Jacques Roumain

Jacques Roumain (June 4, 1907 – August 18, 1944) was a Haitian writer, politician, and advocate of Marxism. He is considered one of the most prominent figures in Haitian literature. Although poorly known in the English-speaking world, Roumain has significant following in Europe, and is renowned in the Caribbean and Latin America. The great African-American poet, Langston Hughes, translated some of Roumain's greatest works, including Gouverneurs de la Rosée (Masters of the Dew). Although his life was short, Roumain managed to touch many aspects of Haitian life and culture.

Read more about Jacques Roumain:  Life, Death and Legacy, Quotes, Selected Works

Famous quotes by jacques roumain:

    Dust rises from the main road and old Délira is stooping in front of her hut. She doesn’t look up, she softly shakes her head, her headkerchief all askew, letting out a strand of grey hair powdered, it appears, with the same dust pouring through her fingers like a rosary of misery. She repeats, ‘we will all die’, and she calls on the good Lord.
    Jacques Roumain (1907–1945)

    Peasants are a rude lot, and hard: life has hardened their hearts, but they are thick and awkward only in appearance; you have to know them. No one is more sensitive to what gives man the right to call himself a man: good-heartedness, bravery and virile brotherhood.
    Jacques Roumain (1907–1945)

    I respect the ways of old folks, but the blood of a rooster or a goat cannot turn the seasons, change the course of the clouds and fill them up with water like bladders. The other night, at the ceremony for Legba, I danced and sang my fill: I am a black man, no? and I enjoyed it like a true Negro should. When the drums beat, I feel it in the pit of my stomach, I feel the itch in my hips and up and down my legs, I have got to join the party. But that is all.
    Jacques Roumain (1907–1945)

    The sacrifice to Legba was completed; the Master of the Crossroads had taken the loas’ mysterious routes back to his native Guinea.
    Meanwhile, the feast continued. The peasants were forgetting their misery: dance and alcohol numbed them, carrying away their shipwrecked conscience in the unreal and shady regions where the savage madness of the African gods lay waiting.
    Jacques Roumain (1907–1945)

    Misfortune is never invited. And it comes and sits at the table without permission and it eats, leaving nothing but bones.
    Jacques Roumain (1907–1945)