SOURCE: "Filling in Reader Gaps in Poems by Léon-Gontran Damas," in French Literature Series, Vol. XIX, 1992, pp. 47-56.

[In the essay below, Brown analyzes two of Damas's poems: "Ils sont venus ce soir" and "Contre notre amour qui ne voulait rien d'autre."]

Black francophone writer, Léon-Gontran Damas, portrays in his poetry the sad results of black/white confrontations in his native French Guiana. Leaving spaces for reflection, gaps to be filled by a creative reader, Damas has developed an art of nonspecificity, a writing technique rich and provocative in powers of suggestion. Although Sartre identifies the intended reader of black francophone poetry as a black reader, this body of literature, including Damas' poems, has universal implications and is open to careful and imaginative scrutiny of readers everywhere.

In his poem, "Ils sont venus ce soir" [from Pigments, Névralgies], Damas evokes the tragic, lamentable moment in time when outsiders came and disrupted forever the serenity of his life:

        "Ils sont venus ce soir"
          Pour Léopold-Sédar Senghor
 
        Ils sont venus ce soir où le
        tam
           tam
              roulait de
                        rythme
                              en
                                rythme   la frénésie
 
        des yeux
        la frénésie des mains
        la frénésie
        des pieds de statues
 
        DEPUIS
 
        combien de MOI MOI MOI
        sont morts
        depuis qu'ils sont venus ce soir où le
        tam
           tam
              roulait de
                        rythme
                              en
                                rythme   la frénésie
        des yeux
        la frénésie
        des mains
        la frénésie
        des pieds de statues

What is stated in the poem? Only that "they" came one night when a tam-tam's beat produced the frenzy of eyes, hands, and feet, and that since this moment, much that is in the poet is dead. Who came? What did they do? What is dead in the poet? Why? The text does not say. It only suggests. It is up to the reader to discover these and other meanings.

Damas does not identify "ils" in the first line of the poem. Awareness of Damas' role in defining the concept of négritude provides a clue and helps the reader discover that "they" as unwanted outsiders represent the white race, the oppressors of blacks. With simplicity and brevity, Damas depicts a scene with double meaning. The arrival of strangers interrupts a festive moment, a joyous and ecstatic village dance, the symbol of the value and beauty of black African culture. When "they" come, the dance of joy is transformed into a danse macabre. The frenzy of eyes, hands, and feet now becomes a reflection of fear, of amazement, of pain, of death. Dancing feet are now "pieds de statues" (repeated twice), feet no longer capable of moving, glued, nailed down, suddenly transfixed, inert, lifeless. Damas could have given clues in his poem in order to represent a precise experience in place and in time. He does not do it. Too much precision would have diminished and stunted the meaning and impact of his poem. The nonspecificity of the poet serves a larger design, expanding the portrayal of the coming of whites among blacks. With unnamed perpetrators and unidentified act, the poem finally encompasses all the suffering and degradation of Damas and his people under French rule in his native French Guiana, plus any humiliation, any injustice, any scandalous, outrageous racial attitude or crime in any place, at any time brought against the black race by whites.

The very form of the poem, shown on the page in short, choppy fragments, toppling over each other to the ground, suggests a race brought low, separated from others and itself. Isolation and alienation are the inevitable results of the whites' coming. The words on the page illustrate the fracturing, the splitting. Tam-tam, a metaphor for black ancestral values, is cut in half. Eyes separated from hands and hands pulled away from feet show the extent to which the self has lost touch with itself. This body, broken, isolated, separated, disjointed, mutilated, represents the entire black race and demonstrates the enormity of Damas' tragic metaphor.

The words "DEPUIS" and "MOI MOI MOI" appear in capital letters, the only ones in the poem with such distinction intended to highlight their importance. "DEPUIS" stands in the middle of the poem so that in time and space it marks a joyous "before" and a wretched "after," a "before" of elation and fulfillment, symbolized by the dance before the coming of the outsiders, an "after" of sadness, lamentation, alienation, the dance turned to horror when "they" came. "DEPUIS" in this poem is a point of demarcation, a rupture in time and place, a sign in capital letters at midpoint, a meridian of time, the supreme moment at white heat which altered irrevocably and forever the destiny of the race. "MOI" in capital letters and repeated three times demonstrates the extent to which the poet is affected personally by the situation he is describing. He seems to be dying perpetually. "MOI" in a trilogy may also suggest the notion of trinity, a trinity of union, a complete black soul in harmony with itself, split, torn asunder by the advent of whites among blacks. "MOI" occurs in a question. How many "MOI," how many selves in the poet, how many precious parts of existence and being are dead since "DEPUIS," the most critical, the most crucial of all moments? The three "MOI" in capital letters stress the extent and repetition of hurt and injury. Damas asks the question, preferring it to a statement, because the issue, like a question, is open-ended. Damas is clearly searching. He cannot fathom the vastness of his loss. Can any black, man or woman, cut off, severed from past, culture, family, and self, measure the part of self which is dead and lost forever?

In "Contre notre amour qui ne voulait rien d'autre" [from Pigments, Névralgies], Damas contrasts the black wish for a free and peaceful life with white interdictions against these aspirations. A reference to Old Testament Patriarchs forces the reader to fill in a huge reader space in the poem, a gap which spans centuries and raises tragic and far-reaching implications for the entire black race:

        "Contre notre amour qui ne voulait rien d'autre"
 
        Contre notre amour qui ne voulait rien d'autre
        que d'être beau comme un croissant de lune au beau mitan du Ciel à minuit
        et pur comme le premier ris du nouveau-né
        et vrai comme le verbe être
        et fort comme la Mort d'où nous vient toute vie
 
        Contre notre amour
        qui rêvait de vivre à l'air libre
        qui rêvait de vivre sa vie
        de vivre une vie
        qui ne fut
        ni
        honteuse
        ni lépreuse
        ni truquée
        ni tronquée
        ni traquée
        ils ont invoqué NOE
        et NOE en appela à SEM
        et SEM en appela à JAPHET
        et JAPHET s'en remit à NOE
        et NOE en appela à MATHUSALEM
        alors MATHUSALEM ressortit de l'arsenal
        tous les oripeaux
        tous les tabous
        tous les interdits en fanal rouge
 
        Attention
        Ici Danger
        Déviation
        Chasse gardée
        Terrain privé
        Domaine réservé
        Défense d'entrer
        Ni chiens ni nègre sur le gazon

"Contre," the very first word of the title and the poem, establishes a tension, the opposition of "them and us." "Notre amour," which is black love, marks a sharp line of demarcation with third person plural "ils," unwanted outsiders who represent whites in general and the Freneh in Guiana in particular, who have power, money, and privileges as ruling class.

Black hope is personified love with simple, reasonable desires; it wants to be, to be in the same sense that Erich Fromm describes being in preference to having or owning. A series of similes represents black love wanting to be "beau comme un croissant de lune au beau mitan du ciel à minuit (this love has intimate, tender contact with nature) / et pur comme le premier ris du nouveau-né (it recognizes the beauty and value of life) / et vrai comme le verbe être (it focuses on being, not possessing) / et fort comme la Mort d'où nous vient toute vie" (it finds strength and regeneration in death). Consistent with the cycle of birth, being, and death, black love moves in cadence with the archetypal rhythm of the seasons with death the necessary precursor of rebirth. Black love dreams, and the dream is to live in free air, to live its own life, an existence with its own uniqueness and at the same time in tender and natural harmony with the ebb and flow of all life forms. The grating repetitions of the consonant sounds in truquée, tronquée, traquée stand in contrast to the gentle, serene portrayal of black love and emphasize the harshness of whites' treatment of blacks.

Staunch, stern forces are marshalled against black wishes and dreams. "Ils," cold, methodical, impersonal "they," always as perpetrators, invoke a power higher than their own to secure divine sanction for white domination and cursing of blacks. "They" call on Biblical Patriarchs (Noah, Shem, Japheth, and Methuselah) and establish a collaboration with them. This is a long-standing alliance, and the scriptural authority of the Old Testament figures gives weight to their position and renders their strictures all the more imposing. The Patriarchs' names, the only words in the poem in capital letters, emphasize the farreaching importance of their interdictions. Nevertheless, there is a hesitancy, a reluctance on their part to take responsibility for what they are doing. Noah refers to Shem, who calls on Japheth, who, coming full circle, turns the issue back to Noah. Finally, Noah, still unwilling to take a stand, defers to Methuselah, the oldest, the most venerable of all the Patriarchs. Methuselah does not hesitate. He acts. He "ressortit de l'arsenal / tous les oripeaux / tous les tabous / tous les interdits en fanal rouge." The "re-" in the verb, "ressortit," shows clearly that Methuselah's action is a recurring outrage. The word "arsenal" implies a full range of weapons, puts Methuselah's machinations in a war context, and demonstrates the might of the oppressors. The term, "oripeaux," has many meanings. They are copper blades (weapons) which at a distance look like gold. They are also old, tawdry clothes, rags, fabric, or embroidery with fake silver or gold. "Oripeaux" are thus symbols of things which try to be beautiful or authentic, but which are not. They represent the unfounded, false nature of Methuselah's declarations. The taboos and prohibitions, displayed in glaring red lights, take on an eerie, repressive, threatening presence. "Tous," used with "oripeaux," "tabous," and "interdits" indicates that the Patriarchs' repression is total.

White interdictions, listed in a series of street-sign messages ("Attention / Ici danger / Déviation / Chasse gardée / Terrain priveé / Domaine réservé / Défense d'entrer / Ni chiens ni nègre sur le gazon") end the poem and at the same time bring closure to native hopes. The last sign, the most shameful of all, sums up the flagrant nature of the disgrace of white repression of blacks. These are French signs and French rules; blacks had no part in their formulation. They are not agreed upon; they are imposed. All together they represent every stricture, every regulation, every procedure, and pressure of a dominant class intent on keeping its favored status.

It is significant that Damas mentions only two of Noah's sons, Shem and Japheth, and omits the third, Ham. Traditionally, the world is shown divided among Noah's three sons: Shem received the Semitic nations, Japheth, the Indo-European lands, and Ham, Africa. In an ingenious and ironic reversal, Ham, traditionally portrayed as Noah's cursed son, does not participate in the nefarious activities of his brothers, his father, and Methuselah. Ham, the villain, is redeemed by his absence in the poem and finds himself aligned with the black race in Africa against all the other nations of the world assigned to Shem and Japheth.

How is it that Ham became Noah's cursed son, and what did this curse consist of? The tradition starts in the Bible. The Old Testament account of Noah and his sons describes two events. In the first (Genesis VI-VIII), Noah is the hero of the flood story, the great Patriarch chosen by God to perpetuate the human race after its extinction. Noah's sons are married at this time, enter the ark with Noah, and are saved. After the flood, God blesses Noah, Shem, Ham, and Japheth to "be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth" (Genesis IX, I).

The second narrative (Genesis IX, 18-27), which seems to be unaware of the flood story, deals with Noah's shameless drunkenness and Ham's apparent irreverent behavior toward his father. Ham sees his father's drunken state and nakedness and describes the experience to his brothers. Shem and Japheth show deference to their father's precarious predicament by approaching him backwards with averted eyes in order to cover his nakedness. Aware of Ham's unworthy conduct toward him, Noah curses Ham through Ham's son, Canaan. "And he (Noah) said, Cursed be Canaan, a servant of servants shall he be to his brethren. And he said, Blessed be the Lord God of Shem; and Canaan shall be his servant. God shall enlarge Japheth, and he shall dwell in the tents of Shem; and Canaan shall be his servant."

The traditional identification of Ham with Africa led to the notion that Noah's curse on Ham and his descendants was the mark of a black skin. But the geographical allocation to Ham stands on shaky ground. In Genesis X, XI, Ham's sons, Cush, Mizraim, Phut, and Canaan are also listed as lands belonging to Ham, and accordingly, Ham has four branches: Cush corresponds to Ethiopia, Mizraim to Egypt, Phut to Libya, and the fourth branch is Canaan. Eventually, as we noted, Ham is identified with all the south lands known to the Israelites. A discrepancy arises because of Canaan's location outside of Africa. Moreover, at the time of the stories about Noah in the Bible, Ethiopia was not Negroid; Egypt and Libya were not either and are not to this day. A part of Palestine, Canaan lay between the Jordan River and the Dead Sea on the east and the Mediterranean Sea on the west. Canaan, which was mostly Semitic, not Negroid, was eventually conquered and assimilated by Israel. It would seem that the curse of black skin on Canaan (the Biblical personage) sufficed to categorize Canaan (the land) as black, too. Eventually, since it was impossible to regard Canaan a representative land of Africa, Egypt took its place. Ham in this interpretation, becomes equivalent to Egypt, and thus, Egypt is referred to as the home of Ham in Psalms 78:51, 105:23, 27, and 106:22.

Jewish legends, beginning in the second century A.D., provide more information on Ham's curse. They assert that Canaan received it instead of Ham because God's blessing on Ham placed him beyond Noah's curse. The stories about Canaan, as with Ham, stress his perverse nature. Canaan's last will and testament to his children encouraged them to love one another, love robbery, love lewdness, hate their masters, and never speak the truth.

There are other attempts to explain Ham's curse. The Talmudists represent Ham, the dog, and the raven, as the only ones in the ark who had sexual intercourse with their partners, while all the other humans and animals abstained. It is for this immoral conduct that Ham is cursed to be black.

Another reason for Ham's curse derives from his behavior during Noah's drunkenness. The Bible states simply (Genesis IX, 20) that "Noah began to be an husbandman, and he planted a vineyard." The legends amplify this account, indicating that Satan became a collaborator with Noah in the work of cultivating the vine and making wine. The story of Noah's drunkenness is also expanded in the legends, so that Ham witnesses his father in the act of sexual intercourse. Ham mocks his father before his brothers and adds to his irreverence with a greater outrage. He attempts to mutilate Noah to prevent his father's procreation. When Noah awoke from his wine, he cursed Canaan:

Therefore he put the curse upon the last-born son of the son that had prevented him from begetting a younger son that the three he had. The descendants of Ham through Canaan therefore, have red eyes, because Ham looked upon the nakedness of his father; they have misshapen lips, because Ham spoke with his lips to his brothers about the unseemly condition of his father; they have twisted, curly hair, because Ham turned and twisted his head round to see the nakedness of his father, and they go about naked because Ham did not cover the nakedness of his father.

The belief in Ham as father of the Negro race became universal in early Christendom, and this tradition, passed on in church writings, stories, and folklore, persists to the present time. The Ham genealogy linking him and his descendants to the blacks of Africa exists in Muslim legends in which Noah damns Ham with a black skin, a concept which vindicated slavery of blacks by Muslims. The persistence of Noah's curse was particularly strong in the United States in the early nineteenth century where it served as justification for slavery, particularly in anti-abolitionist tracts and pamphlets. Several themes are repeated over and over in the pro-slavery literature: the natural and innate inferiority of blacks, their sexual depravity, states rights and constitutional sanction of slavery, and above all, scriptural justification for slavery because of Noah's curse on Canaan and its application to blacks.

In brief summary, the curse of Ham through Canaan starts with scanty information in the Bible. Jewish legends amplify and perpetuate the notion of a curse on the black race. The concept attains acceptance in Christianity and Islam and persists to out day in stories and folklore which have served as a basis for divine sanction of racism and subjection of blacks by whites. It is in this context that we must understand Damas' reference to the Biblical Patriarchs. The Methuselah, Noah, Shem, Japheth relationship, not a random listing by the poet, was the perfect metaphor to illustrate the everlasting, far-reaching influence and the overwhelming power of a white curse on the black race. Ham, the symbol of his race and the hero of the poem, is not even mentioned. This muted understatement by the poet intensifies and heightens the drama and impact of the poem. The reader has to discover Ham, conjure him up from a faraway past, imagine the unequal, ongoing, epic struggle between him and his children with an omnipotent white god and his prophets. It is the reader who must exorcise Ham of his curses, esteem his blackness, rehabilitate and ennoble him as the worthy father of the black race. In Damas' poems, less becomes more. Damas drives his message home simply and powerfully.