Africa
my Africa
A frica of proud warriors in ancestral savannahs
A frica
sings my grandmother
A
u aboard his distant river
J
e have never known
M
ais my eyes is full of your blood
T is nice black blood spilled across the fields
The blood of your sweat e
The sweat of your work has
The work I e
slavery
The enslavement of your children
A frica
tell me Africa
E s it is you that this back bends
E
t goes down under the weight of a humility
C e
back trembling red welts
Q ui said yes to the whip on midday routes
A
in severely a voice replied
F
they impetuous young and robust tree
C
tree and there
S
plendidement alone among the flowers and faded white
C is I Africa Africa pushes your
Q ui
patiently obstinately rejects
E
Does the fruits of which have gradually
The bitter taste of freedom. David Diop,
Loved pestle in Presence Africaine, 1956.
************************************************ ************* Mandessi David Diop (1927-1960)
Poet of the African revolution
David Diop was born on July 9, 1927. Bordeaux. Her mother is Cameroonian and Senegalese father. He lives between France, Senegal and Cameroon. It is very early (8 years) and is fatherless High, and her five siblings by his mother married Diop.
In fragile health, he spent part of his childhood in hospitals in France, where he lives during the occupation and war. During his period of convalescence, he developed a passion for literature early on, and soon to write to express how he feels.
During his studies, he was a professor for Leopold Sedar Senghor. Obtained his license, David Diop leaves for Senegal, where he taught (high school Maurice Delafosse).
His first poems were published in editions of "Presence African "in 1956 in a book titled" Loved pestle. Radical militant anti-colonialist, he responds like many other African intellectuals of the time the call by Sekou Toure after the break with de Gaulle and went to college to teach Guinea Kindia.
Poetry is a composition of juvenile
Arthur Rimbaud,
that reminds us how the spring - in addition to being time to
rebirth of nature in all its forms - has always been the season resumption of war.
We would like to be remembered only as a celebration of life!
In this poem was probably inspired by Fabrizio De André
when he wrote "War of Piero." E 'was sung by several French singers, even some
known to us as Yves Montand and Leo Ferré.A this address:
http://www.itaspg.it/didattica% 20online/Panduri/UD.htm
potete vedere disegni fatti dai ragazzi dalla lettura della poesia ispirati.
THE SLEEPER VAL is a green hollow where a river sings,
madly hanging on the grasses rags
of silver where the sun, the proud mountain
shines : it is a little valley bubbling with light.
A young soldier, mouth open, head bare,
and neck bathed in cool blue watercress,
sleeps and is lying in the grass under the sky, pale in his green bed where the light rains .
feet in gladioli, the dort. Souriant comme
sourirait an enfant malade, on a fait sums: Nature, Berco-le chaudement: in the froid.
Les parfums it frissonner font pas sa narine;
the dort dans le soleil, la main sur sa Poitrine, quiet. On a deux rouges au côté droit TROUS.
----------------------------------------------- ----------------------- From the original French with beautiful rhymes of the sonnet, the Italian translation, which does not make the same beauty ...
ARTHUR RIMBAUD
A green glade where a river sings
hanging madly grass
his rags of silver where the sun, the fair mountain
shines: it is a small valley sparkling ray.
A young soldier, mouth open, head bare, his head
immersed in the cool blue cress
asleep, is lying in the grass, beneath the clouds,
pale in his green bed where the light rains.
His feet among the irises, he sleeps. Smiling
as a sick child smile, rest:
Nature cullalo you with your heat: cold. The scents are not
his nostrils quiver;
he sleeps in the sun, his hand on his chest
quiet. It has two red holes, right, on the side.
by Irene (teacher 1 ° Circolo di Alghero)
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