
Lyrics
Harry Ayizan Sanon ©
Kay La Boule
Lavi Pa Chanje
Harry Ayizan Sanon ©
Gadè nou te semante
Nou te lite pou sa chanje
kòte pitit pèp la ta pral soulaje
Men, jodiya nou wè se yon nouvo alyans
ant boujwazi e la fanmi
Nèg yo
Pa vin defann koz pèp la
Rèv yo se pou yo monte
Pi wo
Yon zètwal file sou yon zile
nan yon prentan
kote tan tap brase ak tan
Klòch sonnen
kòk chante anba yon chalè midi
Yon kominike deklannche,
yon eskandal pètè sou wout Dedal
Se tankou yon jou dèy
Tristes ak perez
Kanaval moun ak fèy
nan tout lari se te yon jwa kap kouri
ak yon imaj animal sou tout mi
Nan yon moman touman
kote tout depaman kanpe anpenpan
se te nòmal
Nan kouri pou lapli
tonbe sou yon malad mantal
ak yon lespri kolonyal
kap fè travay lenperyal
sa vin fatal
Ey, koumbalaye, koumbalaye
Yon maren leve yon maten
medite sou wètè mètè
Lavi pa chanje
Livin pi anraje
Yon jounalis ekri yon atik
sou ogi laboujwazi ak lanfanmi ap founi
Li pedi pou lavi
Aprè yon mès sete yon pwomès
yon van demokrasi vante
Pèp pansel ta pral tètè
ton Cedric di ounk
Sa se yontaktik klasik
Makonnen ak yon politik antik
sou yon fòm
Demokratik Matchavelik
kap ravaje tout yon repiblik.
Life Does Not Change
Harry Ayizan Sanon ©
Look at this!
We gave a sermon inciting a fight for change
and relief for the masses of people,
but today we see a new alliance
between the Family and the bourgeoisie.
The politicians do not come to
defend the people,
they dream of their own enrichment.
A star shooting above an island
in the Spring where things are stirring.
Bells ring, roosters sing
under the mid-day sun.
An official statement released.
A scandal explodes in the road of Dedal
like a day of bereavement.
Sadness, meek in the midst of carnaval.
People with leaves.
Everywhere there was a happiness running
through the street,
with an animal's image on every wall.
In a moment of torment,
where all the perpetrators proudly stood up,
it was as it should've been.
Running from the falling rain
like you would a problem of the brain,
like colonial thought
doing imperial work.
It has become fatal.
Ey, koumbalaye, koumbalaye..
A sailor gets up in the morning
thinking about removing and replacing.
Nothing changed.
Life becomes enraged.
A journalist writes an article
about the bourgeois orgy with the Family.
He disappeared for life.
After a mass
there was a promise.
A great wind of democracy was blowing.
The people thought they could suckle.
Uncle Cedric said "God damn it!"
It was a classical tactic -
a mixture of old-style politics.
Democracy à la Machiavelli
devastating all of the republic.
Dekadans
Harry Ayizan Sanon ©
La nou pran nesans
nou aprann syans
pounn ka gen konesans.
Patri ya fèn konfyans.
Nou pasel nan rans. Nou kaba inosans.
Nou bay degoutans.
Nou fout bay repiyans..
bann san zenpotans.
Sitirans fè nou nan soufrans.
Tolerans fè peyi nou andekadans,
Ditan lendepandans
Goman kanpe nan “Grandans”.
Li pat fè alyans
ak la frans
depi-w tande pouvwa yo anbalans.
Yo monte Souvnans
al bay fè dans.
Yo ap chache chans
nan chache chans
pou yo jwenn asirans
a sire patans.
Silans! Silans!
Bann san konsyans.
Tout se tyans.
Decadance
Harry Ayizan Sanon ©
There where we are born
we learn science
so that we can gain knowledge.
The country trusts us.
We do foolishness. We end innocence
and add repugnance – so much damn repugnance.
A troop of no importance,
there is too much indulgence
creating a state of decadence.
Tolerance makes us suffer.
During independence
Goman stood up in Grandans.
He did not make an alliance with France since he heard that their power wasn’t in balance.
They went to Souvenans.
They organized a dance.
They were looking for luck
To find assurance,
To ensure departure.
Silence! Silence!
So many without conscience.
Everything is nonsense.
Plezi Pwezi
Harry Ayizan Sanon ©
Pwezi fè mwen reve
sa mwen pat dwe reve.
Pwezi fè mwen kriye
san je mwen pa mouye.
Rivye kè mwen seche.
Pa gen yon degout pou wouze.
Pwezi ban mwen kouray
nan moman map trannen.
Men genyen ki panse
map byen Mennen.
Pwezi pale chita
kriye sou tout chimen.
Pwezi fè mwen mache
konbyen kilomet.
Vizite yon bann planet
san komet.
Pwezi pran men mwen
desann nan fònlanme –
fè mwen wè tri\iyang bemid
men ki pa yon pyramid.
Pwezi bay lavi.
Okontre lavi kreye plezi nan pwezi.
Okomansman,
se la pawòl
san dyol.
Li fè chè
san po…
Pwezi wete chapo.
Li di sa se pwezi.
Pwezi voye limye
pou klere bwatet san mwel
kap tann klochsonnen
pou yal fè lingdemyel nan syel.
Ki syel?
Syel lespwa.
sa kap tann mwen kanpe doubout.
Devan yon kanal san bout
mwen wè pwezi ap pase.
Ap chante yon melodi
pou lavi ka souri…
Pwezi fè mwen wè
sa mwen pat dwe wè.
The Joy of Poetry
Harry Ayizan Sanon ©
Poetry makes me dream
what I shouldn’t dream.
Poetry makes me cry
without one wet eye.
My heart’s river dries up.
There’s not a drop for irrigation.
Poetry gives me courage
at the moment I’m in a bad way.
There are those
who think I’ll lead well.
Poetry, speaking, sitting, walking,
crying on every path.
Poetry makes me walk
so many kilometers,
go visit galaxies of planets
with no use for a comet.
Poetry takes my hand
descending into the deep blue sea –
takes me to the Bermuda triangle,
but which isn’t a pyramid.
Poetry creates an imaginary love.
Only in dreams can you touch it.
Poetry gives life
but life creates joy in poetry.
In the beginning,
there was the word
without a mouth.
It bore fruit
without skin…
Poetry took off its hat.
It said, that’s “poetry”.
Poetry sheds llight
to enlighten those troubled minds
waiting for the clock to strike,
to make a rainbow in the sky.
Which sky?
The sky of hope
waiting for the death of resurrection.
Poetry doesn’t make me sit and wait.
I stand up straight.
in front of an endless canal
I see poetry passing by.
It’s singing a tune
so life can smile…
Poetry makes me see
what I shouldn’t see.
Ri Di Pèp
Harry Ayizan Sanon ©
Yon espèm madichon
tonbe nan kanal lavi
kreye yon fòs kosmik…
konfizyon pou tout kwayan.
Nan yon deklarasyon
pou privatizasyon
yon flè atifisyel andòmi.
2 blok daterisay
yon avyon bloke.
Yon astronot ap pale
de yon vwayaj nouvel
nan yon rèv motel.
Yon migren abandone
distre yon panse powetik,
nan fè zonbi mann mannan.
Pou femen dyol listwa
seremoni pran lari.
Yon kout ponya tranche
limye lespwa.
Yon koulev ti tèt
chita sou-w fotey
kote mechanste ilegalite
se siga gwo mouch
ak chapo lenperyalis
kap souse respire bon
lode ansan san inosan adlesan.
Kretyen vivan sakrifye elektrifye
tankou animal ki nan poto.
Yon mawoule
ak yon bouret san tèt
rale Mennen vini san revni
2 ze twant nan lari de pèp;
kot trafik paka gouye
ki dire pou swente.
Soley la cho blan kou lacho…
tout moun melanje ap brase.
Ou paka idantifye bon mas
ak move mas.
Lajan monte diset wote.
Traje reyaksyone nan elikopte
sou konn ravet kap fèlanavet,
pye pa touché.
Sa gen poul fini.
Nan fè presyon sou konstitisyon;
fè kanpay chanje lwa
pou yon nouvo pouvwa
poutan sa pap dire pou lontan.
People’s Street
Harry Ayizan Sanon ©
An accursed seed
falls in the canal of life
creating a cosmic force…
confusion for all the believers.
In a declaration
of privatization
an artificial flower asleep.
A plane held up
in taxi.
An astronaut speaks
of a new voyage
in a mortal dream.
An abandoned migraine
detracts from poetic thought,
zombifying the ambrosia of the poor.
To stifle history
a ceremony takes to the street.
A dagger cutting off
the light of hope.
A small-headed serpent
sits on a throne
where wickedness is
a big shot’s cigar.
Illegality is the hat of the
impervious imperialist
sucking the breath of sweet incense.
Innocent teenagers’ blood.
People sacrifice, electrify
like an animal tied to a pole.
A mawoule
with a headless pushcart.
Push comes to shove without income.
2:30 in the afternoon on People’s Street;
traffic can’t snake by –
just enough to discharge a few vehicles.
A sun, white hot..
everyone stirring about, mixing up.
You can’t tell the good from the bad.
Money piles up.
Reactionary travels in a helicopter
like a commuting cockroach,
feet not touching the ground.
This has to stop.
Pressuring about the constitution;
making companies change their laws
for a new power,
even though that won’t last for long.