BLESS YOU, MARK AND TOBIAS

"Suffering Haiti"
Niobe, 1968 pen and chalk, Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG

For the most part, I have been rendered speechless by the massive and horrific devastation in Haiti. My heart aches; my heart breaks, but few words come. I think of the the devastation of Katrina and the federal flood multiplied by tens of thousands dead, probably hundreds of thousands injured, and millions left to survive in unspeakably wretched misery.

I consider Mark Harris a friend, although we met and conversed for only a brief few moments at GC09, because we communicate fairly regularly online. In his poem titled "RAMA: Weeping For Haiti", Mark so eloquently and movingly speaks words about Haiti which I would have wanted to speak. Below is a brief quote from Mark's poem, but I urge you to go to Preludium to read the poem in its entirety.

The sun was blotted from the sky
and the dust rose
and the night came
with agony in the buildings
and anguish in the streets.
It was day and night, the first day.

Rachel's people,
They are no more,
All have gone down,
Down with the presidential palace,
Down with the churchly palace,
Down with the all the places of block and mortar,
Down to death.

Tobias Haller, a dear friend, whose company I have enjoyed on several occasions and with whom I communicate regularly online and by email, provided me with the perfect image of Haiti in agony as a companion to the quote from Mark's poem

Thanks also to Mark for the link to this story by Simon Romero, who reports from Haiti in the New York Times.

Soon dusk began to fall, enveloping this city, still without electricity, in darkness. An aftershock sent people running out of homes into the street. Many decided it would be safer to remain in the street. They chatted with neighbors and wondered what would come next in Port-au-Prince. Some lighted candles under the night sky.

With no electricity, stars offered the only illumination in the city, which, with its suburbs, is home to nearly 3 million people. For some of those lying on the asphalt or in the parks, cellphones provided a brief glimpse of light.

Then the singing began. Those gathered outside tents, on lawn chairs, sitting in the middle of empty streets, sang their hymns. One phrase in Creole could be heard repeatedly both inside and outside the hospital walls, as if those voicing the words were trying to make sense of the madness around them.

“Beni Swa Leternel,” they sang. “Blessed be the Lord.”

Mark says, "May the faith of the people of Haiti carry them through the terrible times to come."

Amen and amen and amen.