A poet is.
His name is James Noel. He was born in Haiti, one of those islands scattered in the Caribbean Sea, the one with the glorious past within the new world named America.
James grew up in the midst of extreme parental severity and the exuberance of a constant quest for freedom, his hands opened and ready to hug the passing muse.
From middle school, his mind trapped beyond the means to express itself turned into saving all his impressions for a future that was not going to be too far away. He carried with him the dust of the roads from Hinche, his natal town, to Port au Prince, taking from the mountains their sadness or their joy in challenging the constant erosion of the Country. The duality, the complexity of a young life budding amongst unexplained, unethical social turbulences, even terrorism, will borne a poet, letting him come alive on top of himself, beyond the grasp of time, on the edge of a "double tranchant".
James Noel is. He is the time and the space where poetry takes the shape of reality, poignant or romantic. His eyes see beauty where no one expected: Kité'm lave pier'w! There is no limit to his scream to the world, except the magical touch of a kiss: "Seul le baiser pour muselière". With the sky for background and the beat of his heart for brush, James Noel keeps on running across the walls of words, leaving as, on a for ever imprinted love, drops of "The glazier's blood". A poet is. He walked up the ladder to join in celebrity, all those from ancient time to now who received from the heavens, the gift of turning words into live and captivating events.
une photo de Marie Andree Etinne, de frankétienne, de la journaliste valérie Marin La Meslée et de James Noel sur le site de Culture France
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