My name is Claude Léocardie Gaëlle Hilaire. I was born in Port-au-Prince on December 10th, 1987. I grew up in Jacmel. My love for poetry came from there. Life in Jacmel was like a long poem:
The memory of
my teenage heart bubbling,
the colors of carnival,
my first kisses in the narrow streets,
the festive atmosphere,
the taste of benyen,
the poetry festivals,
the sunsets on the wharf,
my long legs on fire
the gentle and violent breezes of the Caribbean Sea
are unforgettable.
I began to write when I was 12. Writing is for me a necessity. My words express my pain, my joy, and my journey as a woman. Poetry helps me to find and feel the identity still rooted in Haiti.
Even though I live in New York, Haiti is part of my everyday life. Haiti is my soul. I stay connected to my dear country through my relationships with my family and friends who live there. I keep in touch through the food, the languages, my concerns about the social, political and cultural evolution, and the situation of women.
Poetry fills me with inspiration. I believe in the power of words. Words allow us to dream, to hope, to perpetuate our memories; to describe and heal our frustrations.
Now more than ever, this generation of young Haitians faces natural disasters, violence, and extreme poverty. Art represents the best means by which to seek and gain freedom, intellectual fulfillment, peace, and gender equality. We can feel united through Art.
The sacred relationship I developed with books by Haitian and foreign writers have forged my poetic and literary conscience. My favorites are Edwidge Danticat, Dany Laferrière, Lyonel Trouillot, Yanick Lahens, Jacques Roumain, Oscar Wilde, Stefan Zweig, Maryse Condé, Albert Camus, Charlotte Bronte , Milan Kundera, Pearl Buck. I admire Rene Depestre, James Noël, Georges Castera.
In my teenage world, reading was the passion that enlightened my vision of life ( I am not sure if “enlightened” is the good translation of “a éclairé ma vision de vie”). No matter. Having people read my poems will be a kind of perpetuation of my freedom.
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Gaëlle writes in French. Read her INNERview page. It’s time to practice a little French, oui?
À l’autre bout de l’Atlantique
L’Odeur d’un homme qui part
Une odeur mi-soleil, mi-maternelle
La beauté de la nudité
De l’odeur
D’un homme qui part…
L’odeur s’en va avec la buée du soir
Je la laisse couler entre mes doigts
Je suis une Femme Libre.