Guadeloupe

14 July. Fête Nationale. Live in a French territory—or rather, overseas department? Then it is your solemn duty to celebrate France’s national day. The French call it Quatorze Juillet—the rest of the world calls it Bastille Day. Some territories also have their own day of celebration—when that’s the case, I’ve chosen to write the entry on day that celebrates the particular culture of a territory, but for those without territory days, they arrive in a glut alongside France. The motherland. Oh, there's no official flag - other than the French flag. But there are also two unofficial flags. Admire them all.

So—Guadeloupe? Caribbean, man. You forgot about the archipelago? There are five islands, south of Saint-Barthélemy and French St Martin—both of the latter used to be part of Guadeloupe’s jurisdiction, but they, so to speak, grew up and moved out of home. This was actually really recent—they voted for separate collectivity status in 2003, and it came into effect on 22 February 2007.

Europeans landed on Guadeloupe in 1493—yes, that’s right, Mr Columbus strikes again. It was his second voyage, and he had a hankering for fresh water. No-one stayed ashore after this landfall, but Chris did take the time to name it: Santa María Guadalupe de Extremadura. But that’s a bit of a mouthful. Still, that’s where it comes from. It appears Columbus didn’t really have much to do with it after this.

The French, after establishing a successful settlement on St Kitts, decided more colonizing was in order, and after a toss up between Martinique, Dominica and Guadeloupe decided on—you guess it!—Guadeloupe. (This time. They didn’t forget about Martinique, though Dominica ended up in the hands of the British.) In proper colonizing spirit the set about killing of the Carib Amerindians when they moved in in1635. Official annexation to France came in 1674—I guess this was a like a red rag to the bull as then the British decided to seize it from time to time in the next century. Ah, the pesky relations of those kingdoms staring at each other across the English Channel—how refreshing to move it to a different front!

The upper class weren’t too happy when political change came to the islands, in the form of equal rights for free coloured inhabitants—and in a new world French revolution, the monarchists won out over the republicans. Well, for a while. When a slave rebellion started suddenly the islands turned away from France and asked the British to occupy them. A little more turmoil followed—it took until 1815 before it was sorted out, when French control was acknowledged in the Treaty of Vienna. They tossed out slavery in 1848.

While Saint-John Perse is the best known poet from the islands (he won the Nobel Prize in 1960) the poem I have for you is by Guy Tirolien. Disappointed? I’m not stopping you from looking up Perse’s work… in fact, I actively encourage it! This poem comes from The Oxford Book of Caribbean Verse, and was translated from the French by Nick Caistor.


Islands

This is the low house
in which my race has grown.
Twisting and lifting, the road
takes off beyond.
Will it reach the weary waters
beneath the distant mango trees?

Smells of burnt earth and salt cod
wafting under the muzzle of thirst.
A smile splitting the ripe coco-plum
of an aged face.
The vague prayer of smoke-trails.
Lament of a prolonged neighing
that scales the sides of the ravines.
Voices of rum
with their breathe
warming our ears.

Clatter of dominoes rifling the birds’ repose.
Calypso rhythms
in the warm belly of our banjos.
Laughter of desire in the deep insides of the night.
Mouths starved of bread
swilling the cheap alcohol
of words.

The island pushing towards morning
its weight of humanity.

—Guy Tirolien
from The Oxford Book of Caribbean Verse
translated from the French by Nick Caistor