irony, playing on common connotations of "blanc" and "noir," that "ils tirent à blanc," and supports the validity of the paradox by explaining that "le blanc est la juste force controversée du noir qu'ils portent dans le coeur. "The text suggests that the poet considers this an abortive, pseudo-revolution, doomed from the start by its own endemic contradictions, equivalent to a whitewashing process taking place under a pseudo midday sun, so pale in comparison to the tropical sun that it is to be greeted only with derisive laughter: "[…] les cornettes des soeurs de Saint Joseph de Cluny qu'elles lessivent sous les espèces de midi dans la jubilation solaire d'un savon tropical."

The poet, struck by the contrast between these two different noons, explores the significance which the tropical noon holds for him. He suggests that it provides a natural avenue of escape from the muzzling of his voice and limitations of a complacent and comfortable life: "Midi qui disperse dans le ciel la ouate trop complaisante qui capitonne mes paroles et où mes cris se prennent." The poetic voice shifts to a more assertive and affirmative mode, corresponding to the graphic shift from the common noun, "midi," disdain for which is suggested by "espèces de," to the proper "Midi." This contrasting "Midi" is invested with capacities which stand in opposition to the other "midi": the capacity for a presence affirmed even in darkness ("amande de la nuit"), and the capacity for speech ("langue"). This "Midi," too, is associated with the sensitivity that comes from emotional and social humiliations: "qui porte sur son dos de galeux." This "Midi" is suggestive of courageous patience and endurance and of the potential for creating movement: "met sur toutes les lignes de toutes les mains les trains." It is this "Midi" which, significantly, makes possible a break with the (white) world ("Midi somptueux qui de ce monde m'absente").

The attitude and activities of the poet change with the movement within the poem away from "ce monde." The poetic voice enters into full presence as the poem assumes a poetic "form" in the middle section of the poem. The poet becomes active and assumes the voice of revolt—a revolt so complete it embraces the extremes of "doux" and "dur":

     Doux Seigneur!
     durement je creche. Au visage des affameurs,
     au visage des insulteurs, au visage des
     paraschites it des éventreurs. Seigneur cur!
     doux je siffle; je siffle doux …

The chiasma signals the parallelism of the roles of poet ("je") and "Seigneur," as the poet moves from rebellion to acceptance. This new attitude is presented by the poet as indicative of his identity, characterized by wounds, but founded on dignity and commitment: "Oh! je tiens mon pacte / debout dans mes blessures où mon sang bat contre les fûts." The poetic identity includes solidarity with others of his race and the poetic voice sends a message of hope and humanitarianism, bringing into existence, at the end of this section, the day of a new revolution that transcends hatred:

     […] c'est le jour,
     un jour pour nos pieds fraternels
     un jour pour nos mains sans rancunes
     un jour pour nos souffles sans méfiance
     un jour pour nos faces sans vergogne

The final short prose section, which continues the discussion of the opening section, links the role of the poet to that of "les sorciers," suggesting the involvement of both poet and sorcerer in harnessing powers of potential ferocity and in creatively exploiting intimacy with the dark forces of nature: "l'intime férocité des étoiles."

The poet, in this poem, suggests a contrast, implicit in the title, between violent physical pseudo-revolution ("couteaux") and the lucidity ("Midi") of true revolt. The poet moves beyond embracing violence, to transform the lance-"couteau" into a kind of magic wand, as he assumes the role both of prophet predicting a future of hope, dignity and love, and of sorcerer, using materials supplied by his brother "Nègres" to participate in the creative activity of the cosmos. Once again, the poem becomes the connecting link between past and future, a hopeful echo of the "lost" black voice in the present of the French Caribbean.

3. "Barbare"

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"-"poete" 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.

4. "Mot"

The poet refers to himself directly only in the first two shorter sections of this poem. At the beginning of the poem, the poet's "moi" serves as the point of departure for the poem, as the context, as source or sender, and as receiver of this word: "Parmi moi / de moi-même / a moi-même / […] en mes mains." At the beginning of the second section, the poet becomes a voice of hope: "j'aurai chance hors du labyrinthe." Soon afterwards, however, the poet becomes the object to be acted upon, at the mercy of, increasingly possessed by, the word ("me prendre," "me pendre," "que me clouent"). After this point, the poet virtually disappears from the poem as a self-referential voice. No further explicit references to a "moi" appear. The only direct indication of a subjective presence occurs in "savez-vous," while the vibration of the word "nègre" gathers momentum and dominates the remainder of the poem.

The word, unspecified at the opening of the poem, is lodged deep in the poet's psyche, inseparable from the poet's identity, and is evoked as a vital instinct, an automatic impulse of revolt: "le rare hoquet d'un ultime spasme délirant." The word becomes active and vibrates ("vibre") more and more throughout the poem. It is this vibration that gives the poet hope of escaping from the "labyrinthe" of his present situation. Hence, his willingness to submit to the emotional vibration, translated into a series of circular images that indicate the poet's delirium of magical possession, as he assumes the role, suggested by Arnold, of poet-priest and scapegoat at the center-stake of the voodoo temple: "au beau poteau-mitan des trés fraîches étoiles."

As the poem develops, the poet's "moi" is possessed by the word "nègre," which assumes an independent force of its own, evoking and conjuring, to the rhythm of a drum, images of humiliations, lynchings, horrible sufferings of mothers and children, and the burning of black bodies. The evocation of these horrors produces its own metamorphosis; the word "nègre," vibrating in the poet's unconscious, magically emerges as a symbol of resistance and revolt, of virility and dignity, successful beyond all expectation in obtaining liberty: "dru savez-vous / du tonnerre d'un été / que s'arrogent / des libertés incrédules."

The whole poem, therefore, concretely represents the transformation of the poetic "moi" into "le mot nègre," from the first to the second half of the poem, under the influence of a literal vibration within the poem itself. Hence, the poem functions as the arena within which this creative and liberating transformation takes place. The vibration of the word "nègre" within the poem has implications for the pivotal dilemma of French Caribbean writers. This poetic vibration counteracts the attempts at cultural silence and repression imposed on Blacks and becomes a manifestation of life, freedom, and creativity. The vibrant "mot" is the symbol of the authentic French Caribbean voice.

5. "Dit d'errance"

This poem, the poem with which Cadastre ends, illustrates the use of the poem as a means of both clarifying the poet's own identity and providing a catalyst, the poem itself, for other blacks, universally, to explore and validate their own identity as black people in a white-dominated society.

For the poet, there is a fusion between inner exploration and outward political commitment to his island and his people. At the beginning of the poem, he assumes the microcosmic mantle of all suffering humanity and of all alienation from self:

      Tout ce qui jamais fut déchiré
      en moi s'est déchiré
      tout ce qui jamais fut mutilé
      en moi s'est mutilé

This personal alienation is associated with an alienation in cosmic terms and necessitates a search for the other half of the identity: "au milieu de l'assiette de son souffle dénudé / le fruit coupé de la lune toujours en allee / vers le contour à inventer de l'autre moitié."

The reappraisal of the past that follows suggests only limited meaningful successes ("à peine peut-être certain sens") and even the possibility of having been led astray: "quand d'aucuns chantent Noël revenu / de songer aux astres / égarés." At this point, the poetic voice appears overwhelmed by a sense of failure, of lamentation: "tout est du tout déchu"; "j'ai bien en tête la saison si lacrimeuse." Indeed, the dominant characteristic of one part of the poet's fragmented identity, represented by his past experience of slavery, seems to be silence:

      Ciel éclaté courbe écorchée
      de dos d'esclaves fustigés
      peine trésorière des alizés
      grimoire fermè mob oubliés
      j'interroge mon passé muet

As the poet evokes the island which is part of his identity, "îls de sang," the island, like every island, is represented as sharing in the same condition of alienation and loss as the poet himself: "île maljointe île disjointe / toute île appelle / toute île est veuve." The loss for the island, as it is for the poet, is related to separation from the source of identity, Africa, represented by the civilizations of Bénin and Ifé, and his rhetorical question, in the name of all alienated Africans ("nous"), suggests his own doubt of ever being able to heal this breach: "tendrons-nous toujours les bras?"

The apostrophe that follows ("ô déchiré") may be read as an address to the poet's wounded and divided self, as he conjures up an image of triumphant reunification and healing, which leads him to a new state of consciousness, in which he assumes the priestly mantle of hope: "J'ai inventé un culte secret / mon soleil est celui que toujours on attend."

The poet adopts another role, that of lover ("corps féminin île retrouvée"), which becomes fused with his role as plaintive prophet ("moi sybille flébilant"). When he turns again to look back on his (shared) childhood past ("mes enfances"), the painful memories of communal failure with which he identifies ("j'ai vu un oiseau mâle sombrer") produce in him a sense of disillusionment: "je regarde le plus bas de l'année."

The poet's rather depressing impression of his past life, his doubts about his identity and his role, about whether he is indeed agent or victim, and about the validity of his concern with issues of black identity, are translated into lucid, self-reflexive ironic wit: "serais-je jouet de nigromance?" This question echoes the ambivalence of the title, "Dit d'errance," which suggests (in "errance") a lack of certainty on the part of the poet. As a result, however, of the process of rigorous self-examination and the awareness of identity linkages to Africa and his native island, the image of the "pierre" emerges to suggest both fixity and power, and the poem ends on a triumphant note, with the poet adopting the active, heroic role of lance:

      Or mieux qu'Antilia ni que Brazil
      pierre milliaire dans la distance
      épée d'une flamme qui me bourrelle
      j'abats les arbres du Paradis.

The foregoing analyses highlight certain aspects of poetic function in the poems: the relationship between the poet and a social order characterized by "vous"; the various roles assumed by the poet; the "messages" sent by the poem; and the general function of the poem itself. In Cadastre as a whole, the dominant roles adopted by the poet are those of leader and of voice: the leader and voice of revolt, the voice of prophecy and hope; the magician who protects the integrity and destiny of a people; even the scapegoat leader who endures and articulates the sufferings of his people in order to guarantee their survival and eventual triumph.

The poems presuppose a context of alienation from self, of loss of identity, dignity, nobility, beauty and power, of divisiveness and inhumanity. Within this context, which is in fact the social order in which the poem itself functions, the poetic act becomes an affirmation of contrary values. The constant "message" sent by the poems is one of hope: hope in the restoration of the dignity and divinity of the black man, hope in the triumph of humanitarianism, hope in the validity of true revolt.

Although references to an opposing "vous" occur, their relative rarity and indirectness, when compared to the references to a "moi" or a "nous," would tend to suggest that communication is directed not so much to the representatives of the oppressive and alienating social order but rather to the poet's self and to the group with whom the poet chooses to identify. This also tends to suggest that some of the implications of Scharfman's analysis, informed by Benveniste, are problematical. This factor, the direction of Césaire's communication, invests Césaire's poetry with a "revolutionary" function that is radically different from that discussed by Kristeva, who pointed to poetic language functioning paradoxically and unconsciously both to subvert and at the same time to maintain a social order, specifically the bourgeois technocratic structure of late nineteenth-century France. Césaire's poetry, in my view, deliberately transgresses such considerations. I see, furthermore, no separation in Césaire's poetic practice between the rhetoric of protest and subjective poetics, as Arnold suggests.

Indeed, the peculiarity of Césaire's situation, a poet with the problematical cultural identity of an educated Black, while at the same time a non-French Martinican Frenchman, gives a new significance to the term revolutionary. His poetic practice cannot be anything but revolutionary, as it operates harmoniously both inwardly and outwardly, linking and lancing, exploring, attacking, cutting, binding and healing all at once. This multifaceted revolutionary function of poetry, related to a need to affirm and protect the threatened integrity of identity, has remained a constant in Césaire's poetry. At the same time, Césaire has retained his conception of the poet as leader and prophet for a people. In a recent interview, discussing a poem entitled "Dyâli," which he had written in honor of his longtime friend and colleague, Leopold Sedar Senghor, Césaire explains: "'Dyâli' autrement dit 'le diseur de parole', le 'poète'[…]. Le Dyâli c'est aussi celui qui montre le chemin[…]."

Césaire himself, by his continued literary and political activity, has also been showing the way. What he has shown, what his poetry shows by its very existence and by its function as a literary artifact, both within the context of and in opposition to the mainstream socioliterary order of metropolitan France, is that French Caribbean poetry exists. Césaire's poetry proclaims its own identity as an authentically distinct cultural manifestation which is essentially Caribbean.