cleg guas

W E S L E Y A N P O E T R Y

A Driftless Series Book

This book is the 2,010 selection in the Driftless English category,

for English language poetry from an author outside the United States.

Kamau Brafhwcufe

W E S L E Y A N U N I V E R S I T Y PRESS

M I D D L E T O W N , C O N N E C T I C U T

cleg guas

Published by

W E S L E Y A N U N I V E R S I T Y P R E S S

Middletown, CTo64yj>

www.weskyan.edu/wespress

© 1010 by Kamau Brathwaite

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

y 4 3 i i

The Driftless Series is funded by the

Beatrice Fox Auerbach Foundation Fund

at the Hartford Foundation for Public Giving.

The Letters to Zea Mexican in this book

originally appeared in Tbf ZM Mexican Diary,

Wisconsin University Press, ij>j>3.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Brathwaite, Kamau, 1730-

Elegguas / Kamau Brathwaite.

p. cm. — (Wesleyan poetry)

isBNj>78-o-8ij>y-6j>43-i (cloth:alk.paper) I.Title.

pRj>i30.j>.B68E44 100?

8n'.y4—den iooj>03yj>i3

This project is supported in part by an award

from the National Endowment for the Arts.

for

Timothy Reiss&

Janice Whittle da Y$ar\oade

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cleggucis. . , a leng way from nan $uinnen . . .

ofle1 Letter to Zea Mexican (i) 03

two2 Aunt Lucille 115 Elegy for Rosita 12A Circle(s) 135 Harlem 146 Duke 16

tree7 Mesongs 27

four8 Letter to Zes^ Mexicari (2) 47

lire9 Cherries 5510 Poem for Walter Rodney 6011 Stone 6712Defilee '7313 Xango at the Summer Solstice 7914 Ark 31

siX15 This sweet wmdpersonpoem 89

seYen16 Tell me how close (1) 10117 Tell me how close (2yDChaci 10218 Tell me how close (5) 104

eishi19 fflute(s) 109

nine2QYemanjaa. 112

ten21 Letter to Zea, Mexican. (3) 121

ofle

a

Lett** t<>2 £4, M*#i£«&Jv

flunday 14 flapt 1986

2 am

Dearest BTexicanTomorrow afternoon I'll see yr face <for the last time - see you for the lasslass time 1 really cyaaan imagine th-at yu know

From the very first I see you I know. I certain . 1 sure. And 1 have alway(s)been secure w/you Standing nearto you at Mother's funeral when 1 might have tumble into the grave - atleast tha-t's how I feel - or when my hea(d) •was spinning in that bathroomin the village of Bottisham nr Cam-<bridge or in our little bedroom highup in Irish Tn & 1 shouted out & yucome running 6t hold me Bt tell menot to •worry that it wd pass Or whenit felt like fainting at Massachusettsin all that snow on the way to GK »Hall (of all palaces - the first - but notthe last! - betrayal by a royal publish-ers) or in that midday in the midd-le of Delhi when it -was so hot and «

3

all that pollution - eternal dust it seemfrom the desert of the city - & again yutell me I cd do it. You always say th-at & 1 believe you because 1 beleeve inyou 1 trust in you Gt I know you cdbe trusted even too. What a'wonder-ful thing 1 realize now. 1 always knothat nothing cd come between us 1 «kno for instance that if a gunman »was to come inside the house [it happenlater when you gone when i om alone: see f ff t ]we wd probably die together die foreach other w/each other 1 certainlykno that I wd die for you ifAvhen Ihad to & you I'm even surer wd havedie for me as you almost once did asit is . like when one day at Round «House the prop-up duncks tree by th(e) backdoor steps start to fall on mean before i cd blink or say Jackie Robinson my Mother was holding uptha tree w/she body w/she feet wideplanting apart pun th hot red stepsof th house and i kno that that cudd-(a)be yu an it make a whole world adifference let me tell yu. . .

Seems such a short timewe are together In fact feels like no

time at all Our 26 years alreadyhere gone 'contracted to *, spui' as

my sister xplainsit but let's hope that it'll lengthenback out to where we are now. Ev

-eryone has been •wonderfulsupportive etc [little did ] fcnoui

4

i

that thij wcf not lo^t wo" not continue] thoof course I continue to be like dumb

like dark/shut down & cannot beconsole(d). How cd I ever bel

Each, day I come to love you more& more appreciate you more & more•So that Sarah, cd write that even tho

she don't see so much of youin London in recent years

[cf the Caribbean flrtijtj fllouiemant]I always bring yr presence w/mwe

And as i tell you several timesduring d after Massachusetts

6i the Efcglt there was- cd be - no one else no matter what

yu or anybody else might thinkor say

This was the golden timefinding as 1 say our own lifestyle

at/in IT-Penlyne-Bdos & the tripsabroad & Velma painting word

-pictures- & How greedily i believe them Ac why not]- of you & me at IT growin old like

once upon a time & dodderybut everlastinglovingly she smile to

-gether

George is here & is ecstatic about thehouse [at Irish Tn - IT] & full of ideasfor improvement. Seems so strange& such a pity that we nvr invitedhim over even for a brief weekend/to

6

which I hear you say But do an mineGeorge] I always askin when he «comin fit he always busy-busy-busy -& George himself confirm this. Sayyu always invitin him but he alwaystoo busy busy busy But now he's <«here, one wishes it cd have been the <two of you together laughin gaffin <loud & happily & tramping up & «down the place - aji nowi think it like itreally ha.ppenl - yu w/yr off-white jipp-pa-jappa on, looking at •where 'the <road' wd be etc etc etc

Am sorry too we nvr phone Aunt £1eanor at least from time to time - kee(p) more in touch w/them altho a-«gain 1 hear you laugh w/love Aunt <Eleanor too confuse & of course th-ere wd be time there wd be time ano-ther time etc etc etc But the phone w*sloud & clear when. I get thru to New Am-sterdam - God clearin the way to Uncle <Time as it turn out to be & softer shock <& disbelief- he seem to take it cool - hisculture too polite to hurt me w/his pain - re-lieve that -iLshe say - it wsus «• good thingitwss he pick up the phone because if itw»s Elesuuor he say if surely wd .havekill her - altho i kno they cd not think - imengine - that she dead an so is only me res-ponsible fe she & kill she - let she dead -and 1 ask George to pho again todayto find out how they are - they bring

you up. they love you so so so muchmy darling - who shd have gone be-fore you - their voices even in thatfar-off phone - they haunt me w/the-ir love inconsolation sorrow - shetek a. 'turn1 George say Time say &even now her ayes are red Gt fat w/weepin...

7

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two

c

Aunt Lucille

We too have shared her admonitionshave looked on her with something of respect

until the vegetable years

demanding deeper rootsa harder covering

beyond her soft commandering

have fashioned herinto a symbol into a silent smile

guarding the garden

and deserted and growing apart . have made of her worriesa hand sliding over the fur

of our wild unaccountable lies

ii

Elegy for Ifasita

That she is suddenly stillwith her stillness her mourning

i cannot think

i cannot knowthe anxious pilgrimage of blood

that only finds a doctor's watered consolationand so returns in crisis to the helpless life

brinked on the precipice of her heart's rending

That she is suddenly cometo the door of her pain's ending

i cannot think

Nor can i pray that morning willnot raise the mourning from her head

nor hoist the suns back to her eyes

to say she is not dead

CambridgeOcl 1951 rev Cowfatfor 28 One 96 12 -fab 90 . for Richard Clacka

li

Circle(s)

forMelba. Listen & Marjorie Whylie

Music will never fly out of your green horn in squaresnor out of your harp nor out of your thumb pianos

because it does not grow on cottonwool plantationsit is not manufactured goods nor made of metal neither

it can never go straight up to heavenclambering up its notes from a ladder in the sky

for it curls like your hair around its alabama root. rippleslike fishwater around your children's sticks

has deep watery eyes like a sea lion . has clear fiery eyes like a hawkit sees through stone . and dynamites itself in chalky quarries

of deep bone . bringin our riddim homeit is the blue lagoon inside your slide trombone

it is the echo not the rock that doesit. it is that reggae reggae riddim that Xplodes the prison burns the clock

13

Harlem

forMyrna. Bain

O Myrna Bainso bright the bronze so brave the sybil warrieuseso clear & consonant the syllables

so clearly gone us nowthe rainthe dorothea administring to you

the last rites of the killers of yr paindressed now in white so you are comforted, soft nowafter such storms & hurricanes

this harlem harbour nr st nicholas where you sail lately yr life onshipwrecked and drifted sometimes, stayedhowever, prayed every 6m6 obosom our better future

And yet you were neglectedloved more than you had love and luckwd have it so. yr back unwanting pocket for the orphanage

Now you will always walk with us along the blackbeach of the shadow of the south coast crater of Jamaicamarvelling at magmamatic pebbles

and the laterite that fall there long agobefore the green before the time of canes before the flamethat come to torture & consume from yr appeal

14

the sweet & clamour of the pealing bellsthat take yr hair & tearit. destroy that lion voice so that it seem not even fire-

moths aglow wd fear it. the wound you bear insideyou folded flared and so unhealing feelingthat you begin to fade

away from sun. light lacking like yr shadow in the hall-way down the wide brownstone steps around the grill-work & the aspen at the corner standing in its shade

until you knew you cd not even walk where once yr soulso brightly laugh aloud & talk to alice coltrane rosa guy the eldrengarvey neighbours by the minton jazz-club and the laundrymat

the herbalist still sellin ole newspapers secrets sucrets darlinmists & juices round the blockO let it knit back now o silent rose o blossom of this cloud-

(y) afternoon, a walk w/you across the lawn to sit the visitin a quiet garden tuck below the close & boarded rooms & flatsfor sale, though these were not the images you choose -

the shattered street the stone the bare neglecting statuettesthe ghetto slowly blinding youthe easy life of lights & wife you not unlightly have refuse

iy

Dukefor Anne Waimsley

The old man's hands are alligatorskins

and swimming easily like thesealong the harp stringed keyboard

where he will makeof

Solitudea silver thing

as if great age like hiscould play that tune along

these cracks that flowbetween their swing

without a scratch of thistlesound

& whistle down the rhythm all wing long&

what a way to love you madly madly madlywith the wisdom of so many

all night carioca smokes& dish & clutter knife & clatter up the baad bo

diddley dancehall bars & barrios

16

my Cousin Bigard

A-ing in the piss stain

RESTROOMSmood & oboe

indigo

wet glass

of

17

SUPANOVA HEADLIGHTS

BessieBessie

Bessie Smiththe empress of our shattered blues

&you

smiling up front in the coach every morningafter the thousand &

oneone night stands

WattsSt Louis

Selma AlabamaChicago

MontgomeryBus Boycott

Cairowhere they most nearly kill you

SphinxPharaoh

Memphis Tennessee

c

18

where they did where they didwhere they finally did

butthe baf>f>y-a.0-tut?ky-l0eal}

shout, inout

run Jesse runJesse run Jesse

runcall yo outcent. low

3(7 W ft

you caint make

ityou're nothin , you*re from no

body3rd claM servant cloM got-no-elaM undercioM

it li not a. question my friend*about a telephone fallefwke tango with v?tw

ofviho diifc in with wfto in ttie ohithouae

id a. matter ofhape of the right to continue the "dreamabout our rightful ptace at the table

&

i?

the curtain psyching up& the lights swimming down into the thunder of silence

& each time each time is that creak before birthJimmy Hamilton's like Carolina clarinet

leading us out of the silence

Afternoon of a saxophoneCaravanPcrdido

CottontailSatin Doll

Sophisticated LadyTransblucency

the crcoCreole Love Call

&

Let me hear it one more time

for

ao

II/IEA$0XE3tfOiA0&(§

&

DCin summer

hot almost too simmer to sip . sop sit out on the stoepwith old men . cymbell children

cries rising like these northern egretsabove the railway tracks

where Sonny Greer come walking down the sidewalk clickin sticks

ii

the ole man plays the tunewith ancient hands of jungle tintsof stride piano at the Cotton Club

New Orleans woman drum

GonscitocsRabbit

Harry CarneyCootieHanton

CDoodyardQlanton

Catthe

doo-doo doo-doo wahof

l-jarlcm qir-ShaFt

warm & deep where i am born upon the sidewalkon the corner . in the precinct with no father to my name . no name

but what my grannma give me

our mother dragging us acrossthe midnight city looking for a place to sleep

at least to keep her box of broken winnings in. takin two jobslike twins

so she could feed us chicken boneto keep our hopes alive

an not a one a we she always say too poorto hear a pride a 40-40 trombone lion roar

ii

the ole man's hands are striding throughthe keyboard sidewalks alleyways & ages

fromShakka speare and guinea birD

toCaribbean stilt dance

vevemasquerade

&Buddy Bolden's golden Strayhorn horn across the misty

goombay levee dawnthat no cheap jazzhouse perfume scent can cheapen

his hands are playing every Tricky Nantam book in townblack black Black Bottom Stomp

diminuendo honey beige & hallelujah brown

*3

&lookthe old man's alligator hands are young

*4

tree

me/OA9'i

Those who i hold most dearare nvr dead

they become more than fixedin song or stone or album

mixed with my sand and mortarthey walk in me with the world

I IHow often have we stoodsombred in mourning

scattering dust to dust & ashes

to the earth, the flowers wilt re-cover with the rain and re-

wither, petals colours into dust

But in our housebehind our words our wines

the flowers bloom are free for-ever and again the dead dust shines with us

in the completed silence

*7

IllThe dancer dance to death,

but we only know the dancing

the strings the joints the placesto be oiled the rust after the last

performance axe denied to us

we only know the dancing

IYMy dog died in the night

we find himcold fit ugly

early that morningthe flies already at his mouth

in the green jumping waterin a sack

they have thrown him overboardat a spot where the land lies low

and the sky is big & blue

a8

but Hemy poor dog dead

was bigger than the bay and the blue skyhis bark was sharper than sharks

his tale was all animals

for hemy poor dog dead

was sun song stone statue

my loved ones

Tfor Elizabeth fehepky

Have you been here? this vaseof flowers reassures me. they

cut daffodils, create their yellow skytheir green plantations in the water there

soon they will droop, their wild bells witheredtheir straight stalks xclamations slipped into a question mark, this

death have you createdwhen out of the blue the brightest day of the year

your hands placed them, the art of the daffodils, there

*?

YlEven your letters

though theyattempting to be living

shatter the glass

the spent fragmentsmirror the cracked colossus

the attempted life

even your letters

the sent silverthe brittle breaking present

glimpses & glimmers your love

the constellations

YllThere are no murmurs in the mind

talk, like the poles, is fixeda voice made visible

and a thousand situations spininto the complexity of simplenessthere is no movement in the fire

a silence glows like music in the lyre

30

YINNow you will come to me

imagination is the stretch of stringson which your newness ever enters

like the light

you •will be brightly burninglike the child the flower

the wild wet winging out of showerthe sudden sunlight flashing from the spire

a silence glows like music from the fire

IXSo cruel is creating

it must be killing to be keeping

must be the song beyond the passionthe cup beyond the potter's wheel

not the wonderful face in the mirrorbut the flowerfall under the pool

we little guessed this raphaelwas yesterday a baker's girl

with flowers in her hairor that icarus was dying in air

31

XSleep now my darling

your hair Hush as fieldseyelids like morning windowpanes

let not the wheel of birdscoerce you from the stillness

this touch would ring your flesh

XIUnhappily for Goliath

you will never fling that stonethis Moses will be forever conquer-

ing . and i forever listeningwill have you ever always coming to me up the stair-

way (s) . the possibility of song

XIIWe the creators must be forever cruel

the hair we brushdies . the river

dries out of its flowing

this bird will be forever, never goingwe smash the mirror . break the glass

between one world and tomorrowfind love perfected in the rustle fire

We the creators must be forever cruelseeking to restore the Holy Grail, the assoon Iwa. the

unxampled look . the white bright moment of the miracle

3*

XIIIWhile he wrestle through seasons

with sun stone windhe stored the real the true creation

in his mind, saw sea sun stonebecome the dream the un. touch(ed)bone

XIVThe play dull the stage darkactors dwarfed by the wordstill someone drew a sword

and the steel was there, near meon the wall . and i was play and player and poet and all

XTHis pain climbing beyond the height of eagles

flashed in the noon beaks & wild wings

he taloned music from the darkachieving after seasons

the swimmer the diver the dancerthe runner the river the rain

33

XVIfor Elizabeth fehepky

She draw the bow across the stringsdiverting the whole world to silence

music the room her wrist across the stringsconverted the forever

making of us. black white Italian Japanese and Jewa blossom (ed) flower

XYIIOnly in little children

are the words and the wonder alike

he softly say Maria

and see her in his brown eyes cominghis mother the virgin his marvellous art

XYII ITo burn to blaze to lose the sense of timeto flower like the flame into simplicityto be the moment when the razor hurts

the carnival balloons big till they burst

XIXIn early summer in the woods

the ecstasy is not alone in branch or flowerbut in the white twined two by the pool

her fingers in his shirt on his lightning flesh

34

XXClash clapping to castanets

they climb the tangointo unclipp(ed) freedom.

so feel perfection floodthe blood they dance

beyond their bodies' dark deliriumthey find clear flight, annihilation

XXIDay at Devize/ (I)

•Spires hoist hearts high

but city blocks against the skyare heavy, push our hopes back

down to the basement

xistence is the butterfly in flightfeeling along its flickering light

the whole world weighting

JJ

XXIIDay at Devlz*/ (9)

How green the air iswrapped in wind shawls

how moth the cool is

how infant the sky isblue egg along white wall

how cool the height is

how star the breeze istwinkled with wood biid calls

how born the spring is

36

XXIIIfor Barbara en The Backs el Cambridge before i meet her

Stranger who reeds

goldenly her gold bookunder her gold hair

in weaving the webof the day's equil-ibrium's complete-

ly involved in the stillof her sitting's x-

citement

you feel her balance (d)against you

whose moving away

is like falling throughsitting the sitter x-

pected was there

37

XXIYfor Barbara at Devize/

And suddenly you was talking treesfall black with birds behind the hill

and green as grass fly offinto the sun o blinding girl

the whole cathedral crash at your back

XXYNot the blue the orthodoxy of the day

But a blue like intuitionThe soft of the night into morning

Felt here . rememberedUnder the hoofs of the cart

XXYIi have created this room, it is my world

you shared in it the flowers, but now you haveleft me alone

and this is my room, the chairthe folded cheese-coloured blanket

the books silent as centuries

even the sensational sky. today, is part of my roomand i shall sit on until steps, creaking the stairs

come bringing the dust from the kingdom

38

XXYIIHappy now? i shall showyou my photograph album

This was the day when i cut my fingerthere was a tall man on bumbatuk stilts

and a ragged man glowing to drumswhen the painful red wet running

went down the pink shells and the vivid sand

My eyes were filled with bright young worldsand i could hardly see

the ragged man and the tall man on stilts

But the blood there blazedand i hear(d) the rush of the white seahorses

till the air pulled tight as drumsover the ragged man and the sudden silence tall as stilts

3?

XXVIIIHI the death of a yeun9 poet'/ wife

for Erikft. Ritter . La. Boheme i Paris 1898

nd it was fitting that he should have notice first

he who had seen so much in peoplethat he acted out their lives before his friends

he with such warmth within himthat he lighted up the house when he come in

it was fitting that an actor should have notice first

the others move about the room, around the tablestood waiting by the fire, arrange things

on the mantelpiece, picked up a vase and put it back againa painter, a musician, helpless friends

you waited for the doctor, move quickly to the doorand throw it open, hoping against all hope

to find him standing on the mat

outside, to hear his footsteps on the stair, the halldoor open . slam

yr listening stood lonely opening far

doors, then you move slowly to the window, leanwishes out. the street was empty, not a sightnor sound, so softly draw the curtains, turn

-ing back into the darken room, a helpless poet

40

n

and he had seen already, he who was fitted to have seenso niuch. appearing casually to cross the room

he knew it all along, went still to lookbut could not act before his friends what he now saw

so stood in silence, helpless actorlost of all comedy, learning a gesture from her

that he had not known before

O could the painter paint this scenehe who could carry in his fingers' diligencegreen, sky. the crowded walks and alleys

of his curiosity, child flower girl

the smile the market-scene the carnival the queenand w/his brush and pencil restore them to forever life

could he command perspectives now?

He turned

he saw the actor in his attitudehe saw the girl, the endless silence stretching out

between him and her lines her curve her colour, the threedimensions of her getting empty

. and there they stood, player and painter placedbefore this girl who was not raw material now

but artifact, lips lids leaves of her hair

all fallen in a fine perfection, only remainsfor him who spins his silver web of counterpain

from air. to catch her pitch and silence

41

A requiem. a mass that would rise up from darknesslike a single vase in its complexity of lutes and strings

a patient web of singing love that would connect the roomcrisscross of fugue that would offset the coming dust

a lonely violin, a heartbreak harp, but turningthe musician only heard the splintering vaseonly the breaking web. the snapping stringsand beyond, a silence that restores them all

And so when you turn back from window'shope, you find a finish room, three friends

the daily labour of their loves performed, only your loverlying there was like a sorrow you had hope

postpone. You went to them, their standing fascinated youyou wanted words from them but find they could not speak

you turn to her. her stillness fascinating youyou wanted words from her but found she could not speak

you wanted words for words were life to you

words to assuage the silence that you could not understandwords to refashion futures like a healer's hand

words that would walk long down the dark steps of beyondher bed. calling the gone-away the light the open door

the path of words from darkness that would have brought her back

And there you stood, lost beyond metaphors in searchsong gesture colour act. one word

wd too distract the faith that followed you and falland be consumed w/in the depthless silence of her death

4*

XXIXSo cruel is creating

it must be killing to be keeping

must be the song beyond the passionthe cup beyond the potter's wheel

not the wonderful face in the mirrorbut narcissus under the pool

we little guessed this raphaelwas yesterday a baker's girl

with falling flowers in her hairor that icarus was dying in air

43

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four

e

Lett^ t<>2*4. |H#t£4uH

(2)

And you my love? Can you see me?Hear me? Are you close by? Angry?Frustrated? Relieved? Delighted?Amused? Sorry? Puzzled? Lonely?Far-a-way? Desolate? Indifferent?Different? The same? Changing?And if so, how? Do I affect you? Doyou affect me? Us? Are you happyor still suffering? What is it like &how is it w/you across the -water/or isthere nothing nothing nothing at allas 1 think you xpected as 1 think yusometimes say tho I not too too sureabout that At least you always sayyu try to philosophical about it -death & dying - and tho you wish yr bo-dy to be burn - yu nvr even tell me th-at, since i cd not discuss this, seethis, imagine yu not here - and soyu must have tell my sister - burn . .

but from the poems that yu love &cd quote about the cosmos. . . and fro(m) the way you kneel at church - sodeep attentive - as if yu wheelingsilent into Word - 1 know you feelthere's something more some some->thing much much more to make itall worthwhile & you were also verystrong on retribution (yu felt at least itought to happen - some kindapay. b&cksome where!) - & wonder why it seem <the good get often nothing. . .

48

Miss Mac has turn, all the beds outand yr chairs over up at Irish Tn sotha.t you won It come back for goodnesssakel to haj-m usll Can you imaginethatl The •wisdom, of the folk I lovelWhen all 1 want is have you back!Beyond all •words 1 •want to have youback. But now dem seh yu diffrentnow. that if i leave yr clothes yr clo-thes, yr chair yr chair, yrbed our be(d). you'll comeback in. lie down inbed beside me and •want me fbop youlike before. Thats what dem tell meAnd it cyaant be so dem tell me. Asif you cross some Great Divine Div-ide or Water and you of all peoplemy love are now some SomethingDangerous & Other - some some thin(g) Different & Alien & even Ugly.Can you imagine how this maJte me feel ?Jean makes me sleep on only bluesheets now and places nutmeg underneath my pillow My sister Mary sp-eaks about 'A Great Cloud of Wit-nesses' whatever that may mean - th-at further frightens & dis. tresses me1 suppose dem don't even want youto Go & be a Beneficent Spirit &Come to us in the Morning as I sayin the poem you ask me to read foryou from Islands & which Mary ree(d) at yr Thanksgiving Service atMona & the Congo Square Writers(Tom Dent & dem in New Orleans) send a>»»loving cable quoting fiom««

Mother Poem

4?

She is alphais omega she is happy

1 hope so love. You4*/CfY* it. i f l <may put it this way. Yu deserve thebest the best the best there is mek I <tell yu. And all the letters that havecome have join this growing chorus>Dori/ ••/ fold/Deii/ I/ gol4«from Ramases of all people . but 1 bl-ess him for it for is true - in all yr names. remember?

And yet have I "blasphemed1 againstyou - because I love you so so utter-ly/securely like John Figueroa say-ing once how good Catholics cd aff-ord to criticize their Church becausethey love the Madre & she is big &broad enough t'include them in itsfaith & fruits & even in their cursesSo that you give me the energy evento be 'unfaithful' tho 1 -was never thatsharing the munificence you gave tome w/others tho it was that/was notthat either/but it must have hurt/yualways said is something that you >cdnt understand

What worries me (is too l*,te now) isthat 1 don't know how/how far & deeply down it hit you hit you hurt you

. . .and if this cause the cancer. . .

jo

And me? In. the first place I can't im-agine life & love w/out yu out/yu ou(t)/yu Can't see how I'll ma.na.ge neither. Lovers muses girl-frenns help-ers will nvr be enuff & cannot be// &I have to be beware of frittering theenergy of gettin too involve in thing(s) I -won't be able get out of - as youhave warn me many times about - dang-ers & even voioleixice as a result ofsuch entanglement(s). my own badlook, bad luck, the need of what myMother once call circumspection & i as(k) yu now to stand beside me standup in fact in front of m« to comfort &

forgive me

Now you have gone into that lightof which you were always a partEvery one speaks of yr radiance

Thif man proud of yu Zea Mexicanas he is from

the very beginning when you first•walk towards me at that dance

at NormaForde & KP noticebut nvr more so than the day I take

you home to RoundHouseand Mile&Quarter & the ancestors

ewabody from Mother to Joan& John & all the aunts & uncles

& St Elmo i remember & Richard& Myrtle & Francina

& Cyril & Queen Victoria(tho Bob'ob wits gone

& Uncle Lfcwson)

Jl

& KP of course & KP's Mama, Pile& we get the blessing of Esse

- realty a wlWd Cloud QfWitn&M&f -

come to me as if in shock& yes yes yes yes yes yes yes

She is the one She is the wonderful -my b% ef die golden waraJtuna shin

my te my te my Tetemexticantl

**

fiYe

1

o when the hammers of the witnesses of heaven are raise all together up

yonder, there will be dumbness in the choir tonight

when the voices are raise all togetherblack kites flying on what should be a holiday

there will be silence in the cathedral

a woman love a manshe will lick the sweat from his forehead

she will walk miles to see imand wait for him by the corner

she will bear his children loudly

upon the earth is firm foottoes searching the top-

soil gripping

the instep, the angles of knub. ankle & heelare grey w/the roads

w/the long hypodermics of noon

the dress tucks itself over the black buttocksinto the suction of thighs, the hipis a scythe

ss

S

Cherrie/for OdaJe

grass growling along the hill-side, she will bend forward w/the hoe. huhand the gravel will answer her. so

she will swing upward w/the hoe. huhand the bones of the plantation will come ringing to meet her. soher sweat will water the onions & the shaddock & the wild thyme

she will bear his children proudly

but when he turns souron her. scowling, wiping her face with his angerstiffening his spine beside her on the bed. not

caressing her curves w/eye-lash or word or jookof the elbow, she will curdle like milk

the bones of the plantation will come ringing to meet her. sothe bucket will rattle in the morning at the stannpipebut there will be no water

the skillet will rattle at middaybut there will be no milkshe will become the mother of bastards

when the hammers are raise all togetherrows of iron teeth swinging down, huhthere will be dumbness in the choir tonight

y6

when the voices are raise all togetherblack fists gathering storm on what is nota holiday, there will be silence in the cathedral

the light will fall through pains of glasson broken stone, on steps that can go nofather, on love alive bleeding on its thorns

when a woman love a manwhen a man naddent

if there are ways of saying yesi do not know them

if there are dreamsi cannot recall them to the light

if there is rageit is a cool cinder

in the heat of the dayi swear i will sweat no more

knife, bill-hook, sweet bramblei will burn in my bush of screams

hoe. i will workroot. mud. marl, burden

needle, i will sewthread, stitch, embroideried image

J7

jesus. i will serve theeknee, copper, rain falling from heaviest heavenof storm

but i will drink you no moretorch you no moresweaten you out on the lumps of the mattrass no longer

the hoe will stand in the corner by the backdoorcane flowers will flicker w/rainfliesbut there will be no crop-over songs

the fields will grow green soundlesslythe roots will ribbon until they burstand then they will ribbon again until they burst

but there will be no kukoo or okro or jugg .the needle will grow rusty in the cloth .pin. pinch of thread, thimble

it will make no silver track & tremble far into the nightno dress will take shape over my headslipping down like water over my naked breasts

the seats of the chapel will remain emptythe wicks burning at altar until daybreakfatten by shadows and moths

yr foetus i will poisondark dark molluscspinach susum suck-de-well-dry bush

^

the child still fish, still lizardwrinkled gill & croaking gizzardi will destroy

blinding the eyeballspulling out the flag of its tongue by the shreddardsripping open the egg of its skull w/sunless manchioneal blisters

i will carry the wet twitching ragbearing your face, conveying your futureless racein its burst bag of balls to your doorstep

mcioaci it will cry£ the windows will be pulled down tight against the windmccouiuiui it will howl

& a black dog will go prowling past the dripping pit latrines

& when the moon is a wild flower falling through cloudfrom patch to shade you will see it

once our child our toil of touch our sharingsitting under the sandbox tree, smiling, smiling, smiling

slipping its plate of bleed

these images of love i leave younow i no longer need you

man . manwaart . manimal

59

Poem for Waller Rodneyassassinated Georgetown Guyana 13 June 1980. the poem thinking also of Pat Rodney and tKe children

Ito be blown into fragments, your fleshlike the islands that you lovelike the seawall that you wish to heal

bringing equal rights & justice to the brothersa fearless cumfa mashramani to the sisterswhispering their free/zon . that grandee nanny's histories be listen

to with all their ancient flech. es of respectuntil they are the steps up the poor of the churchup from the floor of the hill/slideuntil they become the roar of the nation

that fathers would at last settle into what they ownaxe adze if not oil-well, torch-light of mackenzie

that those who have all these generationsbitten us bare to the bonegnawing our knuckles to the quick

price fix. price rise, rachman and rat-chet squeezehow bread is hard to buy how rice

is scarcer than the muddy water where it rideshow bonny baby bellies grownoom-laaden dungeon grounded down

60

to groaning in their hunger, growwaller-voiced & red-eyed w/out sunlight in their angerthat knocks against their xylophones of prison ribs and bars

that how we cannot take our wives or sweetheartsor our children or our children's chilldrenon a trip to kenya. watch

maasai signal from their saffron shadowthe waterbuck and giraffe wheel round wrecked manyattawhile little blonder kinter who don't even care

a fart, for whom this is the one more yarda flim. for whom this is the one more startto colon to cortes to cecil rhodes

to whom this is the one more roadto the thathi-headed waiter aban/died out of his shit by his baas at the nairobiairport hotel

lets his face sulk into i souplets his hairshirt wrackle i sweatcause i man am wearing the tarn of i dream in i head

that these and those who fly still dread/er up the skyvultures & hawks, eyescarpering morgan the mi/ami mogul

those night beasts a babylon who heiss us on susbut that worst it is the blinkin iani own eye. the sun blott-

ed out by paper a cane fires vamp/iresa ink wheels emp/ires a status quos a status quos a status crowsthat tell a blood toll/ing in the ghetto

61

till these small miss/demeanours as you call thembe-come a monstrous fetter on the land that will not let us breed

until every chupse in the face of good morningbe-come one more coil one more spring one more no-

thing to sing/aboutbe-come the boulder rising in the bleed

the shoulder nourishing the gunthe headlines screaming of the skrawl across the wallof surbiton of sheraton hotel

dat FOR OYBRfln TEK flO fflOORE

and the babies and their mothers and their mothersand their mothers and their mothers mothersand their mothers mothers mothers mothers

perishing forever in the semi-automatic catcalls of the orange heat & sizzle fear& flare-up of the sirenhowl of the scorch wind wail through the rat-a-tat

of the hoolthrough the tap of your head. damp, stench, criallthe well of flame drilling through your flesh

reduced to the time before green/bonereduced to the time before ash/skullreduced to the time before love/was born

6a

in your armsbefore dawn was torn from your pillow

in your armsbefore the tumours were crumpled into paper bagsinside the star, broek market

in your armsbefore the knife run through the darkand locket steel was there between the spine and kidney

in your armsin your armsin your arms

i prophesaybefore you recognize the gorgon head inside the redeye of the walkie-talkie

Sto be blown into fragments, your death

like the islands that you lovelike the seawall that you wishto heal, bringing equal rights and justice to the brothers

that children above all others would be like the sun-rise over the rupunnunni over the hazy morne over kilimanjaroany where or world where there is love

there is the sky and its bluefree, where past means present struggletowards vlissingens where it may some day end

63

distant like powis on the essequibodrifting like miracles or dreamor like that lonely fishing engine slowly losing us its sound

but real like your wrist with its tick of bloodover its man. acles of bonebut real like the long marches, the court steps of trial

the sodden night journeys holed up in a different safe houseevery morning, and trying to guess from the heatof the hand-

shake if stranger was stranger or cobra or friendand the urgent steel of the kiskadee glittering its qqurldown the sharpest bend in the breeze and the leaves ticking

and learning to live with the smell of rum on the skull'sbreath, his cigarette ashon the smudge of your fingers, his footsteps

into your houses

and having to say it over and over and over againwith your soft ringing patience with your black-lash of wit. tho the edges must have been curling with pain

but the certainty clearer and clearer and clearer again .that it must be too simple to hittoo hurt/not to remember

that it must not become an easy slogan or targettoo torn too defaced too devalueddown in redemption market

64

that when men gather govern other mannerthey should be honest in a world of hornetsthat bleed into their heads like lice

corruption that cockroaches like a dirty kitchen sink .that politics should be like understanding.of the floorboardsof your house swept clean each morning

built by hands that know the wind and tide and languagefrom the loops within the ridges of your footprintsto the rusty tinnin fences of your yard

so that each man on his cramped restless islandon his back, dam of land in forest clearing by the broekenriver, where berbice struggles against slushy ground

takes up his bed and walk

in the power and the reggae of his soul/sticefrom the crippled brambled pathways of his visionto the certain limpen knowledge of his nam

Sthis is the message that the idren will delivergrounded with drift of mustard seed

that when he spoke the word was fluter on his breezesince it was natural to him like the way he listen

like the way he walkone of those ital brothers who have grace

6y

for being all these things and careful of it tooand careless of it too

he was cut down plantation canebecause he dared to grow and growing, green

because he was that slender reedand there were machetes sharp enough to hasten it and bleed

he was blown downbecause his bridge from man to men mean

doom to prisons of a world we never mademeant wracking out the weeds that rake we yampe vine

And so the bombfragmenting islands like the land we loveletting back darkness in

But there are stars that burn that murders do not knowsoft diamonds behind the blown to bitsthat trackers could not find that bombers could not see

that scavengers will never hide awaythe Caribbean bleeds near georgetown prisona widow rushes out . and hauls her children free

tfarteil in London )vr\t 1960 on bearing fbs neajf . f r s t pub Hace today 8«vi»u> (W60/81) & in fhirrf World fotmt (1963)

66

5T0NEfor Mikey Smith

stone to death on Stony Hill Kingston Jamaica on Marcus Garvey birtday 17 August 1983

67

hen the stone fall that morning out of the johncrow skyit was not dark at first . that opening on to the red sea humming

but something in my mouth like feathers . blue like bubblescarrying signals & planets & the sliding curve of the world like a water pic

-ture in a raindrop when the pressure, drop

hen the stone fall that morning out of the johncrow skyi couldn't cry out because my mouth was full of beast & plunder

as if i was gnashing badwords among tombstonesas if that road up stony hill . round the bend by the church

-yard . on the way to the post office . was a bad bad dreamand the dream was like a snarl of broken copper wire zig zagg

-in its electric flashes up the hill & splitt. in spark & flow-ers high, er up the hill . past the white houses & the ogogs bark

-ing all teeth & fur. nace & my mother like she up . like she up . like she up-side down up a tree like she was scream, like she was scream, ing no & no

-body i could hear could hear a word i say. in . even thoughthey was so many poems left & the tape was switch on & runn. ing &

runn. ing & the green light was red & they was stannin up there & ewa. wherein london & amsterdam & at unesco in paris & in west berlin

& clapp. in & clapp. in & clapp. in & not a soul on stony hill to even say amen. an yet it was happening happening happening . the fences begin

to crack in i skull . and there was a loud beocleooooooooooooooooog/like guns goin off . dem ole-time magnums . or like a fireworks of dreadlocks

was on fire . and the gaps whe the river comin down inna the drei gullywhere my teeth use to be smilin . an i tuff gong tong

68

w'

W

that use to press against them & parade pronunciation. now unannouncean like a black wick in i head & dead . &

it was like a heavy heavy riddirn low down in i belly . bleedin dub . &there was like this heavy heavy black dog tump, ing in i chest & pump, ing

nurderrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

& i throat like dem tie. like dem tie. like dem tie a tight tie aroundit. twist, ing my name quick crick . quick crick. an a nwa wear neck

-tie yet. an a hear when de big boot kick down i door . stump-in it foot pun a knot in de floor, board . a window slam shat at de back

a mi heart. de itch & oooze & damp a de yaaad in my silver tarn

-bourines closer & closer . st Joseph marching bands crash-ing & closer

& bom si. cai si. ca boom ship bell . nom si. cai si ca boom ship bell

& a laughin more blood& spittin out

Immmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm*

i two eye lock to the sun & the two sun starin back black from de grass& a bline to de butterfly fly

-in

6?

& it was like a wave on stony hill caught in a crust of sun-light

& it was like a matchstick schooner into harbourmuffled in the silence of it wound

& it was like the blue of speace was filling up the heavens with it thunder& it was like the wind was grow, in skin

the skin have hard ears . hardering

& it was like marcus garvey rising from his coin . steppin towards his peoplecryin dark

& every mighty word he trod . the ground fall dark & hole be-hine him like it was a bloom x. plodin sound . my ears was bleed

-in sounn-

70

& i am quiet now because i have become that sounnthe sun. light morning wash the choral limestone harsh

against the soft volcanic ash. / was& it was slippin past me into water & it was

slippin pass me into root, i was

& it wasslippin pass me into flower. & it was

ripping upwards into shoot, i was

& every politician tongue in town was lash-in me w/spit & cut. rass wit & ivy whip & wrinkle jumbimum

it was like warthog . grunt

-ing in the grounnn

& chilldren running down the hill run right on through the splashof pouis that my breathe, ing make when it was howl & red & bubble

& sparrow twits pluck tic & tap. worm from the grassas if i man did nvva have no face . as if i man did nvva in dis place

7*

hen the stone fall that morning out of the johncrow skyi could not hold it brack or black it back or block it off or limpaway or roll it from me into memory or light or rock it steady into night, be-

cause it builds me now w/leaf & spiderweb & soft & crunch& like the powderwhite & slip & grit inside your leather, boot & fills my bloodw/deaf my bone w/hobble dumb & echo, less neglect neglect neglect neglect

i am the stone that kills me

7*

&

lummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm*

W

D«fil*efor Joan Dayan & Ezili Danto

flbouf noon on frjday October 17 1806 nof three years after he was declared/declaredhimself Head of Jfafe & emperor . Jean Jacques Oessaline; the Liberator o-f Haiti

successor o-f foujjojnt Legbo Louuerfurewas assassinated by soldiers from the South on the road -from mo.rcho.nrf

two miles to porf-au-pclnce the capital. His shot &. stabb-vp body was stoned &. tornto pieces by his murderers & left, if ij jojof. fo be found & faken for burial

by fhe 'madwoman' De-filee. a meat se\\er(ujuandjere) repufedjy once fhe Emperor'j loiter

ng-ht thrones have been east down beforethe leaders stripped & torn from power, fled

or dead. Dessalines my liberator my xeeutioner

mon Empereur

my lover of Font-Rouge like thiswho break the bread wtoloody hands who tear

the nation flag at Lakaye & make it red

& make it blue, unfurl it new . where now it standsfor slave & bloody cloth & resurrected

neg, who stone the whiteman down

from im goliam towerhome at Cormiers. Verrettes . the crackle battleaxe of musketeers

against La Crete

Now here w/out yr head wtout yr virile hands, be-reft of Claire Heureuse. of balls, bereft of eyes

yr ears cut off from music, matross. cannon. chasseurs ak racheteers

73

13

the tendresse of yr up. full spirit. pull down in. to this mud where noclouds move across the sky where no

stars stare where no wind blues where nosun shines upon yr skin, where the red blood un

-gurgle from yr throat now flows & flowers

flowers

O Dessalines so so cut upO splendid coat so splendidly

cut down

cows on this dry pasture all my strifeprovide me meat, goats, blackbelly sheep are herehens, turncoat & turkeycocks jack rabbits rarebut sweet swift bones so wash-away wflife

each morning to yr door i bring this little coveredheap of nyampe victuals, the long dark face i so adorethe fingers in the plate the morsel to your lipsmy love my pain, plain sacrifice

my sweet flesh on yr palate my plasajO salvagewarrior o how you chop me up you chop medown into the howling hot prostrations

of yr loveO how i loveeach shaken silken golden moment of yr power

74

Now in this coarse pig-stain maeoutei carry w/me everywhere for years

. it watch my rape, witness

my parents death, how Roehambeau come killdown all my breddas and my two only suns

inside the Cahos mountains, trick Toussaint off

to France till i go mad w/all this bloodthis trekking death down in this mud

betrayals

maroon dark nightsmornings of rendezvous

quick anxious crossing of the river coming back to you

mules on the edges of high trails of mountain passesmy mind cooing w/in the mourn of woodoves morn-

ing long . witchering myself like blackbirds on the floor

criss-crossing imperfections in myself made madw/manananse working working working cross

the star . bed straw . bed ceiling of my floor

Now sit i down beside you in yr pool of bloodw/seven wailer demons in my head, poor foolto let them fling you down like this from yr high

horse, yr vision of a people marching onout of this dungeon hearse of slavery into some proper lightno blight no more upon this twisted crop of niggers on the land

75

po fou they cut you down before the morning crowbefore the crowd that might have save yougather on the road from Marechand twomiles to Port-au-Prince

the meat they make of you i cannot selltho i sell sutler meat at Ogoum all my lifethe fragments of yr body's dream i can but touch0 cruel piece by piece i can but gather

from the entrail entrance of the knife .there's no peace here, gape-ing & gashes like hot milk boil-ing over & the furnace burn-

ing our tomorrows spoil our race .Duclos my love i cannot find yr facethis is yr head wuhloss my lovehow tenderly i love these harsh Dahomey

scars, the whipmarks on yr back, the prison barsyou break w/these once hands from which youflame, is this one eye of moon i findwrapped in the grass of years?

1 cannot find the tongue you kiss me with & spitme wit. and when you spurn me. turn me out ,i sit down at yr door & wait for morning take medown to Fort St-Clair . or bring me bask

76

into the bed & spur & task of you . this liptorn from yr skull i find near elammacherrybushes here, its strip of skin still living so itseem to sneer where it shd smile

mile after mile i walkw/you mile after mile i walkfor you mile after mile i fight i hurt i heal O rideArada ride, this is your angle bone

this is yr broeken hand the ruby ring still blinkingon yr flinger O this can this can never be. how theydis- member dis. honour dis. remember you.assounmy bell my open door my lover

nd so i pick you back each pick & plucka root a memory a wake a flower

the toes back to the fit of instep & the ball-bearing weight of ankle

-bone, let the one foot if it be onefoot walk quickly down the road

let the slip hips dance, fit fairly into placearound the ready loins

let us make love again & laughthe belly here the guts . the navel strings

the high kite of the angel noomremembering yr ancestors yr eleve mapou estate mi moun

A

77

assemble me yr lungs again so you may breathe& shout commands, turn the horse round

& gallop off to victory at Miragoame & Vertieres

let me ride with you general, let me ride with you, in these dark eyes i will restore our ayisyen

in this fine head i plant here in this place of burial

O Papa Dessalines O JanJak Desalin GanganO magic makandal & earrefo & sun & flag

plaeage & naneion

78

Xanjpoat the Summer Solstice

for Oya. in Washington sQ Park. Manhatta-n

X ^Jigo cyaan go no far

-tha. all winter long he store the sounds you hearnow in these man

-dolins. all through the cold hard dark he labour

for this light& now he find it on im lip. e blow the flute

e string the lute . im rise & go again

lookin for his Oya of the after-noon . im rose im pain the pale flame of im sun

-set in the western tree

She sits now in the harmattan. surrenderingto all this wave

-ing green . heed

-less of headlong papers todlers marijuana pushers loversshe cannot ever quite ig. nore inside this grave

-yard Park, but even now if you look closer, beyond this book

she's murmur-ing. beyond the cane

-rows of the hair she's still up. braiding in the mirrow

79

she is canvassing beyond the language of the summer's clock-work warm & curl she's bearing to the water

. you will already see the shadowes

even by the lakeside . even by the fountaineven by the footfall . even by the cart thats selling

snowball ice-cream sky-juice pindar coca~cola

even w/in the broadcast service of the cedar breezethe blackAvhite wayside tables plying chess

even w/in the holocaust of hot minetta bushes'

memories of streamseven within the deepest orange brocade russets

of her dream

each year upon this longest day . lover of leaf-lightgolden beyond zodiac, emerald in pisces. indigo in platinegrowhere he feels most strongest, most certain, most lion, most light-

ning, most royal, most ra. sheen, most axe. most Xangowhen she's most loyal jasmine, most crestand silvershed. most mellow full moon rising crowded

there will be this cloud . this sudden colourdown, fall cold & pouring . bright & fading .each year upon this longest day . these lovers

NYC 21 June 1994 . 21 June 07 version . rev *g«.in 26 sept 08 . 21 June 09 . 15 m».rch 2010

80

flftKfor fil'tce Coltrcne & ihcnking Kafy. Cecily and Annette (\\c$

A,̂nd so this foreday daoud morning w/out lightor choice . i cannot swimthe stone, i can't hold on to water, so i drown

i swallow left, i turn & fall-ow into fear & blight, a night so deep it make you turn& weep the line of spiders of yr future you see spinn-

ing here, their silvervoice of tears, their lid. less jewel eyes .all thru this buffeting eternity i toss iburn

again & when i rise leviathan from the deep . black shining from my skinof seals, blask toothless pebbles mine the shorehaunted by dust & bromes . wrist, watches w/out tone

or tides, communion w/out broken hands, x-plosions of frustration, the sufferation of the sweatof hate, the absent ruby lips upon the wrinkle rim

of wine . i wake to tick to tell you thatin these loud waters of my land, there is no root no hopeno cloud no dream no sail canoe or miracle .

good day cannot repay bad nigh t. our teeth snarl snapp-ing even at halp. less angels'evenings'melting steel .in this new farmer garden of the earths' delights

81

this staggering stranger of injustices come rumbelling down the wheel& grave-yard of the wind, down the scythe narrow streets

clear air for a moment . clearinnocence whe we are running, so so so so so majiy. the crowd flow-ing over Brooklyn Bridge

so so so many . i h&d not thought ds&th had undone somany, melting away into what is now sighing . lights gone from the clearavenue forever . our souls sometimes far out ahead of our white rat-

tle sur-faces, and not looking back, looking back, looking backas it is in Bhuj. in Grenada. Guernica. Amritsar

Tajitzkhan. the sulphur-stricken cities of the plainsof Aetna. Pelee. ab Napolis. the widow baby-mothers of the slaves not lookin back in Bosnia, the Sudan. Chernobyl

Oaxaca terremoto. al'fata el Jenin. the Bhopalbabies sucking toxic milk . our growing tonguesaccustom to the wh&t-is-ths-word-th&t-is-not-hers-in-English

beyond shade and sch&dsnfreude . not at all like duendepleasure domes of massacre, acres & acres of its aching x-actment. meaning the rusty-tasting smell of dead

blood . skull . the loneliness ofbroken hull, cracks, bluewind through its stark ripe terror, simple blind doomin the most secret houses of the brain . in the loud wild

8a

thunder of the lung's now qua.sim.odo faces of the moonshape of the mosque, its pain, shapeof my mother's womb, strange

lingering words mean, ing havoc hymen hyenas & howling . altarof human scream & scar-ifice . 2000 fahrenheit of sheening fuel sun-

light . denote . ab&ttoir . golgotha,yr wife crying out in vein from the hammock of her homeout of her own vain loneliness of dream

that she have gone some whe far awaystill writhing the screams of her chilldrenstill listening for threads in the language of dis. placement & fissure

her face crack & squeeze like the dry mudof abossom. the dread sodden puddles of camelseven tho the barnacle elephants still walk glistening glisten-

ing out of the water, her vice throttle to its very thoraxin this pillage, all this fine falling steelthe paper offices still soffly listening for midnight

still falling falling falling falling on tomorrow

O Leopold Secfox Senghor Garcia, Lores. Victor Hernandez Cruzstill fall, ing fall, ing fall, ing . still soffly viequez .Kurtz in his kongo clarinet of pain, the horrow

8?

but what is the wordthat you will nvr retrieve Kere ground, zero. sha,tila, .more meaning of massacre auschwitz. shallow mass

graves. bfcba,nghit&. the way you make me swallowthe tail of my tongue in the villages, following the foot-steps of my self of my own river of flesh, my own ash my own alph my own

poem

and what is the wordfor this high rafter of suicide, the ropechoking the throat of success, the shook

of yr death in the fission of indebtedness, quag-mire . waste, quick-sand. My Brother's soft bowels of aids, the taste

of the death of uncouth in the copper of waterwhat prophet my tongue w/the tsunami lossof my Mother the Noun, the flail-

ure of falling angelicas' hope, alphabets stuff upside-downin my mouth, the babel of balasier & the down-fall of plaster upon all these voices & scores, dub hip-

hop scouse. the markets of marrakesh settling old soresof no longer verbs that can heal, of no longer baptismsthat will bawd out yr name from the cup of the flour of disaster, adjectives

84

already gone a-way clattering, lounging in shame, the silence of rotin the hot of unheavens. the dread kapot ovens of the beast

upon the thrashing floor of syphilis, thinfur of fear upon the unknown animal that is nowyr very sister at the haven's door

four

little bombard girls of Birmingham that kluklux Christian tabernacle night in Sodom & Hererothe corn-

husk terror of Rwanda, the poor who live w/inthe stony guts & gashes of our or-nate palaces, the pink hat widow now forever reach-

ing in frus. tration desperation on her open-window back-seat for her hero husband's blown-out brains in Dallasthe curling Black Death mushroom gloom of God

in Nagasaki . what Pol Pot did . who Pol Pot died. King Leopold'sGreat Pyramid of Skulls inside the Belgian Congolike judas come to chrissmass. like leopard come to lamb

even upon this darkun. even catastrophic groundwhere soon the devastation saurus faces of the dead

will haunt us fron-tom from their rat. tie sockets, the gentle liquird iris languageof their prayers . soft

8J

blades of cyandles shimmering in psalms & pain & irie innocenceof ruin photographs & childhood teddy bears' young lighted flickeringeyes against the black & shining iron railings' incense in the parks

all their birds goneleaves'spirits of green vegetation's ceremonies . goneit look like nearly ewa. one who wen t to work up they d&t day is gone

RitaLasar Joseph O'Reilly Masudawa Sultan, her 19 children gonethe Ladder 16 crew, so m.&ny thousands gone . and nothing nothing nothingnow in iraQ Darfur Manhattan in Afghanistan. . .

hyc September 2001

86

siX

n

Tft/s sweetwindpersonpoem

for DreamChad and Mary Morgan i^rathwaite

his sweet air comes fmm a long sweet time so ago so ago before scissors

before tractors cC wheels before horsesare tamed & cattle are penned

in this ramshackle brown by the airport

it comes from sweet lands of aromacrossing Atlantic wlspiders & egrets

cC coconuts & thin tendril plantson the siavetradewind of the harmattan

it comes from how the land is sweet here . result of all these long ancientpressures of our coral tim es. lim e

-stone & sweet-lime & loamlike a dark butter for green grasses ofalloama

- how the sharp sweet cutlash scentof the sugarcane comes down the reap shallow valleus

into our uards into the wide open arms of our houses

s?

T

his sweet air comes in withe white birds of seaweed

& the blackbirds of tune-less & the sudden wet clatter of parakeets

& the quick quick step & peck

-ing of sparrows& these little blue chips that at dawn sing like rainbows

or water of a sweet thought down the long throttle throat of an egret

- how you remember this sound from frowns%each - the green bottle in ur hand yr head down

under, water &

sinking - all ur body heavy & drifting slowly glow-ing down down down towards the bottom of the sand

cG the bottle singing of lands-end wlin you in yrhand

& blinking withe stars<£ the sweet sound of the dawn

-bird filling it down

& the slow horses all the way from korlegonnu& koromantin and goree goree goree

coming up over the reefs ofyr birth and opening their vision, singing

?o

T

his sweet wind comes to confirm all these memories of glass

how it is present at this corner by theshop and thegasstation . how it comes out from the hills

the long rising lines of ancient beaches into terraces& the landscape of the future growing up towards us from Harrismith

from Congo gay from Chancery Lane

where Margaret Qili sees all this as she sits sewing wordscG Vndrani her Malay alam neighbour

sets up her palette of paints for herNCJ mural at RockDundo

as dreams from the sea drift up over the old sea-egg Silver Sands coastrounding South Point & the white waves

of Oistins . the breakers coming in from blue distance

onto the bright powder silica beaches where the dunesare. their power curling their sound into silence, their mists drifting inward

into our mangrove & seagrape

& the blue spotted cactus & noo-noo& the unpainted wooden houses we have built along this shoar

to catch this silence sound to breathe this sweet air

smile wl it. shoring it up. as it were. grow, ing greater wl it into the green& blue where the sunlight unlocks, where the flowers are

& the bees playing all this attention to their fix(ed) favourite colours

9*

T

cC the slow certain dance of the antswho prefer their long black slightly trembling line

of silhouette & that fine instant fizz of them this morning

when they are notdead or disturbed, devouring what has been left from the fall

of a fruit or the lipstick of blossom or the splash of some passion

and when i look up again the world is like a tuning forkthe itself of its memory receding ceeding ceeding ceeding

into its own sound its so certain & purpose & real

his sweet wind of sunlight which is here so long before we are born

so long even before we ever come here, before we lossthe names of the lannscape

on this Sunday morning of silence & worship

when we can still hear the old dour churchbells high upin the toss of their steepleless ringing

at their certain times certain times certain times of angelicus

atch how the birds fly up high & wheel

away from the bronze iron sound even tho they have heard it beforeeveryday & for centuries

?*

T

w

like in S Marco in the steep solitudes of the Andesand CLasha . the deep tones as if coming out

of the llama of wells . like the opposite of being drowned, fall

-in up. ward, full of tree & sweet air. the free so amaze-ingly green in yr ears, their tangles their crystal clear branches

these churchyards sleeping in the sun where the wooden

stalls of their helmet-shape bells- cast in brass cast in bronze cast in iron

- are like atStLeonards like atStClements in StLucy

like at St Margarets overlooking Martins %ay withe rope & the little gate& the triangle top nvryet they say blown down in a hurricane

my half-blind cousin Daddy O'Cjrady Elizabelle O'Neale

muse & musician violinist organist & organizer at All Saintswithe sweetest voice in the world in her throat

dark woo-dove of contraltocello coming down the hill

from theMaynards curve & the corner down %en Hillall the way down from the church

it is twenty minutes she take in the hot sun after the service

is over but she comes floatin down singing aloud to her-self and her saviour

wlher ivory

91

chaplet&hymn-book in that so scapular silence of Sunday

& the shak-shak in shadows of gold . waiting for her at the door

of her father's unpainted carpenter shop. close(d) now from the birdsbecause it is Sunday . so she goes round to the back

up that slow rocky rickety path, way between our two houses cC forever homes

that the (government now intends to make into a new road & high-way to HnkM&Q withe new housing estates of Jair

-field cC Indian Qround & Mt^revitor

where all that time now agro almostpass(ed)me cG my sister like Wordsworth & his

Mary Maria Dor

-othea. dis-covering this path up the hill where only the silk grasses gorows

. the soft sound of 'esses'

and reaching the top. see our New-stead & the red roof-tops of the Vicarage, and beyond that& its trees

the differently sweet sweet wind from the sea

mixed withe scentof the grass and that sea

distant & blue & flattering . an we running already into the pic

?4

-Wirethe future, whe we are heading already thru the fat

valley of canes in the hollow below us . towards the everlastingly high

-lands of the ^jrevitor hillswltheir scarred white sacred limestone faces

whe they tell you in the village t&ere'j a plane name Brevity-Cave eut there

but no. body willin to show us or don't have no time fe the roamso we find it ourselves one hot morning wljillmore

running upthepath along the lookin-down cliff

-face & lookin lookin lookin upuntil high

up where there is no

more pa th. the dark open face of the adit we climb up. as if we was climb-ing down water as many years later

i climb up again wl Dream

Chad but by then it was lostwe were out

of that frame & wd nvrfind that secret again

as we had when we was young in those greenglorious tracks down the hill wl my sister

her eyes dark & wide& clear & sweatin soffly under her round pan

95

-ammo, hat withe elastic under her chinwhich my dear-aunts say she had. was to wear

when she ruinnin lout here in D& Iro'din hot

-tun . an i think they say i had was to wear my black felt cap too- nvryr bare-back, ^hiney ball-headed plate out in god heaven yu hear muh?

an we fine the cave & its huge self . withe bats huggin high in the dark

cries of the shelfs& the wenn ceiling cC the cracks of light comin thru from the height like some un

-hewn& wonderful cathedral . the festoons of candelabra

& the green like cobwebs of algebra eyesin the hang

-ing limestone cataracts. & the damp

echo or sometimes no echo at all in our voices of juvenile barter- wlsomething here much much bigger than we had ever known

before in our corner. beyond even ball

-room or church or St Michael cathedral . that kind of interior size- as if we wasn't any longer in our island at all or down in Mile & Quarter

from school & on holidays, as if we was somethings or some, bodies else

all together, the poem turning into a dreamstorie of forevereven as i write it this way. wlso little regular hundred-metres or rhyme(s)

butwlsort-ofmargims & lines

96

so that itsundergrounn riddim can capture some of what hides

here in the dark as it happens at once

thru so many different &. at the same time time-tumbling cC simultaneous space

-palaces - the world of whirl & interface of memories

we call 'writing a poem'. and when we come back out of the cave

this will remain wlus all our ^revitor lives

where all our friends are & our loved ones & our parents• back there w/all of us in that strange special place of our island

already losing sight of it

-selfw/this building of houses this building building of houses& the white access angelus roads of our death

. so that already. as i say. me & DreamChad cdn'tfind it

thatNewijears Day morning before we get marredhigh up above Time at the Old Windmill

on that OrangeHill ridge, maybe even higher than Y^revitor

97

- and tho none a dent come w/us on these journeysinto up here, they was always here w/us

whenever we step down an inta that cave of creator

into that strange dark of dahomey. the cool the a-glow• they was always there, always here, as i say w/our few-

ture

c£

o we step back ou t in to this land. scape air so sweep so sweep

this Sunday morning of brown . from its long sweet time so ago so agobefore scissors before tractors & hand-

cyarts before horses are tamed & cattle are penned

so long before me writing this poem in this ramshackle pass-ture of wind thru the grass

by this Pilgrim place airport of ishak meshak & abednegro

?s

S

/eYen

Tell me how elo/e ( I )

my life here nowin the shade i can tell my sad

widow wife of the morning, is now

like a thin sheet of whitepaper - why 'white1 i don't know - tumbling transparent & dumb as the day

glows reed, or like a long

shadow of glass lying on the ground of a window-pane, or the slight sheet of a frozen river on which the beats

of my heart like the blank

fleet of hannibal's lame elephants walk on that slow retreat of the horse-men from moscow over the alphs over the hoarse mestizo sierra across

the grey tundril steppes

of mangolia. wait/ing to punch me thru to kalungawaiting to plunge me thru to the thick slugging streams

of kurtz horrow

and all that i have left tomorrowwill be the lurch

-ing efforts i have made to keep these elephants

from happening brimstone, each foot, step a dark patch on the crack-ing chart of my history . on the pin & pen & pain of my memory

the inQuisitorial brain of how i stretch out and rustle all day and all night

on the tumb-rill river of dreams to prevent this tendril moment of mabrak

this dark and this light

101

Tell me how clo/e (2)/a po for DreomChod /inee mark gone

it is as if you dead and i hear yr voice at the door of the nextroom, up from the street, along the path of the stone

Park, loitering on the Mona stream in a small boat, in a canoe

. lying in a scarce crop-over harvest puntup in a tree w/birds

hello hello hello . the curve going upwards soft & faint

-ly twittering soft & tremulo diminuendo. but it's yr sun that's gone - the suddem savage blow

the pain the groin gouged out yr womb

so suddenly w/out sound and like a bomb-down echoes that goes on forever down the well

that now will have no nvr end

will have no sound of bell but calls of why why why& where is me & why is me &twhy why why

am i not here to stop it save him hold him free him from this last

fierce harm, this neck i hold from birthfrom softest painful breaking thirst

so broeken here wtout a cry and always cry

-ing now in this dark midnight streetHope Garden Garden Gate

for. ever hurting haunting mwe down these long Papine Market

IOA

alleyways . wherei can no longer ear

im song when i shd ave im ere

to love im back to blindness & to me, back to the in-stann he is born to start again upon a diffrent road

that will not bare this mad. ness on my breast

this metal-breathing & toyota beastcome scar

-face snarl, ing up from Liguanea to brek im back im neck my heart

my tornapart, a radio like a open mouth that calls Hello

but cannot hear you like before i happy

eomin off the burn-ing street from shoppin or comin thru the door from church

before i tek my hat off lookin in yr room from visiting my brother

an comin in to you . why do you lurch so tillin, side this shatta dark whe you are shadow

-less & scorm. why don't you answer this red staring cry

O pour some oshun honey on this cross-roads whe i am straggellin

, why can't you hear my thorn

103

Tell me how elo/e (S)

The tastes of yr flesh is fishnow in my mouth and i re-turn away from you as towards the loose

of my mother's milk, my spermsettle back down in my belly . stalenow & diverse . O how i wish

i had nvr abuseyou. use you like river cherriesin my mouth from so long

ago so ago and will nvr now growfrom that moment when yr breastswere so ready & Celebes to mother my chilldren

round & large & luminous on the coolsheets you had so specially smooth (ed)out & prepared w/scents from the medelline. the nipples

as i had nvr seen them before, not even on the grassin the moon-light, as if in the menstrual months of my absence

you had spooned them w/this soft sensual flowof pommegranate -this loveliest grenade beyond the Iw&Gt the law

and had surrendered all yr agonythen, all yr soft swimming bones to this one sweetcruel crisis that wd have born us terrible twins

104

leaving our mothers in wonder. hiding their pride& their secrets of pleasure but dividing the islanddrawing daggers all along the seashores the horizons glint-

ing w/their language of gossip & the thunderous gossamer rumoursof in-coming storms

How all this wd have been one kind of world, perhaps - no - certainly -kindlier - you wd have been bourne happy into yr entitlement of silver hairsand there wd have been no threat

or flaw of cancer or forgetfulness or dementia or enemy break-inno danger then of that sort and i wd have published our love-songs in their paradox no matter whe they take us .

the x/hiliration - the fortunate accident of so many new fit trans-patient metaphors . not the thin little run-down garden cling-ing against the hot grey walls of yr lonely afternoon home

but a whole new pasture of egrets & seahawks & parrakeets & almondtrees with their oriental eyes the paradaisal smell of ole-ander lebanon & alexandria all over the limitless green .

But i failed you on those frozen sheetsi cdn't get it up i cdnt get it in .until you had to turn away with the tears of our twins in yr eyes

and the future fall, ing like the stars of the last daysuntil you was at last or again this likkle old womansitting in the corner with the toothless broom & the scars

joy

and all the critics ganging up to happ-ily put down my books or worse sideline & ignoreme and you nvr speaking to me anymore from yr womb until this morning

when at last you come to visit in the guise of a new tv cyar in the drivewaya new woman . a young girl an interior decorator of scoresdressed in the white of spiritual survival with sleight sandals of gold-

en up the steps of my adobe up into the crunching marl of my lonelinessand i reach out again to touch to embrace & embellish your kissthis taste offish of trieste that you have become

this punishment of promise & renewalthat you now bringing me too late in my life for bonfiresor birthday parties of virtue too late in my life for fireworks & celebration &

hot panties . too vertigofor cocktails xcept the white cock himself murdered like me by maddogs on the pasture before we cd wake to the rescue

and the sun coming up now on the saddest day of the year in wrinkles& un. recovery life-sentences between the leavesof the sandbox & the cassia trees & the droning of doves of archbishops of flies

106

eight

n

fflvl*(/)pdm mordecat

is when the bamboo from its clip of yellow groan and wrestlebegins to glowand the wind learns the shape of its fire

and my fingers following the termites drillfind their hollowsof silence, shatters of echoes of tone .

that my eyes closeall along the wall . all along the branches . all along the worldand that that creak of spirits walking these graves of sunlight

spiders over the water, cobwebs crawling in whispersover the stampen green . findfrom a distance so cool it is a hill in haze

it is a fish of shadow along the sandy bottomthat the wind is following my footstepsall along the rustle all along the echoes all along the world

and that that stutter i had heard in some dark summer freedomstartles and slips from fingertip to finger-stop, into the float of the morning into the throat of its sound

10?

it is a baby mouth but softer than the suckit makes

it is a hammock sleeping in the woodlandit is a hammer shining in the shade

it is the kite ascending chord and croon

and screamer(s)

it is the cloud that curls to hide the eagleit is the ripple of the stream from bamboo

it is the ripple of the stream from blue

it is the gurgle pigeon dream the ground dove cooit is the sun approaching midday listening its splendour

it is your voice alight with echo

w/the birth of sound

If 1986

110

nine

he writing of the sea, shd not result

in its escarpmentshe said

tnmvGsne alia tuka. xtkex . alffngengene

The scene of water fine & blue behind herstanding before me unxpected on the beach

her three eyes glowing

like Hyppolite her step-father of the earth

the painther of heaven & hellven

tktwaatuttata.

i know i can't pass a foot any longer beyond herher hair was as green as they always said

and it sparkle w/pink coral & the morning time

112.

T

-but c&n't i -

Transsalutt&tA

the same sword againin its stronger drift & different meaning

of foam -upon the water

and i cd hear the lonely drone of the breakers in her fleshand she was dark brown and nakedall down to the navel of her course

You nuse two he&d to swimWhy select only one now for the gender ?

It was as if i understanding her to say anthology

weer a,ttsda,ta,ta, . guernei . that >rest< there . guerneion the future of impossibility

113

The d&ncer muss stop this foolish & dajn.ce

What has this got to do w/verdant wAvater?i can't dance the nation

!wa(

Nvr before had the tide run so smoothlyall the colours w/out fish

the high blue head of the rain-bow pulling off the top of the sky

!wa(

114

)aXian!

)aXian!

It wasn't suppose to "be like thisShe shd have been repeating like the women i know

not w/these pink. red. fierce indigo eyesstrange hint black butterflies

the seaw/out bees or divinationthe white sharp teeth

the wrenck smell of the Passage shark

where was my HE IP on this short

stretch of pale beach, w/the sea-almond(s) almost down to the water's edge

the cold at her feetclear & sweet ijala round the safety of her anchours

l*j*^41&lShe was so close to me now

. tho she hadn't move any feather or farther .i cd hear in the belle all the distance she have travail

£mwallallft,£

Only walkin

"y

ifeehuri

i smile(d)

She already know a,bout the poem i wd nvr be writingthe signs & signatures i cd nvr recapture

all the plsunts groa,ning in the loam of the limestonei wd nvr rain

m&rei&f

i crie sofflya, veil ofwa-ter w/out fla-me

Ivoshe sa,y simplyonbo dlo

obinrinbinrin niyoo 'da. ejeyu

i nodded w/out n&metransfix &L blessed before the Beloved

. becoming together

116

a ?$$imp\e ooman Luill judge djj-yo cafe1 Spf 2010

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(en

Lett** t<>2*4, Mi^U^H

(3)

LHE C^O^iRG

One late afternoon i drive Aunt May &DrearrChad up to Hardwar Gap & thePark up there Looking across from whe-re we were there was a soft valley of acc-ord & beyond that on the same level w/us a wood in rrist & you cd see a road &the light under the trees in the distancebut it was like over there & you cdnt seethe connection how it get where it was <how you cd get there & there was no on(e) over there Only peace As if there «was where she was walking away fromus but perhaps waiting but each day geting more & more distance & getting more& more involve w/what was happeningover there & meeting the people out ther(e) over there & gettin to know them &her Mother eventually getting the newsthat she had arrive & setting out to find <

iii

IAJ

her in that landscape over there so nearso far far away in the grey green going->down evening sun forever & for ever<Heartease Which is where she is/in thatsoft distance shining & I'm suddenly & atlast happy & very very sad & bnely at th(e) same time because she feelin so fonelybut somehow at peace & there was nothing icd do nothing nothing i cd do any <more nothing icd ever do ever & ever a-gain but to fose her there & that way wh-ere i cd see her & not see her beyond th-

at valley high up here in theBlue

Mountains

from zmo - Ik* final ;«<\u»nct . tntiilt nyc Jun« 03 . 07

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ALSO BY KAMAU BRATHWAITEPoetry

Rights of PassageMasksIslands

The ArrivantsThe Arrivants/Die Ankommlinge

Penguin Modern Poets 15Days & NightsOther ExilesBlack + BluesMother Poem

SowetoWord Making Man: Poem for Nicolas Guillen in Xaymaca

Sun PoemThird World Poems

Jah MusicKorabra

Le detonateur de visibilite/The Visibility TriggerX/Self

Sappho Sakyi's MeditationsShar/Hurricane Poem

Middle PassagesPrimisi-6: Sranantongo translation of Rights of Passage

Words need love tooAncestors

ArkBorn to Slow Horses

Los Danzantes del Tiempo: a Spanish/English Selection

K A M A U B R A T H W A I T E , born in Barbados in i y jo, is aninternationally celebrated poet, performer, and cultural theorist.Co-founder of the Caribbean Artists Movement, he was educated atPembroke College, Cambridge, and has a PhD from the Universityof Sussex in the U.K. He has served on the board of directors ofUNESCO'S History of Mankind project since i c»7?, and as aculturaladvisor to the government of Barbados from 197$ to 1979 and sincei??o.

His awards include the Griffin Prize, the Neustadt InternationalPrize for Literature, the Bussa Award, the Casa de las AmericasPrize, and the Charity Randall Prize for Performance and WrittenPoetry. He has received both Guggenheim and Fulbrightfellowships, among many others. His book The Zea Mexican Diary(tyy j) was the Village Voice Book of the Year. Over the years, hehas worked in the Ministry of Education in Ghana and taught atthe University of the West Indies, Southern Illinois University,University of Nairobi, Holy Cross College, Yale University, and wasa visiting W.E.B. Du Bois fellow at Harvard University. Brathwaiteis currently Professor of Comparative Literature at New YorkUniversity, and shares his time between his home in CowPastor,Barbados, and New York City.

A BOUT T H E D R I F T L E S S S E R I E S

The Driftless Series is a publication award program establishedin aoio and consists of five categories:

D R I F T L E S S N A T I O N A L , for a second poetry book by a United States citizen

D R I F T L E S S NEW E N G L A N D , forapoetry book by a New England authorD R I F T L E S S E N G L I S H , for English language poetry from an authoroutsidethe United States

D R I F T L E S S TRAN SLATi ON, for a translation of poetry into EnglishD RI FTLE s s C O N N E C T I C U T , for an outstanding book in any field by aConnecticut author

The Driftless Series is funded by the Beatrice Fox Auerbach Foundation Fundat the Hartford Foundation for Public Giving. For more information and a completelist of books in The Driftless Series, please visit us online athttp://www.wesleyan.edu/wespress/driftless.