Heave & Sigh
inspired by e-mail received,
all very recently,
from George Lamming,
Kamau Brathwaite,
Ian McDonald,
Ted Chamberlain
& David Dabydeen;
it is dedicated to them.
people all around the place
all across the globe
scholars, writers, friends of mine
retiring or moving on
new crops of murderers, thieves
popping up, cropping up
crapping up the place
daring to do in broad daylight
what of old used to be confined
to dark of night
arm twisting in this town
in this capital city
of our tiny backward country
to suggest people read
to get them to read
at one and the same time
writers here treated
as if they didn't exist
as if they were worthless
were worth nothing
who to add to, to contribute
to the crop required
to replace, to fill the vacancies
vacant seats left by writers
scholars, friends of mine
around the globe
retiring, moving on, moving off
greener pastures
beyond blue skies
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:50 p.m. 29.10.10
inspired by e-mail received,
all very recently,
from George Lamming,
Kamau Brathwaite,
Ian McDonald,
Ted Chamberlain
& David Dabydeen;
it is dedicated to them.
people all around the place
all across the globe
scholars, writers, friends of mine
retiring or moving on
new crops of murderers, thieves
popping up, cropping up
crapping up the place
daring to do in broad daylight
what of old used to be confined
to dark of night
arm twisting in this town
in this capital city
of our tiny backward country
to suggest people read
to get them to read
at one and the same time
writers here treated
as if they didn't exist
as if they were worthless
were worth nothing
who to add to, to contribute
to the crop required
to replace, to fill the vacancies
vacant seats left by writers
scholars, friends of mine
around the globe
retiring, moving on, moving off
greener pastures
beyond blue skies
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:50 p.m. 29.10.10
posted by Obie Quiet at 12:45 AM
2 Comments:
Wistful. That is what one feels, thinks and the tension of something necessary being lost with finality. Our "tiny backward country" reminds me of Frost's "unstoried, artless, unenhanced" from 'The Gift Outright'.
It has been said that poets cannot make or stop wars. But poetry amy deepen, shape and influence the mind that may consider war and the poetry of pestilence and death. You seem to say that is so, and so to say that these labourers of the pan now gone, who is left to till those 'rotting fields" (young minds), where - as Baudelaire said, "new flowers must grow".
The thing about Baudelaire's flowers is that the "must", the imperative concerning them, is no indication that the new flowers will be those which give a better visual aspect or aroma. We wait in hopes that the latter will come to be, whilst suffering the stench of what is dead and dying. Wither the Bahamas; Whither its artists. whither you and me Obediah....Bard of that soil that is my own.
Oh, I am so very grateful for this assessment, Anonymous. How very much I appreciate such a penetrating reading and response - a response which reflects as well a wide reading and knowledge of world literature. What light you add to the light I lit or attempted to.
Post a Comment
<< Home