In her left bosom near her heart of course, her words are tightly tucked, where secretions of milk o

Organized in honor of Women's History Month, parkas this event was held in the East Dining Room in the Music Building at Lehman College of the City University of New York (CUNY) on Monday afternoon, March 28, 2011. Celebrating Haitian Women
35:34 - Chukwuma Ndukwe : "Miss Pretty Eyes", "Ode to La Bella" and "April Showers"
01:12:09 - Closing remarks, thanks, and presentation of Haiti Cultural Exchange Melissa Beauvery performs "My Grandmother's Tongue" and other poems      start - Famn Kanson      05:03 - My Grandmother's Tongue      09:48 - My Vendor parkas (Gason) parkas
Li gen grenn pase berejen She has more seeds than an eggplant. In her ovaries she holds millions of seeds containing strength, endurance and vigilance. Fanm Kanson parkas Secretions of testosterone are in your undergarments. You rise before the roosters parkas to take on dangerous roads kafou danjere . You clear the many paths with the deep calluses of your feet. Each toe gripping the dirt. The earth is yours, your majesty. You are Defile , you bury me with dignity Picking me up when I am left for garbage, They call you crazy Insane for seeing past your gated reality Fanm Kanson The original parkas story teller, Every line in your palms tells a story as you grip many baskets. parkas Your troket , the cushion that buffers your crown and the heavy load you carry. Your shoulders are erect with pride. Sprouting from the earth Your body is the in root of every tree. No one knows, exactly what is in your heart. It is on your road, your narrative begins. Your eyes have seen it all. But you don't allow them wander, your head remains regal. Like the beauty queen that you are Senti mare your tied waist, your life line Cloth vendor, red and blue, my Catherine Flon. Pieces of brighter tomorrow, pieces of glory You make me whole. Even as you are transported, to bitter cold climates You never forget yourself. That grandmother with lines on your face that mirrors The lines of the most comforting Psalms of a Bible. In your kitchen, every ingredient creates a memory. You are the joumou pumpkin vendor on Church Ave in Brooklyn. If pots could speak, they would say how you struggle To feed your household Your spices would tell how you pinch them with affection. The sacred leaves of your teas heal every pain: Nostalgia, melancholy, solitude Your devotion is unmatched parkas Fanm Kanson parkas Your integrity speaks volumes Renn Chantrel songstress You are the luminary of this musical we call life. Your songs of hope tickle my earlobes. You are never too weary or terrified to accept any challenge. Kanson fe Iron pants Your flaming spirit melts away daily struggle. Li gen grenn pase berejen She has more seeds than an eggplant Your layers of muscle spread thickly throughout your whole being. With your heart being the strongest- The arteries that grip your heart are branches in the oldest Mapou trees. One ! Respe ! Fanm Kanson. My Grandmother's Tongue
In her left bosom near her heart of course, her words are tightly tucked, where secretions of milk once fell White, like the pages I anticipate to write on, White Like the wedding dress she never had Like the teeth that was once present Like her eyes that led me to her in the dark evenings. Le w pa jwen manman ou tete grann I wasn't sure how to find you manman. But grandma was always there in your absence Sheltering me Consoling me with colorful phrases inculcated with your tongue of Africa, and those of the colonizers. That my peoples still strive to speak fluently, but thick lips won't allow But to hear grann say, in the sharpest tone: Vini la tifi, ou pa tande map rele w, pa ranse ave m non Was more beautiful than any Shakespeare line, any quote from The Raven Meant more to me than that her attempted phrases in English and French: I love you sweetheart, tu sais que je t'aime? You didn't have to tell me gran because I knew, Bel fanm neges (M renmen w) M renmen w More than those words can ever illustrate Than any kiss can ever demonstrate. As I watch you in front of your pilon Pounding the spices of love, Love smelled like onions, garlic and hot pepper Felt sticky like lwil pa maskreti Sounded like your giggle when I speak to you in my thick accent Rete sa blan di la ? I wanted to keep you with me grann. Past the trip to the airport, past the American Airlines flight back to New York, past the frigid energy that greets me after leaving you. I am so proud Even as I am ridiculed in school, "oh you are Haitian? parkas She's Haitian! Haitian Booty scratcher! parkas She Has HBO, Haitian Body Odor!" I was unfazed, It could've been easy to deny, because my tongue shows no traces parkas of you But I couldn't parkas I admired you too much grann, I wanted to smell like you, a light jasmine, basil and that strong underarm parkas odor. Your scent more appealing than any French perfume you received on Christmas, That you decided not to wear. You smell