• ATIS LAKAY Michele Voltaire-Marcelin


A force to reckon with, this multi-talented phenomenon will entice and beguile and snare you in her intricate and delicate web of poetry, art, performance, and glamour … I don’t know how she does it, but yes, she is the geisha that uses all of her charms and charisma to mesmerize you and keep you riveted to whatever she serves, asking for more. Be ready for an experience not soon to forget, meet the one and only…WRITER 1

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caresse de demoiselle

dans l’incendie des roses
qui brûlent le jardin
je vis pieds nus
quelle merveille

je regarde encore le calendrier d’août
malgré les rumeurs vaines
l’été est hors d’haleine

je viens à vous

déshabillée en chair de femme
ma peau en feu
comme un soir couleur de pêche
mes cheveux fous en auréole d’ombellifères
tout embaumée de passiflore
je viens à vous
et je vous offre
prenez tout
mon rire cascade de réséda
les arcs-en-ciel de mes bras
les aiguilles lumières de mes doigts
mon sexe étoile photophore
et pour chasser les sortilèges
le bleu mystère de mes paupières
et mon éventail d’opéra
prenez je vous le donne
ce vertige de colibri qui s’échappe
de ma poitrine
comme d’une volière soudain ouverte
quand je vous vois

je suis pays de sources vives
ouvrez vos mains que je ruisselle
depuis la nuit de mes aisselles
jusqu’à la blessure des roses

les libellules viennent
goutte à goutte
boire la pluie à mes paupières
moi je garde pour votre soif
mon canari rempli d’eau douce

entrez dans mes yeux
venez dans mes cheveux
mon bel amour
quand elle veut
la vie est douce comme une caresse de demoiselle

michèle voltaire marcelin  (Amours et Bagatelles – Cidihca)

*Frêle et fragile, de la famille des libellules, la demoiselle vit souvent au bord de l’eau.


night flows endlessly between my eyelids
refusing to enter
i cannot sleep
and have started to count lovers
instead of sheep
some names i do declare
escape me and some i will confess blessed me
some flung their love at me while others
slipped it behind me gentle like a shadow
and once i found a ring inscribed
with someone’s name
and kept it
but you my dear
i chose
eyes opened wide as were my arms
to claim you all
although you are as elusive as sleep
i’ve woven your name under my skin so deep
so deep
night flows silently
it is like a river
and i want to drown
in it

michèle voltaire marcelin


I sat under the palm fronds, safely ensconced in the folds of Manzèlore’s wide skirt that smelled of  ti-baume, of fey kowosol and other wild herbs;  only a sliver of moon illuminated the sky. Corn crackled as it grilled on an open fire and Manzèlore, the kindest, most generous soul I have ever known,  who  now lives in the land of truth — I call her name without diverting her from the path of the dead –  Manzèlore would say Pitit mwen (although I always knew I was her special child, she called flowers and plants, all animals and every child hers as she spoke to them gently, watering the first, caressing the others, braiding my wild hair and feeding us all) Pitit mwen, she would repeat as she removed the kernels from the corncob, shaking off the heat as she made them dance in her palm, and she would call out Krik! and eagerly, I would respond without a beat Krak! and she would tell me stories of angels with gossamer wings and of Tezin, master of the waters; of the peasant who sought to marry her only son with a princess, of the magical orange tree, of female werewolves who removed their skins at night to fly in the countryside. She would change her voice for each character and she would sing and I carry her voice inside me, I carry it in my heart as I sing lost fragments of songs that come to me randomly at night : ti pye zoranj pouse pouse (grow little orange tree) …. or manman o manman men koulèv la ape manje’m (mother o mother the snake is eating me) or ensel ensel miyon miyon, ensel badyo’m nan ( my one, my only precious child)…

So I was ecstatic when the FIAF (French Institute Alliance Française) through Professor Etienne Télémaque, contacted me for a Krik?Krak! event during their World Nomad series celebrating Haiti. It gave me the opportunity to say Manzèlore’s name –an honor I never refuse — to engage in a Tim Tim? Bwa Chèch! Nou bwè pwa? session of Haitian riddles with the audience; to tell the love story of Tezin, to say a Frankétienne poem to Frankétienne himself — a blessing I will long remember — along with poems of Syto CavéJames Noël and of Tiga;to sing with Martina Bruno and Buyu Ambroise and to recreate briefly in the Skyroom Theater of the FIAF, one of the evenings I hope all those present will carry — as I do — in their hearts.  Click here for photos of the event and until I see you again, I end my story the way Manzèlore would end all her stories: e yo banm youn ti kout pye ki fè’m ateri isit la….(I was gently kicked until i reached these parts)

Michèle Voltaire Marcelin

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