By — Tom LeGro Tom LeGro Leave your feedback Share Copy URL https://www.pbs.org/newshour/arts/weekly-poem-ports-of-sorrow Email Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Pinterest Tumblr Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Weekly Poem: ‘Ports of Sorrow’ Arts Jan 25, 2010 12:49 PM EDT By Patrick Sylvain Early January afternoon, I stand in my own port of pain Intertwined with my wife as we moan death-like an incision To the core. Barbed notes in a soprano’s throat. Port-au-Prince has become an archipelago of open tombs Consumed slowly by the sun and forming an ever lasting covenant. This unrelenting port is a cup of their blood. May the sins Of the prince be forgiven and forgive those who have trespassed Against “the wretched of this earth.” The port of prince is a mausoleum of dirt-embroidered bodies, A quarry of dried tongues begging for holy water and bread. No bread was ever broken and the disciples feared the masses. Port-au-Prince has neither port nor prince, But satellites beam our misery as we line up, Wounded, broken, seeking shelter anywhere but home. There is no anchor for anger, and no anchor for despair. The prince departed centuries ago with our coffer, leaving Broken chariots and cobwebbed treasuries. The port of prince is a mausoleum of dirt-embroidered bodies, I wake at night shuddering and intertwined with my wife In our own port of pain. The clock does not stop at our will, And how I wish to turn the hand of time, changing the prince’s Morbid cloak, but our ill-constructed port mimicked our timid steps And breath. The departed last gulp of air is its breath, the relay of life. Port-au-Prince has neither port nor prince, As tempests incessantly sweep through, 1804’s bright filament becomes faint and sad, Dimming like a dying firefly. Life mocks us With sadistic laughter. I feel burdened by death, Losses and corpses swarming in my chest. I need a stronger port to anchor their souls. Patrick Sylvain is a Haitian-American writer, essayist and poet, and instructor of Haitian language and culture at Brown University’s Center for Latin American and Caribbean Studies. He has been published in several anthologies, magazines and reviews, including African American Review, Agni, American Poetry Review, Callaloo, Crab Orchard Review, Haitian Times and Ploughshares. His latest book, “Love, Lust & Loss/ Lanmou, anvi ak pedans,” was published by Memoire d’Encrier in October 2005. We're not going anywhere. Stand up for truly independent, trusted news that you can count on! Donate now By — Tom LeGro Tom LeGro
By Patrick Sylvain Early January afternoon, I stand in my own port of pain Intertwined with my wife as we moan death-like an incision To the core. Barbed notes in a soprano’s throat. Port-au-Prince has become an archipelago of open tombs Consumed slowly by the sun and forming an ever lasting covenant. This unrelenting port is a cup of their blood. May the sins Of the prince be forgiven and forgive those who have trespassed Against “the wretched of this earth.” The port of prince is a mausoleum of dirt-embroidered bodies, A quarry of dried tongues begging for holy water and bread. No bread was ever broken and the disciples feared the masses. Port-au-Prince has neither port nor prince, But satellites beam our misery as we line up, Wounded, broken, seeking shelter anywhere but home. There is no anchor for anger, and no anchor for despair. The prince departed centuries ago with our coffer, leaving Broken chariots and cobwebbed treasuries. The port of prince is a mausoleum of dirt-embroidered bodies, I wake at night shuddering and intertwined with my wife In our own port of pain. The clock does not stop at our will, And how I wish to turn the hand of time, changing the prince’s Morbid cloak, but our ill-constructed port mimicked our timid steps And breath. The departed last gulp of air is its breath, the relay of life. Port-au-Prince has neither port nor prince, As tempests incessantly sweep through, 1804’s bright filament becomes faint and sad, Dimming like a dying firefly. Life mocks us With sadistic laughter. I feel burdened by death, Losses and corpses swarming in my chest. I need a stronger port to anchor their souls. Patrick Sylvain is a Haitian-American writer, essayist and poet, and instructor of Haitian language and culture at Brown University’s Center for Latin American and Caribbean Studies. He has been published in several anthologies, magazines and reviews, including African American Review, Agni, American Poetry Review, Callaloo, Crab Orchard Review, Haitian Times and Ploughshares. His latest book, “Love, Lust & Loss/ Lanmou, anvi ak pedans,” was published by Memoire d’Encrier in October 2005. We're not going anywhere. Stand up for truly independent, trusted news that you can count on! Donate now