T out that I am committed to our Republic, indivisible, and while I am respectful of our 1958 Constitution, in Article 2, stipulates that "the language of the Republic is French", I am equally committed the wealth brings diversity. Equal Republican motto is not for me the antonym for diversity, nor the mean uniformity. Thus, whatever the proponents of a Jacobin Republic who fear that the attraction will undermine the foundations of their giant one and indivisible, I am a strong supporter of defense, protection, education and development regional languages: the more they will be considered part of our collective heritage of yesterday, today and tomorrow, they will be less because of divisions, because they then the instrument will neither centralist nor communitarians.
I dare such a lead-in to take my hat off to a bilingual French-Creole, and yet, I would be very difficult to claim that I was lulled by the Creole. In terms of regional languages, my ear has been accustomed to rather or Basque Gascon. Caricaturing in trouble, I would say that Creole, except through Malavoi discs, television reports on Aimé Césaire, or emission Studio M on France Ô, I have not heard or listened to often.
Thanks to the Chevalier de St. George, who became a familiar force of my shows that I prompted (with or without his contentment, go figure!), I immersed myself in a Creole text: the book Chevalier de St. George, musician of the Enlightenment / Chevalyé of St. George, mizisyen Enlightenment, with French text Françoise Kérisel adapted Creole Henry Cadoré (Editions L'Harmattan, collection Youth, 2007, ISBN 978-2-296-02397-0).
A book of small format, 26 pages of written texts "big" and airy, Creole and French vis-à-vis, I had enough here to make my first step without risking overheating. First observation, from reading the title and back cover: to try to understand what I have here, I will read aloud. Because I do not know if Creole is written the way it sounds, but when I read "in my head, I hear nothing!
Nwel 1745
Lagwadeloup timanmay from the net. Manman'y the young
famm may cry Nanon, can sing mimiré small low tibébé'y LA. Déwò in young men can play aerosols. They can dance alantou'y.
At the same time, in Sacred beautiful twama larad can enter the dance, is Saint-Heorges. They can wait to marine-voice while losiyé is ready to ship the binding.
Noël 1745
is Guadeloupe, un enfant vient de was outside.
La Jeune Nanon, this Mom, chantonne doucement pour nouveau-ne sound. Dehors, un boys starred de flûte. On the dance autour de lui.
Sur la Mer, au moment permitted, un superbe Trois-Mats, the St. George, entered the harbor. We hear the cries of the sailors who will moor.
Far from eavesdroppers (and perhaps mocking), I started to mumble something that had little to do with the sound of Creole words, relying on the original French text, seeking sentence structure, then letting me go with the phonetic and a pleasure to move forward, lurched toward something that began to ring less true.
When I closed the book, I was far from pronouncing the Creole as well as St. George played the violin or the sword, but this bilingual short trip with him was a nice way to explore this character from a different angle. For the journey is complete, it should now be a Creole or read to me, to my ears lulled by the "real" music of this text.
Meanwhile, receive greetings from Misys C.!
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