Posted on October 21, 2009 by Anita Sagástegui

(In this post, Anita Sagástegui, Poetry Inside Out Instructor & Curriculum Specialist, discusses the work of Haitian writer René Depestre. Although much of Depestre’s work is not available in English translation, Anita’s translation of his poem “The Singer Machine” is available in our current anthology of translated literature, Wherever I Lie is Your Bed. Anita will be reading her translations of Depestre at our book release party on November 9, and will also be in attendance to discuss translation and world literature.)

Haitian exile René Depestre is a renowned author, known throughout the world for his poetry, prose, and social commentaries, as well as for having lived on almost every continent, working side by side with prominent contemporaries such as Alejo Carpentier, Nicolás Guillén and Pablo Neruda. Depestre has been vastly translated in many languages, Western and non-Western, but not so much in English. This is particularly baffling because his sumptuous poetry and prose reflect the sensibilities of an itinerant man who blends nature, vaudou, surrealism and the sensual in a way no other writer ever has. He has fallen in out of love with communism, Marxism, the Negritude movement and chronicled it all; and he calls himself a poet and storyteller above all else, refusing to return to his native Haiti because in his opinion, Haiti has become a zombie, (a “violent contrast” of the Haiti he knew and loved while growing up in the port town of Jacmel) and prefers to keep the Haiti of his youth in his heart.

Depestre had his first book of poetry published in 1945, at the age of 19. His early work mostly reflected his beliefs, perception, struggles and experience with political activism and ideology, revolution and reform. He wrote fearlessly of his disillusion and hard breaks from so many things he once had written so passionately in favor of—never afraid of those he would offend as his soul evolved away from them.

It’s his work of the last twenty or thirty years that is most interesting to me. At this point his writing—in poetry and prose—cradles new muses: Haiti, Vaudou, sexual and sensual celebration, and the merging of the francophone world with the afro-Caribbean world. 1988 saw the release of his most celebrated novel, Hadriana dans tous mes rêves, (”Hadriana in All My Dreams”) for which he received several prestigious awards. This book is like nothing ever written about Haiti, before or since. The narrator of the story, Patrick, begins by describing his godmother’s postmortem ride, a death-bed request. Splendidly coiffed and her eyes adorned with a jewel-toned butterfly mask, she is driven along the colorful streets of Jacmel, inspiring terror, amazement, and gossip among the locals.

From one moment of surrealist fantasy to another, we are invited to witness the wedding of the sublime 19 year-old Hadriana, who barely utters her “yes” before collapsing, dead at the altar. This event, which nourishes the rest of the story, is cataclysmic for Jacmel. Though of French descent, Hadriana was raised (and much loved) by Haitians of both African and European descent. Indeed, Hadriana delighted much more in the spiritual Afro-Caribbean beliefs, stories and celebrations particular to Haiti than that of her Catholic upbringing. With her death erupts an all-out, orgasmically ecstatic, all-night celebration of her life by the whole town while rumors of zombification swirl—these rumors include some of her closest kin insisting that she be deflowered before burial to spurn the greedy sorcerer who zombified her. And then, closely following the celebration come natural and human-made disasters that incite Haiti’s decomposition. The narrator traverses a lonely road of exile and nostalgia, while one woman discovers sexual and personal freedom. And that’s about two-thirds of the book!

A poet above all else, Depestre’s prose is suffused with glorious figurative language and sensuality, while balancing comedy with wistful sadness.

I wish I could tell you to go read the book (and, actually, you can if you read French, German, Spanish, Italian or Japanese). Sadly, though, Hadriana dans tous mes rêves isn’t yet (or at least no longer) available in English, an injustice to our bookshelves I sometimes tease—though I am hard at work on fixing this.