Coups de pilon by David Diop, or the Word Made Flesh and Fury

Trans­lated from French

The work of David Diop (1927-1960)1Re­jected forms:
David Man­dessi Diop.
David Léon Man­dessi Diop.
David Diop Mendessi.
David Mambessi Diop.
Not to be con­fused with:
David Diop (1966-…), writer and aca­demic, win­ner of the Goncourt des ly­céens prize in 2018 for his novel Frère d’âme (Soul Brother).
, as brief as it was bril­liant, re­mains one of the most grip­ping tes­ti­monies of mil­i­tant negri­tude po­et­ry. His sole col­lec­tion, Coups de pi­lon (Ham­mer Blows, 1956), res­onates with undi­min­ished force, ham­mer­ing con­sciences and cel­e­brat­ing the in­de­fati­ga­ble hope of an Africa stand­ing tall. Born in Bor­deaux to a Sene­galese fa­ther and a Cameroo­nian moth­er, Diop ex­pe­ri­enced Africa less through pro­longed res­i­dence than through dream and her­itage, which takes noth­ing away from the power of a voice that knew how to echo the suf­fer­ings and re­volts of an en­tire con­ti­nent.

A Poetry of Revolt

Diop’s po­etry is above all a cry. A cry of re­fusal in the face of colo­nial in­iq­ui­ty, a cry of pain in the face of his peo­ple’s hu­mil­i­a­tion. In a di­rect style, stripped of all su­per­flu­ous or­na­ment, the poet de­liv­ers his truths like so many “ham­mer blows” in­tend­ed, in his own words, to “burst the eardrums of those who do not want to hear and crack like whip strokes on the ego­isms and con­formisms of or­der”. Each poem is an in­dict­ment draw­ing up the bloody bal­ance sheet of the tute­lary era. Thus, in “The Vul­tures,” he de­nounces the hypocrisy of the civ­i­liz­ing mis­sion:

In those days
With shouts of civ­i­liza­tion
With holy wa­ter on do­mes­ti­cated brows
The vul­tures built in the shadow of their talons
The bloody mon­u­ment of the tute­lary era.

Diop, David, Coups de pi­lon (Ham­mer Blows), Paris: Présence africaine, 1973.

Vi­o­lence is om­nipresent, not only in the the­me, but in the very rhythm of the phrase, sober and sharp as a blade. The fa­mous and la­conic poem “The Time of Mar­tyr­dom” is the most poignant il­lus­tra­tion, a ver­i­ta­ble litany of dis­pos­ses­sion and colo­nial crime: “The White killed my fa­ther / For my fa­ther was proud / The White raped my mother / For my mother was beau­ti­ful”. These un­adorned vers­es, giv­ing the text its strik­ing force, have dis­con­certed some crit­ics. Sana Ca­mara sees in them, for ex­am­ple, a “sim­plic­ity of style that bor­ders on pover­ty, even if the poet at­tempts to cap­ti­vate us with the irony of events”. Yet it is un­doubt­edly in this econ­omy of means, this re­fusal of ar­ti­fice, that the bru­tal­ity of the sub­ject reaches its parox­ysm.

Africa at the Heart of the Word

If re­volt is the en­gine of his writ­ing, Africa is its soul. She is that ide­al­ized moth­er­land, glimpsed through the prism of nos­tal­gia and dream. The open­ing apos­tro­phe of the poem “Africa” — “Africa, my Africa” — is a dec­la­ra­tion of be­long­ing and fil­i­a­tion. This Africa, he ad­mits to hav­ing “never known”, but his gaze is “full of your blood”. She is by turns the lov­ing and scorned moth­er, the dancer with a body of “black pep­per”, and the beloved wom­an, Rama Kam, whose sen­sual beauty is a cel­e­bra­tion of the en­tire race.

It is in this dreamed Africa that the poet draws the strength of hope. To the de­spair in­spired by the “back that bends / And lies down un­der the weight of hu­mil­ity”, a voice re­sponds, prophet­ic:

Im­petu­ous son, that ro­bust and young tree
That tree over there
Splen­didly alone in the midst of white and with­ered flow­ers
Is Africa, your Africa that grows again
That grows again pa­tiently ob­sti­nately
And whose fruits grad­u­ally have
The bit­ter taste of free­dom.

Diop, David, Coups de pi­lon (Ham­mer Blows), Paris: Présence africaine, 1973.

A Militant Humanism

To re­duce Diop’s work to an “an­ti-racist racism2Sartre, Jean-Paul, “Or­phée noir” (“Black Or­pheus”), pref­ace to l’An­tholo­gie de la nou­velle poésie nè­gre et mal­gache de langue française (An­thol­ogy of New Ne­gro and Mala­gasy Po­etry in French) by L. S. Sen­ghor, Paris: Presses uni­ver­si­taires de France, 1948., to bor­row Sartre’s for­mu­la, would be to mis­un­der­stand its uni­ver­sal scope. If the de­nun­ci­a­tion of Black op­pres­sion is the start­ing point, Diop’s strug­gle em­braces all the wretched of the earth. His po­etry is a clamor that rises “from Africa to the Amer­i­cas” and his sol­i­dar­ity ex­tends to the “docker of Suez and the coolie of Hanoi”, to the “Viet­namese ly­ing in the rice field” and the “con­vict of the Congo brother of the lynched of At­lanta”.

This fra­ter­nity in suf­fer­ing and strug­gle is the mark of a pro­found hu­man­ism. The poet does not con­tent him­self with curs­ing, he calls for col­lec­tive ac­tion, for unan­i­mous re­fusal em­bod­ied by the fi­nal in­junc­tion of “Chal­lenge to Force”: “Stand up and cry: NO!”. For, ul­ti­mate­ly, be­yond the vi­o­lence of the word, David Diop’s song is “guided only by love”, the love of a free Africa within a rec­on­ciled hu­man­i­ty.

The work of David Diop, cut down in full bloom by a tragic death that de­prived us of his forth­com­ing manuscripts, re­tains a burn­ing rel­e­vance. Léopold Sé­dar Sen­ghor, his for­mer teacher, hoped that with age, the poet would go “hu­man­iz­ing him­self”. One can af­firm that this hu­man­ism was al­ready at the heart of his re­volt. Coups de pi­lon (Ham­mer Blows) re­mains an es­sen­tial text, a clas­sic work of African po­et­ry, a vi­aticum for all youth yearn­ing for jus­tice and free­dom.

That is al­ready a lot for a work that is, all things con­sid­ered, quite lim­it­ed, for a first and—alas—last work. But there are texts that go to the heart of things and speak to the en­tire be­ing. Lyri­cal, sen­ti­men­tal, ex­pres­sion of a per­sonal de­mand and anger, this po­etry ”launched gravely to as­sault chimeras“ […] is in­deed one of those that will eter­nal­ly, to pla­gia­rize Cé­saire, defy ”the lack­eys of or­der“ [that is, the agents of re­pres­sion], one of those that […] will al­ways ob­sti­nately re­mind us that ”the work of man has only just be­gun“, that hap­pi­ness is al­ways to be con­quered, more beau­ti­ful and stronger.

So­ciété africaine de cul­ture (ed.), David Diop, 1927-1960 : té­moignages, études (David Diop, 1927-1960: Tes­ti­monies, Stud­ies), Paris: Présence africaine, 1983.


To Go Further

Around Coups de pilon (Hammer Blows)

Quotations

My brother with teeth that shine un­der the hyp­o­crit­i­cal com­pli­ment
My brother with golden glasses
On your eyes made blue by the Mas­ter’s word
My poor brother in a tuxedo with silk lapels
Chirp­ing and whis­per­ing and strut­ting in the sa­lons of con­de­scen­sion
You make us pity you
The sun of your coun­try is but a shadow
On your serene civ­i­lized brow

Diop, David, Coups de pi­lon (Ham­mer Blows), Paris: Présence africaine, 1973.

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Bibliography

  • Ca­ma­ra, Sana, La Poésie séné­galaise d’­ex­pres­sion française, 1945-1982 (Sene­galese Po­etry in French, 1945-1982), Paris: L’Har­mat­tan, 2011.
  • Chevri­er, Jacques, Lit­téra­tures fran­co­phones d’Afrique noire (Fran­co­phone Lit­er­a­tures of Black Africa), Aix-en-Provence: Édis­ud, 2006.
  • Di­eng, Amady Aly (ed.), Les Étu­di­ants africains et la lit­téra­ture né­gro-africaine d’­ex­pres­sion française (African Stu­dents and Ne­gro-African Lit­er­a­ture in French), Mankon, Ba­men­da: Lan­gaa Re­search & Pub., 2009.
  • Jar­rety, Michel (ed.), Dic­tio­n­naire de poésie de Baude­laire à nos jours (Dic­tio­nary of Po­etry from Baude­laire to the Present Day), Paris: Presses uni­ver­si­taires de France, 2001.
  • Kesteloot, Lilyan, His­toire de la lit­téra­ture né­gro-africaine (His­tory of Ne­gro-African Lit­er­a­ture), Paris: Kartha­la, 2004.
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  • Ndi­aye, Chris­tiane (ed.), In­tro­duc­tion aux lit­téra­tures fran­co­phones : Afrique, Caraïbe, Maghreb (In­tro­duc­tion to Fran­co­phone Lit­er­a­tures: Africa, Caribbean, Maghreb), Mon­tre­al: Les Presses de l’U­ni­ver­sité de Mon­tréal, 2004.
  • So­ciété africaine de cul­ture (ed.), David Diop, 1927-1960 : té­moignages, études (David Diop, 1927-1960: Tes­ti­monies, Stud­ies), Paris: Présence africaine, 1983.
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Yoto Yotov

Depuis 2010, je consacre mes veilles à faire dialoguer les siècles et les nations, persuadé que l’esprit humain est partout chez lui. Si cette vision d’une culture universelle est la vôtre, et si mes Notes du mont Royal vous ont un jour éclairé ou touché, songez à faire un don sur Liberapay.

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