Yellow Cedars Blooming
An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
Marvin E. Williams Editor and Compiler
Alix Thayer Assistant Editor
Jeannette Allis Bastian Project Director
VIRGIN ISLANDS HUMANITIES COUNCIL United States Virgin Islands 1998
LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF THE V.I. ST. CROIX Ycllow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
© C9pyright 1998 Marvin E. Williams. Author has sole copyrights. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in electronic retrieval systems or transmitted by any means in any form without prior written consent of the author.
Funded by a grant from the Virgin Islands Humanities Council, an affiliate of the Nat1onal Endowment for the Humanities.
The Virgin Islands Humanities Council ISBN 1-886007-08-X St. Thomas, United States Virgin Islands
Yellow cedars blooming : an anthology of Virgin Islands poetry I Marvin E. Williams. editor and compiler : Alix Thayer. assistant editor. - United States Virgin Islands : Virgin Islands Humanities Council. 1998. xvii. 289 p. ; 24 em. Includes bibliographical notes and index. "Jeannette Allis Bastian. project director." ISBN 1-886007-08-X. I VIRGIN ISLANDS POETRY-COLLECTIONS 2. VIRGIN ISLANDS OF THE UNITED STATES-POETRY-COLL.ECTIONS 3 AMERICAN POETRY- VIRGIN ISL.ANDS AUTHORS---COLLECTIONS. I. Williams. Marvin E. II. Thayer. Alix 8Il'.008-dc2l Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofV1rgin Islands Poetry
To the Reader
The poems in this book have survived the stonns of this strange time, and of far older times as well. Their words have been blasted by wind. soaked by water, rescued from brittle pages that crumble at the touch. some of these words we have found and collected.
It is the lost poems that you the reader must find, the ones that live only m the memory of the old. And the dead: you must search for the1r poems too. They have much that remains to be said.
And your very own lost poems-fragmentary, unborn, a phrase that will not leave you-gather these with a vengeance.
You need them-we all do.
iii Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
PREFACE The United States Virgin Islands has a long and prolific poetic tradition, perhaps stemming from its oral roots. Unfortunately, this poetry has not been available to later generations because it has been scattered and out-of-print. This anthology was created to gather together both old and new, out-of-print and currently published works, and to bring all this wonderful poetry to the people. Like all worthwhile projects, this anthology was only made possible through the cooperation and assistance ofmany persons who selflessly donated their time and energy because they believed in the project and thought that it would benefit the Virgin Islands. Particular thanks are due to Christian Doute and Alix Thayer, who joined the project half way through its inception and remained dedicated and committed during the remaining three years that it took to complete. Chris, as Technical Editor, devoted countless hours entering and fonnatting data and creating the index. Alix, as Assistant Editor, insured the completeness and correctness ofall infonnation, negotiated copyright permissions, and coordinated the biographical infonnation. Very special thanks are also due to Dr. Marvin Williams, a poet himself and Editor of this anthology. Throughout the project, he continued to refine it and keep it as current and comprehensive as possible. His thoughtful critical essay, as well as the essays contributed by Dr. Marilyn Krigger, Dr. Roberta Knowles, and Raymond Ross, enhance and extend our understanding ofthe poetry and add immeasurably to the scholarly value ofthis anthology. Their participation is most gratefully appreciated. Among the many other persons who gave valuable input to this publication are Dr. Ruby Simmonds, whose critical reading ofthe draft helped tremendously in shaping the final publication; Jennifer Jackson, who assisted with the initial poetry selection; Latifah Chinnery, Dr. Vincent Cooper, Gene Emanuel, Dr. Roberta Knowles, Raymond Ross, and Dr. Gilbert Sprauve, who served on the initial Advisory Board. Thanks also to Shirley Lincoln for providing the cataloging information and to Magda Smith for negotiating the cover ofthe anthology, a painting by Virgin Islands artist Albert Daniel. Finally, thanks and appreciation go to Magda Smith and Simon Caines of the Virgin Islands Hwnanities Council for their moral support and encouragement throughout the six years that it has taken to complete it. Most of all we thank them and the entire Humanities Council for not losing hope that this anthology would one day be published.
Jeannette Allis Bastian Project Director
iv Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS We would like to thank the following for pennission to reproduce poems:
The Author, Aubrey Anduze for "A Beach in the Shape of a Heart," from Reminiscence II (St. Thomas, The Art Shop, 1944), and "The Last Carib," "Loving Blindness," and Sonnets I, VI, and VID from
Remir~iscer~ce (St. Thomas, The Art Shop, 1940); the Author, Vivian Bennerson for "The Steel Pan," first published in Poetry Comer, Caribbean /mpressiom, November 4 • I 0, 1993; the Author, Barbara Callwood for "Playgrounds" and "Dey Music Gown" from The Caribbea" rfln'ter(cd. Erika Waters), vol. 2, 1988; the Author, Marty Campbell for "De Roostah What Tink E Mck De Sun Rise" from The Caribbean Writer, vol. 4, 1990, and "Deciduous Diaspora, November'' and .. Face'' from Collage Ill: Poets ofSt. Croix (ed. Alfredo E. Figueredo, Christiansted, Antilles Press, 1993): the Author, Vincent Cooper for "And Miles . . ."and ''Hurricane Hugo'' from OfMasks m1d A-(vsteries (ed. S. B. Jones-Hendrickson, Frederiksted, Eastern Caribbean Institute, 1993), and "For Carlton Barrett,'' "For Richard Long," and "Penman" from Tremors (University of the Virgin Islands, 1988); the Author, Dimitri J. Copernann for "First Cry,'' "A Saxophone Speaks," ''In a Silent Way,'' "The Projects." and ''The Soul of Wounded Knee'' from the first two volumes of Within a Golden Grove (University of the Virgin Islands Literary Magazine, 1973-74 and 1974-75); Marvin Creque, for the following poems by Cyril Creque: "Bamboula Echoes," "Coal Carriers,'' "Color,'' "From a Mountain Ridge in St. John,'' "The Hurricane," "Lignum·Vitae," "Masquerade Frenzy," "Night Song of a Saint Croix Laborer,"
"Ruined Rostnun," and "Tropic Dance'' from Tracie Wir~ds (Newport, Rhode Island, Franklin Printing House, 1934), and for "Memories ofTransfer Day,'' "We Laud the Living Hour,'' "With Mingled Feelings," and "Yellow Cedar in Bloom" from St. Thomas, Virgi" Islands: Panorama (The Author. 1947); before his death, the Author Senya Darklight stipulated that all his poetry should be considered public domain; the Author, June Esannason for "Native Woman" from Sur~ f.tla~~el Jewel.t: An Anthologv of Virgin l.dands Poetry (ed. Valdemar A. Hill, Sr., St. Thomas, Val Hill Enterprises, 1975); the Author, Alfredo E. Figueredo for "Golden Grove Campus'' from Collage Ill: Poeu ofSt. Croix (Christiansted, 1993), "BananaQuit," and "Stonehenge"; the Author, David Gershator for excerpt from "Elegy for Val'' (New York, Xpress Press), "Island Roots'' from VIP, vol.l, no.\, 1971, and "Terra Incognita/Taino Incognito" from The Caribbea" Writer, vol. 7, \993~ the Author, Phillis Gershator for "Concretely Celebmting the Quincentennial'' from The Caribbean Writer, vol. 6, 1992, and "Survival" from Tire Caribbean Writer, vol. 5, 1991~ Aida Miller for the following poems by J.P. Gimenez: "Ah Doan Want No Kalaloo,'' "Dern Roach Dal Used to Eat Brass Cannon,'' ''How Tings Change,'' "Mistah Editah," "Talking 'Bout Xmas in the Virgin Islands,'' "Those Hot Cha-Cha Blues," and "A Virgin Islander's Letter to Uncle Sam" from Virgin /sland.s Folklore ancl Other Poenu (New York, 1933), "The Bamboula Drum,'' "My Island Home,'' and "Tropical Dawn'' from Caribbean
v Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
Echoes (New York, Galleon Press, 1934), and "My Virgin Isle" from Voice ofthe Virgin Islands (Philadelphia, Dorrance & Co., 1952); Reubina Gomez for "American Paradise'' by Isidro Gomez, Jr., from Sun /sla"d Jewels: A11 Anthology of Virgi" islands Poetry (St. Thomas, 1975): the Author, Corrin Graham for "A Slave"; the Author, Gary Harold for "Islands,'' "The Dark," and "Hurricane'' from Endangered Species (Christiansted, Antilles Press, 1992); the Author, Carol Henneman for "Pan-Africanism" and "For Zora"; the Author, Arnold Highfield for "Christmas Winds,'' "Epiphany Mas" and "Morning Garden Princcssc'' from Archaeology ofNames, Poems 1962-1992 (Christianstcd, Antilles Press, 1993) and "The Guineaman'' from The Caribbean Writer, vol. 7, 1993; Florence Hill for the following poems by Valdemar Hill, Sr.: "Always for You," "At Magens Bay,'' "Dream of Africa," "On Crown Mountain,'' "Transformed,'' and "You"; the Author, Bertica Hodge-Hendrickson for "Authority,'' "Findings,'' "New Light," "Poem,'' "SWl of St. Thomas," and "Yellow Cedar'' from VIP, vol.l, no.l, 1971; Frankie Jarvis for the following poems by J. Antonio Jarvis: "Africa Whence r Came,'' "Atavistic,'' "Bamboula Dance;· "Harlem Comedy;· and "The Throb of Drums'' from Bamhoula Dance and Other Poems (St. Thomas, The Art Shop, 1935 [1970, Kraus Reprint, Nendeln, Germany)), "Coal Carriers," "Jubilee Hall," "Love;· and "Tourists''; the Author, S. B. Jones-Hendrickson for "Anger Grows,'' "His Ways,'' and "On the Road to Frederiksted''; the Author, Jean Larsen for "Gray Skies," "Images,'' "July Thirty-First,'' "Llwnada,'' "Love;· "707 Blues," and "Searching"; Sandra Olive, for the following poems by Erica Lee: "Beacons;· "Deathless,'' and "Life's Lesson" from Reflections: A Collection ofPoems (San Juan, Puerto Rico, lmprenla Padilla, 1939); the Author, Joseph Lisowski for "Man for the People" from Tremors (University of the Virgin Islands, 1988), "Goat Song" and "Tropic Heat"; the Author, Winifred Oyoko Loving for "Mountain High'' and "Remember When'' from Remember lflhe11 (St. Croix, 1974 ); the Author, Amy Mackay for "Dorothea Lange" from Collage Two: Poems by Poets ofSt. Croix (ed. Marty Campbell, Christianstcd, Antilles Press, 1991 ) and "Sunday"; the Author, Dennis McCluster for "My Revolutionary Granddaddy" and "Waiting Rooms"; the Author, Wanda Mills for "Daughters of Sheba,'' "Homme Noir," and "In My Grandmother's Eyes'' from Meditatio1u i11 Solitude; Edgar Lake for the following poems by Dana Orie: "Belle," "Condominium," "Four Poems for a St.Thomian Lady," "A Song That Rhymes,'' and "Triolel: Virgins Three"; the Author, Isidor Paiewonsky for "The Catch,'' "Friendship,'' "Hummingbird," "Hunger Aims the Pelican,'' and "Sky Diver" from poems for my so11. paul (St. Thomas, 1985 ); the Author, Trevor Parris for "Easter Poem," "Pegasus 249," and "The Twins'' from Three Islands by Vincent 0. Cooper, Trevor Parris, and Joseph Lisowski (University of the Virgin Islands, 1987); the Author, Mao Pcnha for "One for Mao" from I Am a Man: Love Lives Inside ofMe ( 1986); the Author, Linda Quetel for "Legacy" and ''Nigger"; the Author, Edward Richards for "Contrast,'' "Last Night,'' and "Service"; the Author, Tregenza Roach for "The Fowl Keeper'' from The VI Voice (ed. Daisy Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
lloldcr U.fond), vol 4, no 2, 1993, the Author, Jnime Luis Rodriguez for excerpts from When the Waters oftile Waters (Brattleboro, Vennont. Quaking Grass Press, 1986}. the Author, Althcn
Romeo-Mnrk for "Ma Massa~ from Beyond Dreams: The Ritual Dancer (Monrovia, L1beria, AROMA Production, 1989), "New Clothes, New Mmd," "Shu Shu Moko Jumbi.'' and "Suknnah" from Palaver: We.stlndlan Poems (New York, Downtown Poets Co-op. 1978), "Palaver with Papa God'' from Sun Island Jewels: An Antllologv ofVirgin/slands Poetry (St Thomns, 1975), and "Mnrooned'', the Author, Helen Sackey for "Scratchy Band Dance'' from Tile Caribbean Writer, vol. 2, 1988; the Author, Rae! Sacky for "Nowadaze"; the Author, Richnrd Schrader, Sr. for "Nubian Rider'' from Home Sweet Home (St Croix, 1986), "Old Bents New'' from Collage Two: Poems by Poet.f ofSt. Croix (Antilles Press, 1991 ), "Sweet Rain" from Callage Ill: Poets ofSt. Croix (Antilles Press, 1993), and
''Is This St Croix? ''~ the Author, George Seaman for "Oh. Still My Heart" and "Yo No Sc'': the Author, Guy Stiles for "The Bloonung," "The Oranges from Snnto lJomingo," and "To Sari. Aller Almost Twenty Years'' from The Oranges from Satllo Dommgo: Selected Poems /950-/990 (Antilles
Press, 1991 ), and "St Croix I 1r from Tlte Caribbean Writer, vol. 7, 1993; the Author, Mark Sylvester for "Forgotten .. and "Twins", the Author, Chanell SteilUllJlM Wheeler (''Tamarincr) for "Post-Hugo Mndness'' from Collage Two: Poem.f by Poets ofSt . Croix (Antilles Press, 1991 ): the Author, Clement White for "Jumbee Jubilee'' from Su11/sland Jewels: An Anthology of l'irgiu/slauds Poetry•(St. Thomas, 1975); the Author, Marvin Williams for ''Heirs,'' "Jou'vcrt Morning Bacchanal," ''Noonudc. Fort Christian,'' "Pond Bush.'' "The Returns," and "Strand Street, Fredcrikstcd Aller Onrk'' from Dialogue at tlte Heartlt (Antilles Press, 1993); Leona Brady Wutson for the interview "Cnriso Woman. Leona Brady Watson" from The VI Voice (Janunry I February 1991 ); the Author, Willie Wilson for "Thatch Cay'' from Sun Island Jewels: An Allthology of Virgin Islands Poetry {SL Thomas, 1975), "The Way You Put Me Down" from Cargoes {Hollins College Literary Magazine, 1976), and "Words for My Mother'' from New Magazine (Boston University Press, 1971 ).
Although every effort has been made to trace copyright holders, in some cases this was not possible. We welcome any information regarding poets included without acknowledgment.
vii Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry
CONTENTS
Preface iv Acknowledgments v Table of Contents viii Introduction: Excavating Virgin Islands Poetry by Marvin E. Williams The Oral Tmdition ofQuelbe and Calypso Cariso Woman: Leona Bmdy Watson 26 Forerunners in Que/be Marie Richards CLEAR DE ROAD 31 Traditional Que/he QUEEN MARY 32 LAZZYBARRY 32 ASK MR. JACKSON 33 LA BEGA CAROUSEL 33 Contemporary Que/be & Calypso Ten Sleepless Knights DON'T STOP WE J4 Samuel Ferdinand ("Mighty Pat") I AIN'T SINGING THAT 35 Louis lble. Jr. POW AH! (POWER) 38 FOR REALLY? 40 The Forerunners: 1917- 1954 The Forerunners, an essay by Marilyn F. Krigger 43 Gerwyn Todman SLAVERY DAYS 46 Jose Antonio Jarvis BAMBOULA DANCE 49 ATAVISTIC 49 AFRICA WHENCE I CAME 50 THE THROB OF DRUMS 50 HARLEM COMEDY 51 COAL CARRIERS 51 LOVE 52 JUBILEE HALL 52 TOURISTS 53
viU Ycllow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
Valdemar Hill. Sr. YOU 54 AT MAGENS BAY 54 DREAM OF AFRICA 55 ALWAYS FOR YOU 55 TRANSFORMED 56 ON CROWN MOUNTAIN 56 Cyril Creque YELLOW CEDAR IN BLOOM 57 MEMORIES OF TRANSFER DAY 57 WITH MINGLED FEELINGS 58 WE LAUD TilE LIVING HOUR 58 COLOR 59 BAMBOULA ECHOES 59 LIGNUM-VITAE 60 TROPIC DANCE 60 MASQUERADEFRENZV 61 THE HURRICANE 61 NIGHT SONG OF A SAINT CROIX LABORER 63 FROM A MOUNTAIN RIDGE ON ST. JOHN 63 COAL CARRIERS 64 RUINED ROSTRUM 64 J. P. Gimenez TROPICAL OA WN 65 THE BAMBOULA DRUM 65 MY VIRGIN ISLE 66 THOSE HOT CHA-CHA BLUES 67 A VIRGIN ISLANDER'S LEITER TO UNCLE SAM 68 MIST AH EDIT AH 69 AH DOAN WANT NO KALALOO 70 OEM ROACH OAT USED TO EAT BRASS CANNON 71 HOW TINGS CHANGE 72 AMERICAN VIRGIN ISLANDER 72 T ALKJNG 'BOUT XMAS IN DE VIRGIN ISLANDS 73 MY ISLAND HOME 74 Wilfred I. Hatchcuc SCHOMBURG COLLECTION 75 JOE LOUIS LEADS TilE WAY 75 BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS 76
i.x Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
Edward Richards CONTRAST 78 LAST NIGHT 79 SERVICE 79 Aubrey Anduze THE LAST CARIB 80 LOVING BLINDNESS 81 A BEACH IN THE SHAPE OF A HEART 82 SONNET I 83 SONNET VI 84 SONNET VIII 84 Erica Lee LIFE'S LESSON 85 BEACONS 85 DEATHLESS 86 George A. Seaman OH. STILL MY HEART 87 YO NOSE 88 Albert Daniel FOR OUR LATE SONG-BIRD- ERICA B. LEE 90 The Middle Period: 1955- 1975 The Middle Period, an essay by Raymond Ross 91 Tram Combs SUNSETS POEMS 96 SEA SONGS 96 APRIL CARNIVAL, ST. THOMAS 97 SEPTEMBER IN ST. THOMAS 98 Cornelius Emanuel REFLECTIONS ON SEMICENTENNIAL 99 THE "DOWNTOWN SENATE" 100 TROUBLE 101 REMNANTS 102 SUNSET IN ST. THOMAS 102 ME AIN'T WUKKIN ON CHRISTMAS DAY 103 THE KILL 104 Jean Larsen JULY THIRTY -FIRST 106 GRAY SKIES 107 SEARCHING 107 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofV1rgin Islands Poetry
LLAMADA 108 707 BLUES 108 IMAGES 109 LOVE 109 Habib Tiwoni MY BIRTHPLACE 110 'PON TOP BLUEBEARD CASTI..E HILL Ill THE EROTICISM OF IMPERIALISM 112 EVEN IF THE SEA CHAFES 113 I'M TELLING YOU 114 FO' DA Y MANJN' 114 Winifred Oyoko Loving REMEMBER WHEN 115 MOUNT AlN HIGH 118 June Esannason NATIVE WOMAN 119 Willie Wilson TIIATCH CAY 120 THE WAY YOU PUT ME DOWN 120 WORDS FOR MY MOTHER 121 Isidro A. Gomez. Jr. AMERICAN PARADISE (BUT FOR WHOM?) 124 Clement White JUMBEE JUBILEE 125 Bcrtica Hodge-Hendrickson YELLOW CEDAR 126 NEW LIGHT 127 SUN OF ST. THOMAS 128 FINDINGS 129 POEM 129 AlJ11IORITY 130 Judith Peets NEVER DYING TIME 131 ESPECIALLY FOR YOU 132 MAHOGANY BIRDS 133 J. Kimwatsi THE SLAVE THOUGHT 135 CHANGE 136 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
Althea Romeo-Mark PALAVER WITH PAPA GOD 137 SHU SHU MOKO JUMBI 139 SUKANAH 140 NEW CLOTHES, NEW MIND 141 MAMASSA 142 MAROONED 143 Dimitri L. Copemann FIRST CRY 144 A SAXOPHONE SPEAKS 145 IN A SILENT WAY 145 THE PROJECTS 146 SOUL OF WOUNDED KNEE 147 Winston Nugent MASSA DAY DONE DEAD 148 THE MONGOOSE 148 The Contemporary Period: 1976- 1995 The Contemporary Period. an essay by Roberta Knowles 149 Moniquc Clcndinen COVES 153 IF 1 ... 154 DRUMBEAT 155 (UNTilLED) 156 e.g. richards THIS SILENCE 157 THE LOOKING-GLASS 158 THEWANDERERS 159 lsidor Paiewonsky SKY DIVER 162 FRIENDSHIP 163 HUMMINGBIRD 163 HUNGER AIMS THE PELICAN 164 THE CATCH 164 Lenhardt THE HALF BREED 165 THE DEATH WE HAVE BECOI\rffi 166
xii Yellow Cedars Bloommg An Anthology ofV1rgm Islands Poetry
Marty Campbell DE ROOST AH WHAT TINK E MEK DE SUN RISE 168 DECIDUOUS DIASPORA, NOVEMBER 169 FACE 170 Scnya Darklight JOURNEY TO KILIMA-NJARO 171 SOUL MUSIC 173 Ira Claxton NAGUSHAKU 174 SAY WHAT TASK 175 Enide M. E. DeFreitas DEATH IS A BITCH 176 Corrin Graham A SLAVE 177 Amy Mackay DOROlliEALANGE 178 SUNDAY 179 Michelle Deal WOMAN WANTS TO DESTROY ALONENESS 181 Mao Penha ONEFORMAO 182 Mark Sylvester FORGOTTEN 183 TWINS 183 Vincent Cooper PENMAN 184 FOR CARL TON BARRETT 185 HURRICANE HUGO 186 FOR RICHARD LONG 188 AND MILES . .. 189 Joseph Lisowski A MAN FOR THE PEOPLE 190 TROPIC HEAT 191 GOAT SONG 191 David Gershator TERRA INCOGNITA I TAINO INCOGNITO 192 ISLAND ROOTS 194 From ELEGY FOR VAL 195
xiii Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
Phillis Gcrshator CONCRETELY CELEBRATING THE QUINCENTENNI AL 199 SURVIVAL 200 S.B. Jones-Hendrickson ON THE ROAD TO FREDERIKSTED 203 HIS WAYS 204 ANGER GROWS 206 Jaime Luis Rodriguez From WHEN THE WATERS OF THE WATERS 207 Guy Stiles ST. CROIX 11 209 THE BLOOMING 209 THE ORANGES FROM SANTO DOMINGO 210 TO SARJ. AfTER ALMOST TWENTY YEARS 210 Arnold Highfield MORNING GARDEN PRINCESSE 211 THE GUINEAMAN 212 CHRISTMAS WINDS 215 EPIPHANY MAS 215 Vivian Benncrson THE STEEL PAN 217 Helen Sackey SCRATCHY BAND DANCE 218 Rael Sackcy NOWA-DAZE 220 Barbara Callwood PLAYGROUNDS 221 DEY MUSIC GA WN 222 J. Karnau MOODIE 223 Raymond St. James WEST INDIAN WOMAN 225 IT WAS JUST YESTERDAY 226 Wanda Mills DAUGHTERS OF SHEBA 227 IN MY GRANDMOTHER'S EYES 227 HOI'vfME NOIR 229 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry
Linda Quetel NIGGER 230 LEGACY 230 Gary Harold ISLANDS 231 HURRICANE 232 THE DARK 233 Alfredo Figueredo STONEHENGE 234 GOLDEN GROVE CAMPUS 234 BANANAQUJT 235 Marvin E. Williams POND BUSH 236 NOONTIDE. FORT CHRISTIAN 239 HEIRS 240 STRAND STREET. FREDERIKSTED AFTER DARK 241 JOU'VERT MORNING BACCHANAL 242 mE RETIJRNS 245 Tamarind POST -HUGO MADNESS 246 Richard Schrader. Sr. NUBIAN RIDER 248 IS TillS ST. CROIX? 249 OLD BEATS NEW 250 SWEETRAJN 250 Patricia Fagan ISLAND FEVER: SUNDAY'S SONG 251 DAYDREAMS ON A SUBWAY TRAIN 252 CHARCOAL 253 Tahira Muhammad NIGHT IN THE COUNTRY 254 Tregenza Roach THE FOWL KEEPER 255 Dennis McCiuster WAITING ROOMS 257 MY REVOLUTIONARY GRANDDADDY 258 Carol Henneman PAN-AFRICANISM 259 FORZORA 260
XV Ye11ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
Margery Tonks LAYERS 261 Trevor Parris THE TWINS 262 EASTER POEM 263 PEGASUS249 264 Dana Samuel Orie TRIOLET: VIRGINS THREE 266 FOUR POEMS FOR A ST. THOMIAN LADY 269 A SONG THAT RHYMES 270 CONDOMINIUM: A CALYPSO IN PROGRESS 271 BELLE 272 Index 274
xvi Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
Yes, the golden sun is going to rest, Deep, deep within the ocean's breast. And the greatest of all artist's unseen hand, Is working color-wonder we'll never understand From Meditation at Sunset Albert E. Daniel
xvii Y~ C~ Bloonu!;; An Ndholosn ofVUJtn lswm Poa::y Excavating Vsrgtn Islands Poetry: An Introduction
Excavating Virgin Islands Poetry: An Introduction BACKGROUND This anthology came to life through a grant from the Virgin Islands Humanities Council. Together, the Council and the project director, Jeannette Bastian, envisioned producing an authoritative text of Virgin Islands poetry that would address "the severe lack of public access to published Virgin Islands literature."' Although they recognized that this problem of access ran across the imaginative writing spectrum, given the preponderance of poetry being published in the islands and the gap in knowledge about indigenous writers generally and poets in particular, they felt it urgent to gather the work of past and present poets under a single cover. A follow-up anthology would take prose fiction and nonfiction as its subject. Meanwhile the present text would serve as inspiration to younger writers and begin the process of reintroducmg our society to itself. Indeed such a rcacquaintance, if not an initial meeting, had to be forged, for almost two years ago a friend told me that someone who should know had remarked that there was no Virgin Islands poetry By this, the individual meant that the body of poems available was minuscule and lacked quality. Beyond my being a Virgin Islands poet who had some knowledge of other local practitioners of the art, I instinctively felt offended. Yet 1 harbored doubt over whether this seeming affront was not an accurate assessment of reality. For I, in fact, had no concrete argument to rebuff the claim~ all I had was a solid countervailing suspicion that prickled my blood. My suspicions grew firmer when my friend conjured with J. P. Gimenez, Aubrey Anduze, Cyril Creque, and a host of other names that had escaped me through our porous curriculum. Still, I hedged internally, for while the list my friend amassed was impressive, it did not address the issue of quality. Secretly I vowed to find out for myself, and in May 1993 I began to dig into the islands' libraries for our poets rendered mute by ncglcct.1 And it was during my digging that a happy coincidence occurred: the project director asked me to serve as research editor of an anthology of Virgin Islands poetry. My search produced scores of writers and an intriguing body of poems that ran from sophomoric to very good. There was a Virgin Islands poetry, albeit unexcavatcd and however frequently derivative in form and sentiment. This latter fault, found especially in the earliest poets, would pose no great problem at all, for the sympathetic critic would place this borrowing in its proper historical context. These writers represented a largely unvoiced people still locked into a prescriptive and proscriptive colonial society~ yet they sought to inscribe their voice within a Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry scribal convention that heretofore had denied them possibility. Moreover, they attempted to establish a poetic praxis in an unapologetically commercial envirorunent that eschewed the arts in favor of profits; and they undertook this task without the benefit or direction of indigenous models in verse. That imitation initially occurred is not surprising; that the master tongue remained virtually uninflected by islands was almost inevitable. The significance that attaches to their practice is that it laid the groundwork for an indigenous writerly tradition. PROBLEMS OF DEFINITION If the recurring status question over who constitutes a Virgin Islander remains troublesome, then the question over who qualifies as a Virgin Islands poet emerges to be vexing. While United States citizenship confers voter status on a newcomer only ninety days in the territory, by necessity such a privilege cannot extend to a writer just arrived. One endeavors to locate in that writer's work at least what Adelbert Anduze calls in his master's thesis ''the islander's emotional essence." But even this or its like cannot be enough. A writer with talent, empathy, and keen perception might quickly capture such an essence. So the definition must include some element of time. What is reasonable? The editorial board decided that a minimum domicile of between eight and ten years would be appropriate. But, the question was raised, is that not overly generous, does it not reduce the authenticity of what purports to be "Virgin Islands poetry?" Given the unique nature of this immigrant society whose demographics arc steadily in transition, various concessions had to be made. Thus the definition must account for the numerous contributions immigrants have made socially, culturally, and through the arts. After all, many of the writers, visual artists, and singers/composers, for example, are not native born but their impact and imprint on culture and the arts are indeed profound. But if we concede that some space should be made for non-indigens, admittedly a culturally diverse group, then who among them ought to be accorded special attention? Can those from Euro-American backgrounds legitimately receive the same consideration as those of Afro-Caribbean origins? In fact, if we must include a callaloo pot of writers, then are we not for the sake of authenticity obligated to divide the text into two disparate segments, one reflecting the poetry of writers native born (and the progeny of native born), and the other containing the verse of those not indigenous to the territory? Perhaps in the interest of a pan-Caribbean aesthetic or spirit the sections might be divided between those with origins in the archipelago and those with birth roots outside the region. The majority of the board members rejected any textual bifurcation as tending to the artificial and
2 Excavating Virgm Islands Poetry: An Introduction potentially problematical. The eight-to-ten years residence would stand as the prerequisite for consideration toward inclusion. The foregoing debate, resolved within this text, will retain its extra textual dynamics as long as our political status remains unresolved and as long as culture continues to submit to its primordial syncretic drive. The fact of the matter is that Virgin Islands society is multicultural and increasingly at least bilingual. Its relatively homogeneous voice has been lilted into a heterogeneous tongue. And if the former articulates our past, then the latter speaks to our future. T ogcther they sketch in the complex lines of our face, and call us into being. SELECTION The editorial board for this anthology was comprised of creative writers, librarians, linguists, and teachers, including university professors. Together they represented a rich mix of artistic, political, and philosophical positions that were brought to bear on the criteria for inclusion as well as other standards governing the shape of this text. But the board did more than conceive and draw the boundaries of the project: almost every one of its members also contributed directly to its final design by providing sectional introductions. Although this anthology does not pretend to be exhaustive, the poets and the poems gathered here represent more than a fair sampling of those writing in the territory and the thematic and stylistic range of their work. If they betray an unevenness in ability and quality, this is largely attributable to our selection criteria which were very democratic. Poets and poems were chosen on one or any cluster of the following indices: their ability to evoke the pulse beat and sensibilities of the islands, their effective use of nation language and indigenous lore, their technical proficiency and artistic merit, and their historical value. By historical value we refer to two things: a poem· s felicitous treatment of imp6rtant moments or events in the islands' development, and the body of verse whose appearance defines the canon's origin. Since the pool of earlier poets is relatively small we included all ofthosc whose work is available. Similarly we decided to include substantially more of their poems than the contemporary writers' in an effort to expose them to a community from whom their poetry has remained virtually hidden. Indeed, except for a recent reprint of J. Antonio Jarvis' Bamboula Dance and lsidor Paiewonsky · s poems for my son paul which revives some of his early work, the texts of the earlier writers have been out of print almost since their publication. Many of these can be found in the special collections of the public libraries, but some important works appear to be lost forever. Especially difficult to retrieve are
3 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry those poems that were published individually in newspapers and magazines that have long been out of circulation. All this has been further complicated by the destruction wrought by Hurricane Hugo in 1989, which all but wiped out the fine Caribbean section of the Florence Williams Library on St. Croix; and by the damage and disruption caused by Hurricane Marilyn in 1995. ORGANIZATION The editorial board considered whether the poetry should be organized around themes that assert themselves in the collection. Among those that quickly surfaced were the celebration of landscape and reverence for the islands' social history; the question of identity in relation to race, ancestral homeland, and archipelago; demographic changes that distort indigenous geopolitics; exile and alienation within and without territorial boundaries; nostalgia for a less fragmented and chaotic past~ and critique of the foreign interloper. The board eventually resisted the temptation to adopt the thematic approach for two rcas·ons. First, the poems engage numerous themes, some of which cannot easily fit into the major categories that suggest themselves, and some of these groupings are too small to constitute individual sections. Second, since a major objective of the project is to present largely unknown writers to their community, the committee felt that a body of a writer's poems should be presented sequentially that they might reveal the writer's range of concerns and treatment of form immediately. In our view this seminal text will encourage other types of investigations and classifications of the poetry in the future. Now, our task is to make the majority of the poets accessible, especially to their native audience. Once this was agreed upon, it was decided that the writers and their work would be presented in three broad chronological groups: "The Forerunners;' 1917-1954; "The Middle Period," 1955-1975; and ''The Contemporary Period," 1976-1995. While this somewhat arbitrary chronology was adopted for convenience, it nonetheless retains a certain historical logic. The "Forerunners" section gathers together the earliest of our poets who ushered in the canon even as they betrayed some of the formal and psychological limitations that inhere in a nascent colonial literature. The "Middle Period" serves as a bridge between the early shackles of form, sentiment, and conception and the "Contemporary Period's" studied rejection and imaginative exploration of these. In addition to its formal and thematic progression, the contemporary period marks the entry of the vast majority of immigrants into Virgin Islands literature, modifying its shape and enriching it. Finally, each section opens with an introduction that places the poetry in its socio-historica1 context and identifies the predominant themes of the period in Excavating Virgin Islands Poetry: An Introduction question. These sectional leads, written by scholars of varying backgrounds, reflect the style and professional thrust of their authors. In her introduction to the "Forerunners,'' Dr. Marilyn Krigger, a historian, focuses on the link between art and society, the degree to which writers responded to "far-reaching political, economic, social and cultural changes" even as they acknowledged ancestral roots. Raymond Ross, a school teacher and culturalist, treats the "Middle Period.' and documents the poetry's growing militancy, inward turning, critique of the enduring colonial legacy, and increased use of nation language. Literary critic and English professor Dr. Roberta Knowles explores the stylistic and thematic fecundity of the "Contemporary Period,'' a flowering arising out of the rich mix of indigenous and immigrant voices resounding in the territory. The general introduction is followed by an interview with Leona Brady Watson regarding the cariso tradition and a collection of local quelbe and calypso lyrics that also speak to the sensibility of the era. These are not offered as decoration (indeed they deserve a more focused and sustained treatment) but to emphasize their important place within our rich oral tradition, which constitutes our oldest and most unfettered literature from whose enduring wellspring some of our better poets draw. Across time, whether through the drum ·s elocution or the singer· s eloquence, our music has consistently defined and legitimated our being. Indeed like the most creative and forceful of our politics, our quelbe and calypso have displayed a bolder and more imaginative sensibility than our own poetry. It is only recently that the poets have begun doing impressive legwork to catch up. THE POETRY When J. Antonio Jarvis, that most celebrated of Virgin Islands writers, argued in 1944 that in "pure literature, the Virgin Islands have produced scarcely anything that reached professional level," he might have been including his own imaginative work. He further claimed: Cyril Creque, J. P. Gimenez, Erica Lee, Edward Richards, Valdemar Hill, Gerwyn Todman. Wilfred Hatchctte, Aubrey Anduzc, have sent their barques of poetry upon the unknown sea of appreciation. Beyond a momentary phosphorescence in the wake of each fragile vessel, there remains no memory of the argosy. None of them added to Iani under standing of the various dialects and picturesque speech that were once identified with the Virgin Islands. None made an impassioned plea for justice, or sang a new hymn to beauty ~ none interpreted the sensuous languor of the tropics or put a legend in unforgettable language. 2
5 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry
Doubtless Jarvis here overstates an otherwise good case, for certainly J. P. Gimenez had done much to preserve and further our "understanding of the various dtalects and the picturesque speech" ofthe islands, and in various "dialect" pieces the latter poet made "impassioned plea[s] for justice" from the United States. But Jarvis is on the mark when he contends that "perhaps the chief young writer ... is Isidor Pywon who has done excellent imagist verse and some brittle short stories. He is less imitative of forms and patterns than most of the others." Indeed, Todman attempts to write an epic of St. Thomas and does so in heroic couplets; Anduze's sequence of love sonnets owes a huge debt to Shakespeare, and Jarvis himself shows a strong affinity for that form; Creque and Gimenez tirelessly employ the standard ballad; and Erica Lee's Victorian verse extols the virtues of patience and perseverance. Yet their work demands our attention because, as I have said above, they laid the foundation for later poets to build on. Moreover, their work affords us the opportunity to trace the development of our poetry and helps us to discover and explore the thematic continuities that survived the journey from imitative to imaginative rendering of the islands in verse. In this introduction I want to focus on three figures that stand out in the poetry-the drum, the landscape, and resistance-and in so doing provide a solid though incomplete characterization of the canon.
I. The Bamboula Drum Among the early poets, the bamboula drum and dance constitute a central trope signifying a difference that edifies, a sign of real or potential subversion. Each time bamboula appears, it declares an African and West Indian selfhood that counters prevailing notions of black inferiority, cultural deficit, and mimicry. Bamboula says this is us and ours. Yet in the early poetry it hardly ever achieves its liberating potential, never really rises above acknowledgment that ends in ambiguity. Thus while it recognizes its enduring debt to Africa, its linguistic and psychological approach to the continent can reveal uncertainty and sometimes even repulsion. J.A. Jarvis' "Bamboula Dance," for example, utilizes a traditional sonnet form and displays an ambivalence toward the African heritage: Can I in pride mock sad buffoons Who ape ancestral circumstance? My fathers, too, these thousand moons Cavorted in some tribal dance. I still can feel, when drumbeats call, The pulsing blood new rhythms take: As garment-like refinements fall
6 Excavating Virgin Islands Poetry: An Introduction
Unconscious longings spring awake! My honored sire now would say, For all his solemn high degrees, That drums recall Nigerian play And drown out later dignities. Few naked tribesmen yet remain To dance the sacred dance for rain! Clearly the bamboula ·s energy, rhythm, and maroon voice do not enter in to counter and so extend the linguistic boundaries of the soMet fonn. And though the poem marvels at the vital power the African heritage continues to exert on the conscious and subconscious, it worries that this force, miscast as a curse, might ambush "And drown out later dignities'' that European education and manners confer on the well-schooled. Yet Jarvis· "Atavistic" laments the inhibiting nature of the speaker·s "Nordic blood" which paradoxically is depicted as dynamic, "Pulsing like the tide at flood." What accounts for these contradictory responses to heritage? While Nordic blood and culture are seen as ennobling and civilizing, they are considered barriers to sensuality and spontaneity that primal and uncivilized Africa confers. Thus the speaker's sense that his blessings arc mixed at best: Dowered by an alien sire, Is it strange my tropic fire Often cools to virtuous fear When nice brown girls venture near? But this ambivalence disappears or adopts a new (dis)guisc in "The Throb of Drums," where the drum becomes metaphor for religious and secular rites, for virtue and its absence. Not only do drums summon the houngans and loas of Vodun to worship and appear in other spiritual and cultural ceremonies; they are also conscripted in the service of the slave trade and in the racist campaign to deny blacks civil and human rights. In spite of this corruption, however, the poem's speaker insists that blacks, responding to the drumbeats of pride and conscience, continue to "'climb to fill/Each blood bought, hard earned, honored place." A similar call to self-assertion and acceptance is sounded in "We Have Legends," which again reveals Jarvis· preoccupation with the islands' dual heritage and its psychological and political consequences:
7 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry
The wraiths of dead ancestors ride Through shadowed lanes at night, Weird tales in which I have no pride Are deeper men· s dehght. I still can sec Icarus fly And eat pomegranate seeds, Why should my native legends lie Smothered under alien weeds? At times one is not certain whether Jarvis himself harbors contradictory feelings toward Africa/blackness or if he undertakes to document that ambivalence within islanders. If the latter is true, then we can say that he attempts to provoke an awakening to self and to eradicate lingering doubts about the value of African/island culture. In any event, a dual response to Afro-European heritage remains stark in many of his poems, and a reading of these against his substantial prose work might yield a more definitive answer. Valdemar Hill's "Dream of Africa" also offers the drum as a sign of the black self cultured in western garb undressing yet anxious to suppress its unmasked face. The poem is rendered in free verse that breaks from the fixed metric feet of Jarvts · sonnets; it does, however, rely upon a stereotypical vision of Africa, albeit a romantic one. With eyes closed, I see the Niger winding in the moonlight; There is a stretch of black jungle Where huts and burning channs Are hidden. Within its musty depths A tiger roars defiance at the Moon For warning prey by moving shadows. There, on a knoll above the grass, A naked man Silhouetted black against the Moon Dances wildly To the rumbling music of the sacred drums. Be calm, 0 atavistic heart! The speaker's reverie transports him to an Africa whose simplicity and primordial drama attract; yet he does not allow himself to be seduced by the picture, for his sophistication and acquired western sensibility would not pennit his blood to respond to its source: "Be calm, 0 atavistic heart!''
8 Excavating Virgin Islands Poetry: An Introduction
In contrast to the hesitancy and conflicting responses to drum/heritage found in Jarvis and HiU, Cyril Creque·s "Bamboula Echoes" unabashedly celebrates African blood, its enduring dynamic influence: and it docs so with an energy befitting the passionate rhytlun of the bamboula drums. Yet the drum· s authentic voice remains a faint echo in the poem·s traditional ballad structure and melody. Nonetheless, the speaker admits that the .. wrangling triangle sets my savage blood aflame" and claims that it is difficult to "snub the tempting music of a subtle, pristine [bamboula] dance." Moreover, he urges the '·African pastmasters" to awake in their graves in envy of the islanders· rendition of traditional drumming and dancing these ancestors had bequeathed. Finally, he admonishes his contemporaries to seize and lock the moment in their being or the drum· s aftersounds or shadow of sounds, already fading, will disappear. Creque· s sheer enthusiasm and love of the drum· s revitalizing, humanizing power is again tempered by a note of sadness over its waning influence and the music· s ability to act as bulwark against the drudgery and harshness of islanders· existence in his "Masquerade Frenzy": They are jigging up their face masks to some gay bamboula tunes ... There is joy in costumes yellow, colors mixed with black and white, But they ·n toss a fleeting mirth within those sweated things, tonight. And more solemnly in the lyrical "The Tropic Dance'': Come near and note the tropic dancer sway Gay limbs in graceful rhythm to and fro, Or watch a wriggler shuffle heel and toe, Bent arms on hips upon a gala day, Ignited by hot flutes that brightly play Some pale bamboula airs which years ago An early sire fashioned in the glow Of pristine passion, groping for a way. 0 Vanity, you tinge the lettered cheek When black drums thrum and waken savage years, Why dam the deep eye with such small derision? How will grown pundits of the future speak? Shall they discard, behind a film of fears, Our cultural fetiches as stale tradition?
9 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry
Creque is fond of using the term "savage," but one never senses a pejorative phlegm on his tongue when he utters the word. In fact it often appears with and connotes "pristine," suggesting that Creque's concern lies with the African heritage becoming, through islanders' retreat from self, adulterated or rejected. He would consider this a grievous Joss. Like Creque, J. P. Gimenez revels in the drum's power to move, but even he mines tradition for his forms and, like Jarvis and Hill, describes without recreating the life force and language of the drum in his ballad "The Bambouta Drum": There· s a rhytlunical sway, A melody gay, In the notes of the bamboula drum. A something unsaid Which goes to the head, Inebriating the senses like rum. And dancers react As if in contact With invisible strings from the drum. Their movements denote They feel every note As they shuffle or balance in fun. Unconscious of all, Their feet rise and fall, As the drum takes possession of soul. And they sway on and on Until with the dawn Exhaustion breaks music's control. Yet it was Gimenez, committed to the quatrain and the couplet, who nevertheless utilized indigenous language and lore to achieve a countervailing tension arising from the contrast between the traditional forms and our Creole. For him language becomes the drum that signals difference, invites Virgin Islanders to their own voice. In his Virgin Islands Folklore and Other Poems and elsewhere he creatively renders in verse numerous beliefs and attitudes which reveal the wisdom, humor, and resourcefulness of the folk. This work in nation language retains the orality of the original tales; and it is with Gimenez, in fact, that we sec the meeting point of oral and scribal traditions. Let us consider the first half of his more topical "Mistah Editah": Dear Sah: Ah writin yo dese heah two line,
10 Excavating Virgin Islands Poetry: An Introduction
Wid which ah hope to ease meh mind Ah refer to this change of goverunent, Which got meh all worn out an spent. Ah hear so much talk 'bout dis and dat, Oat ah dunno whether its rat o · cat. Some say, when this new govenrnent come, We goin have ..Free Port" an plenty rum. An dem who ain't work foh years o' so, Goin work 'till dey can't work no mo. Now Sah, ah dunno if all dis talk is true, But ah want to say-(between me an you), Ah also beah a diffrunt sang. Bokra singin · all day lang, 'Bout how when dis goverunent go, Dey goin tax yo house- window and doh, Goin .ax de air yo breathe at nitc, Goin tax de sun and de moon-light This poem, in language and theme, serves as a polemic on at least two fronts: in spite of its guise of defacing innocence, it reminds the newly installed American goverrunent of its responsibility to the islands; and it does so in the authentic voice (as opposed to the ·'Bokra" voice) of the islands. Here then linguistic choice underscores thematic intent. Indeed, unlike most of his contemporaries, Gimenez saw poetry as more than a purely aesthetic vocation; for him it must speak to the struggles, triumphs, and flawless imperfect humanity of his people. Often this is not as visible nor rendered with the specificity of detail and the virtuvsity of indigenous creole in the poems of most of his contemporaries even when their responses to the islands arc calculated to be unequivocally celebratory. II. Landscape and People A significant feature of the forerunners· poetry is its propensity to gloss or altogether ignore the unadorned faces of islands so that one cannot distinguish them from, say, an American pastoral or seaside scene. Why? One suspects that many of the writers attempted to achieve a vaunted universality that in reality cannot exist unless grounded in the particular without lapsing into cliche. Thus a poet might engage an island landmark and never evoke its specific contours, idiosyncrasies, character~ he might never draw his images and metaphors from the place where he actually stands, however much this location might have been the source of his inspiration. Often enough. though, the early poets make direct
I I Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry reference to the islands· landscape and people with a mixture of reverence and romance. In Hill's "Always For You," for example, the speaker considers his beloved as inseparable from the land which nourishes and affinns their love: When the genips arc drenched in blossoms of white And the air is laden with their haunting fragrance, I think of you. When mahoganies undress and cast their leaves In golden, mosaic patterns on the white roads, I ache for you .... When the rain comes roaring down in sheets, And the huge tamarinds groan and tumble in the stonn, I rave for you. And though lsidor Paiewonsky's imagistic "Hurricane" does not name a particular island, the portrait it produces is sufficiently exact to identify it as belonging to islands: A bloated sea vomited seaweed. Closed houses seemed frightened faces with eyes shut. 3 Similarly, these poets treat of the people, but they often fail to be critical of the shaping conditions within which the latter struggle. Thus Jarvis' ''Coal Carriers" depicts this most arduous of labor that paid little, this industry which was not above swindling its predominantly women laborers, as uplifting: Black, willing toilers tramp along From coal to ship to shore. Dim mirage dawn is hailed with song, The ship can hold no more. The blushing mom now shames the moon, And the workers homeward hie Those dollars earned, a welcome boon. Coal carriers passing by! Although one might argue that "Dim mirage dawn is hailed with song/The ship can hold no more" and the earlier "That dim dark hulk along the dock ... /Must coal at once despite the clock" sound subtle notes of protest, they become
12 Excavating Virgin Islands Poetry: An Introduction submerged in the dominant enthusiasm of the poem, which ultimately attains to praisesong. Moreover, the poem· s penultimate line, "Those dollars earned a welcome boon,·· suggests that the "willing toilers·· do not view their labor as particularly enervating. Creque's "Coal Carriers" displays a similar romantic and glossing impulse, even though it too contains a potentially explosive line, " And jingling pennies their slim purses feed ." In the final analysis, however, Creque is not so much interested in scrutinizing the conditions of the laborers which he accepts as perhaps unavoidable as he is with unveiling their nobility and the dignity of their work. His "Night Song of a Saint Croix Laborer" is cqualJy unable to elevate above description; and it does not approach the rebellious fervor of the quelbc song "Queen Mary," for example, which engages the descendants of Creque· s laborer who worked the same plantation factory: Queen Mary, ah where you gon· go bum? Queen Mary, ah where you gon· go bum? Doan ask mch nothin · 'tall. Just gch me de match and oil. Bassin Jailhouse ah there de money dey. Or consider an almost as famous quelbe composed spontaneously around the time Jarvis and Creque were writing. "La Bega Carousel" captures the protest of workers at a St. Croix ice-making plant who felt that their wages were wholly inadequate and that the plant's owner had no respect for their labor or their being. Earlier La Bega, a descendant of the planter class, had remarked that the black workers were shiftless in general and deserved no more than twenty cents per day for their work. This, in fact, was their actual wages that no amount of protest could previously increase. In any event, La Bcga brought a carousel to the island in an effort to increase his profits and assumed that blacks would be his principle customers, his workers heavily represented among them. But on the night of the carousers opening these same workers showed up en masse and to the melody of an old tune made up the lyrics that won them support from the general populace, sent the carousel out of business, and spurred La Bega to raise the icc worker's wages: I rather walk and drink rum whole night, Before me go ride on La Bega Carousel, I rather walk, man, and drink rum whole night, Before me go ride on La Bega Carousel.
J3 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
Ah yo' hear wha La Bega say: The people ain •t worth more than twenty cents a day. Ah you hear wha' La Bega say: We Crucians ain't worth more than twenty cents a day. It is difficult to find such assertiveness in the poetry of the period; and this is a bit surprising given the dynamic political and journalistic activities affinning the black independent self that characterize the first half of this century. III. Islands Speak: Shapes of Protest In the 1920s and 1930s Creque's generation viewed America "with mingled feelings" and the islands as idyllic if poor entities. By the early 1970s many poets two generations removed were neither divided on the question of America nor did they sec the islands through rose-tinted glasses. For a significant number of the younger writers America sometimes constitutes a threat to their ,.authentic" culture and geopolitics and sometimes acts as a destructive force in relation to these. Frequently, therefore, the islands are viewed as being under siege by relocated Americans and the American government itself This difference in perception is due in part to the vastly contrasting eras within which each group of writers wrote. Sixty years ago America· s shaping and disfiguring technological culture had yet to impact the islands in the manner it has since especially the 1960s, thus the sense of dislocation did not surface until the latter period. Accordingly, while the younger writers were in a position to assess the benefits and costs of American rule, Creque and his peers were forced to wait in limbo and withhold judgment. Thus their ambivalence for the territory's new colonial masters: while they hoped to win relief from depressed socioeconomic conditions, at the same time they feared that the United States government would renege on its promise to improve the islands· welfare. And although these foreruMers sincerely responded to a landscape that was in many ways still Edenic, they seem also to have been endorsing the stereotyped view of the islands as paradisal haunts. Forty years later a critical number of poets saw the islands collectively as Eden desecrated, as paradise only for America, the fallen angel, and its sons. Let us look more closely at these contrasting responses. In his "With Mingled Feelings" Creque points outs that islanders had been strapped for so long to the fortunes of Denmark that They seemed to love these bonds until one day A Yankee coMoisseur came along With ideas which he did not choose to say Would make them and his countrymen more strong.
14 Excavating Virgin Islands Poetry: An Introduction
He simply bargained for them and away They went, with mingled feelings, for a song. Notice that there is no protest against colonial rule, no suggestion that the islands might pursue an independent path, but an acceptance of the inevitability of control. Significantly, Gimenez's "A Virgin Islander's Letter to Uncle Sam" bemoans United States policies that negatively impacted the islands and points out the consequences of acquiescence: Uncle: Although I don't care to be bold, I'd have you know: We live by selling coal. To sell we must offer FACILITY, Compete with those islands up on the lea ... There's something else which to us lacks fun, Embodied in a law you call "PRO-HJ-BI-TION." The reason for it is not plain to me, And why it should be? Nobody can sec . . You know, many things we don't understand. Among them-your method of ruMing new land ... Something else with which we aren ·t content by far Certain provisions of the transfer law. Uncle, if for ten years you wandered from home, Would you be called "ALIEN" condemned to roam? Uncle, I hope these things you 'II investigate And adjust these matters before it's too late. Thanking you, Uncle, for what' er you might do. I am your latest nephew: JOHN KALALOO. In spite of Creque's misgivings and Gimenez's remonstrations, they both continue to sing the praises of the landscape whose welfare stood in stark contrast to its people's condition. Accordingly, Creque's "Song for St. Thomas," for example, ends with an invitation to tourists: Sing we for this sea-cooled island: Radiant Health waits aJ I the time In the sUMy hills to welcome Lovers to her charming clime. and Gimenez's "My Island Home·· reads like a chamber of commerce come-on:
15 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
My island green Is an isle of dreams A land of sunshine bright Where laughing breeze And spreading trees Whisper on moonlit nights ~ Where pale blue seas And birds and bees Make music all the time. A jewel rare, A garden fair With silvery stars divine. While writers must be free to choose their subjects and pursue their themes, the point remains that their choices reveal something about their sensibilities. And what emerges from the poems we have considered here is that while many of the early writers documented important socio-cultural aspects of the island, they often surrendered to the urge to engage the conventional stuff of poetry, employing standard forms, and displaying the stock poetical sentiments their education sanctioned even when their compelling language and experience advised otherwise. This impulse and its obverse inhabit the poems of Cornelius Emanuel whose life intersected the forerunner and middle periods. David Gershator's observation on Emanuel is thus particularly apt: "His collection Reflections published in 1967 shows clearly the ttme-Jag situation on the islands. He is caught between the old and the new and tends to indulge in outworn poetic stance and language. However, humor and dialect bring his muse down to earth'' in a body of poems that aspires to and moves toward an authentic island voice. Contrast, for example, Emanuel's "Reflections on Semicentennial'' rendered in iambic meter St. Thomas, of these matchless Virgin Isles Suggests to me a prectous jewel laid Amongst the softly undulating folds Of emerald, blue, and ever-moving sea. The stranger's eye, accustomed to the dull And somber shades of grey metropolis, Sees in this unbelievable and bright array Of tropic color, island happiness.
16 Excavating Virgin Islands Poetry: An Introduction
with his "calypoem" endorsing tradition "Me Ain't Wukkin· on Xmas Day" or his humorous, revealing "Trouble (St. Thomas Style)"' where the speaker encounters a crying boy and inquires about his misery: "Your father dead?" He shook his head And shouted "WUSS DAN DAT!" ' "What awful thing has happened?" He replied as if he'd choke: " I stop to play some marble And me boss rum-bottle broke!" Only three years after Emanuel commemorates the first fifty years of American rule over the islands, depicting St. Thomas as a happy haven, another St. Thomian, Habib Tiwoni, presents a decidedly different picture of the islands in "The Eroticism of Imperialism": My islands were once Virgins But that was long before Iguanas laughed at their so-called Black pride. Now Virgins no more, they bow To do the blow job of monopolies Who suck mw materials from Between their sun-kissed legs ... Tiwoni was in the vanguard of younger writers who moved from tacit acquiescence to colonial rule and the indulgence in the myth of paradise to active critique of both. In many ofhis poems, among them .. Pon Top Bluebeard Castle Hill" and •·rm Telling You;· he explores with anger, loss, and satire American displacement of indigenous people and disfiguration of landscape. Like Tiwoni, Bertica Hodge is unrelenting in her sometimes witty. often satirical. and always committed engagement ofthc question of identity in a colonial context, our need to unflinchingly confront harsh realities, and the grave consequences of our choices. In her "Sun of St. Thomas," for example, the sun becomes metaphor for self-worth, identity commodified and sold. In a riff off Langston Hughes, her "America to Me" rejects any allegiance to the mother country whose mothering has left much to be desired:
17
' - - .'!:' =~~ - . __... - ~- - -. Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
America never was America to me The goods Denmark sold The services America bought A fuel depot for imperialistic goals. America, America! Let me be West Indian as I be Me. In arguing against self-delusion, her "Emancipation Garden" repudiates any tie betweer the symbol of freedom and the reality of a neocolonialism that merely changes the terml of captivity: I saw a liberty bell In the Emancipation Garden And I wondered What kind of liberty That bell was for~ I did not know What or Who was emancipated In the garden Not dissimilarly, Isidro Gomez wonders that if indeed our territory constitutes an "American paradise" as our license plates and tourist brochures proclaim, then it is a paradise for whom?
Towering condominiums~ Restricted beaches~ Tourist-beaten streets~ Golden sunsets- But where is the native? But if there was protest against dislocation, then there was a corresponding reflex to restore balance-sometimes through nostalgic appeals to the past, sometimes through celebration of the native. Although Richard Schrader writes within the contemporary period, in his mushrooming prose work, as well as in his poetry, he occupies both strains of this response. Indeed he sees his literary vocation as documenting island life relatively untarnished by modem influences that distort identity. Accordingly, his romantic, angry, and critical "Is This St. Croix?" juxtaposes a bygone era to the present and finds the latter wanting:
18 Excavating Virgin Islands Poetry: An Introduction
Is this St. Croix where once lived a sharing people? "Corne boy, tek this fish Gi'e yoh mama." "Tek this yarn, Gre yoh papa." "Tck this mango, this pear, this lime, Tck ...Tek ... Tek . . ." Is this Ay Ay of years ago, island of natural beauty with green hills, lush fields, pleasant valleys and virgin soil. now raped by the big developer with the bulldozer? Is this St. Croix ringed with lovely beaches once accessible and free? His "Dreaming of An Old Crucian Christmas" picks up the theme, and uses music and musicians as metaphor for what he perceives to be a more innocent age: I am dreaming of an old Crucian Christmas when large fields of sugarcane have draped St. Croix like a beautiful necklace around the neck of a woman. I am dreaming of an old Christmas when music from a kerosene pan, squash, steel and pipe gripped the hearts of Crucians. These were hardly innocent times, as the sugarcane reference signifies, but life was certainly more predictable, ifhars~ the people more conununal, if poor. And given the small island population which did not shift radically even across a generation, it was far Jess chaotic than it is today. It is this quest for order and community that drives the work of Schrader (a relatively new writer from an older generation) as well as Dimitri Copemann and many of the younger writers whose formative years came at the fringes of the era seen, at least, as regrettably lost. Like Schrader, Copemann, an artist and musician, finds music to be a central
19 Ycllow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry metaphor for island identity. His "Ciple," for instance, celebrates the work of a master quelbe musician whose influence in that genre continues to be felt; and his "Fantasies on a Sunday Breeze" conjures up a rustic scene whose elements and characters are rapidly disappearing: Not far away at an old village Some old men strumming banjos Playing flute, steel, squash . .. making Crucian folk music: It comes softly on the wind. Yet we hate the wind. In the end, the poem·s message is unambiguous: to reject our musical heritage in favor of the popular airs that ride our waves is to reject a most defining part of ourselves. In the face of fragmentation, identity becomes an overriding concern of the middle poets. And if nostalgia is one consequence, the veneration of the native is also an outgrowth. Thus Schrader's ''Who Am I?" offers an extended catalogue of islanders, living and dead, whose deeds elevate them to heroic status. The poem argues that Virgin Islanders are a distinct people with a proud heritage of struggle that achieves creative survival and later growth; and they do this in spite of numbing obstacles. Similarly, June Esannason 's "Native Woman" praises the sensuality and strength of indigenous women whose "touch is like the soft caress/of a Flamboyant Tree," and who are ''dangerous as a Crab/With a big Gundee!" Winston Nugent's ''Women in the Village Markef' embodies the tone, rhyt}un, and language of market activity in an effort to retrieve a communal experience that continues to fade: ... the african back of the yam woman mirrored the blazing sun singing just to survive a colonial sting buy yuh yam! buy yuh yam! buy yuh yam! tanya yam!
20 Excavating Virgin Islands Poetry: An Introduction
manyayam! womanya yam! Like many of his peers, Nugent attempts to validate scenes our poetry has not engaged, to inscribe what our poets of old failed to encode. In this respect Althea Romeo-Mark's "Jurnbie" documents with humor and characteristic wit the persistence of the extranatural in the sensibility of an ostensibly modem people. How to keep away de jumbie was a mystery to me. I even try bush tea to stop de shake in me knee when de lawd tek down de sun out He sky. In de dark I live in constant misery wid me gun sitting by me side, sand outside me door, cross choking me neck; de stale bush tic wid string all round me body making me dizzy. Collectively these poems are calculated to legitimize the islands· experiences, validate their language and struggle, and reveal the authentic contours of their sensibilities. Like the middle poets, the contemporary writers are much concerned (in a sense more concerned) with origins, dispossession, and synthesis. David Gershator's "Terra lncognitaffaino Incognito'' bemoans the loss of Native American cultural and spiritual artifacts, the islands· studied forgetting of its original inhabitants: ''some not really interested in fighting/to rescue a past beyond their kith and kin/for some Africa's the yearn/for others, oblivion." Yet in a historical twist seen earlier in the renaming of Haiti in the wake of its revolution, islanders, feeling a sense of alienation brought on by increasing Americanization, attempt to reclaim some ofthat heritage if only through embracing such primal names as Ay-Ay. And in addition to the names, the poet insists that "some sounds, some meanings
21 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry insinuate themselves/into conch shells, clay shards, midden mounds, zemis." Nevertheless, though "some shadowy heroes and gods remain/hovering in the air.'' in concrete ways the "island has lost it, has lost its name/its past, its sound, its echo, its name." Phillis Gershator's "Concretely Celebrating the Quincentennial" sardonically scrutinizes the depth and breadth of our forgetting, the continuing legacy and price of our willed amnesia: On the islands they're mixing concrete for monuments and markers to celebrate fourteen ninety two when Columbus, sailing off the face of the map, touched these shores and gave them new names ... Progress is a mixed blessing so let the concrete mixing begin! A blind man's concrete lighthouse rises on the shores of Hispaniola A concrete K-mart in the Virgins buries an Arawak village Another concrete hotel blocks the beach That we should celebrate the breach of trust that led to the virtual genocide of peoples and the enslavement of others speaks to our escapist attempt at innocence. Rather than soberly assessing the immediate and lingering consequences of the colonial project, we instead "celebrate Discovery/not the loose ends/unfurling in its wake/not greed/not power Just/not the flag with a cross." Although his call for a frank interior look at self in relation to ancestors does not take in the Native Americans, c. g. richards' "the looking glass" yearns for continuity, a synthesis of past and present: goodmamin' i am your looking-glass ... no mascara no eyebrow pencil no lipstick can distort reality. no minstrel face no white mask
22 Excavating Virgin Islands Poetry: An Introduction
can shield black minds from the essence of ourselves. where is Queen Mary where is General Buddhoe where is Kanta and Claes and cast where is Ourstory? Carol Hermeman ·s .. Pan-Africanism" makes a similar commitment to heritage, and her "For Zora" expands the pan-African canvas. The poem celebrates the African-American novelist Zora Neale Hurston· s enduring vision, her accomplishment in the usc of vernacular in dialogue and narration. and her three dimensional, intelligent depiction of a black heroine. This poem further complicates the terms of the identity question. for even as it asserts racial solidarity it also articulates a womanist bond and aesthetic, one which finds expression in many of the poems ofWanda Mills and Monique Clendinen among other women writers. Indeed, in Clendincn · s "If I .. .· • she explores the meaning of woman-man love in the context of free, pre-colonial African woman; enslaved black woman; and modem black woman. To emphasize the issue of disjuncture it is in the latter context that the speaker would be afraid of the advances of her would-be lover, for as she sees it, "our freedom of expression has been shattered.·· Clendinen·s "Drumbeat" focuses on the broader pan-African field, using the drum as symbol for Africanity: In the silence of the night, I can hear it calling, Calling me away in the middle of the night. Calling me away as it did years ago Years ago in the land of my forebearers: Steal Away! Runaway! Runaway to ah-wee freedom! Steal Away! Runaway! Runaway to ah-wce freedom!
23 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry
Arnold Highfield's 'The Guineaman" and "Epiphany Mas" also utilize the drum as symbol. In the former poem the drum becomes now sacred gong, now subversive tongue, now purveyor of liberating dance, now weapon against consciences that would feign death: . . . The drums short patience resonates in lady silks that thread sweet nighttime airs. Under taman, thunder damns all trace of simple rest, condemns forgetfulness, for breath, for hard embraces. In the latter poem, the drum, a central figure in the masquerade, embodies subterranean hope and latent revolutionary impulses. These often remain unrealized, however, since they lay "beneath the furrowed memory of the drum.·• Throughout its long life as a central trope of Virgin Islands poetry, then, the drum image has grown from simple self-conscious gesture to complex symbol of islands' psycho-historical currents and crosscurrents; and in its growth we can trace the maturing of our poetry. If the poetry is to reach full maturity, however, we need to develop a body of criticism to nurture it along. It is the paucity of critical assessment that in part accounts for the publication of numerous sophomoric books and chap books of poems in the territory. Our writers need honest judgments, not the usual fare of deaf and blind encouragement that leads to mediocrity, nor the cloakroom snickers that show a lack ofcourage. We have to get beyond the smothering fear of offending our neighbors that small communities such as ours engender; and we cannot continue to be impressed by the mere fact of publication. Criticism is invaluable-not just for writers, but for consumers and teachers of literature as well. There has been very little beyond the critiques of Jarvis, Gershator, and Anduze mentioned earlier. Indeed, except for the annual reviews in The Caribbean Writer, Marty Campbell's brief impressions of individual poets who appear in his "Poetry Corner," and the odd book review that might show up in one of our daily newspapers, there is no critical practice to guide the poetry. What encourages nonetheless is the number of outlets for creative writing that the islands possess: the university's Caribbean Writer that promotes and accepts quality indigenous writing, and the student journals Sea Moss and Leeward Breezes that give young writers a beginning; Antilles Press' ongoing Collage Anthology series whose scope has been limited to St. Croix; the already cited "Poetry Corner": and the inconsistent "Free Verse" column. Each of these
24 Excavating Virgin Islands Poetry: An Introduction forums, in their selection criteria, offers a species of criticism that might provide some guidance to young writers-although each is only as exacting as its writing constituents and its projected audience. It remains my hope that this anthology will not only help to excavate our poetry from obscurity, but that it will provoke critical response that will not end at this text.
Marvin E. Williams University of the Virgin Islands
1 The word "neglect"' is calculated to be harsh though not reckless. since Adelbert Anduze does much to reclaim especially those: poets we .:all"forcrunnc:n;'' in his master's thesis The Literature ofthe United Stoles Frrgrn Islands: /900- I 970 (Wuhington. D.C.: Howard Univen;ity, 197S) and David Gen;hator olfc:n; a brief asscssment of some of these Miters in his IU1iclc "Poetry ofthc Virgin Islands: Past and Present." Revista /nterAmem;ana Review. vol II. no.J (fall 1972).
~ J. Antonio Jarvis. The Virgin Islands and Their People (Philadelphia: Dorrance & Co.. 1944) pp.l6S-166.
3 The introduction mentions poetry that, while noteworthy, is not included in the text of this anthology.
25 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Cariso Woman: Leona Brady Watson
Cariso Woman: Leona Brady Watson Talldng about the Cariso, the Queens, and Growing Up on St. Croix When I'm singing cariso I don't see the audience. My mind goes back to the village in Two Friends where I lived during the late 1930s with my grandparents. I see all the elde~ and I think about the particular event rm singing about Cariso means "carry like so.'' Like, take this message. People carried messages in song. And they would answer each other in song. I learned some wonderful cariso songs from my grandmother and my mother· s godmother, the greatest cariso woman in St. Croix. Her name was Mary Catherine Taylor and she was from Mt Victory. Don "t care what it was, she would sing it. If she couJdn "t find her cane cutter's bill, she would sing: "Mas ·nigger ah can 'tfind meh bill to chop wood sah ... "
I never heard people cu~. If they wanted to abuse you, they did so in song. As I grew older I realized they were attacking one another in song. This sununer at the Smithsonian's Folk Arts Festival in Washington, D.C., I had an opportunity to demonstrate the real power of the cariso. One afternoon as I was about to begin my perfonnance a white man looked at me and said, "I don "t know what this is all about, but all they do down there in your home [the Virgin Islands] is loot." "Beg your pardon?" I asked. "All you people do down there is steal," he repeated. ''You looted. And anyway what's all this about Caruso?" "I believe," I said, "Caruso was an Italian opera singer. But if you'll allow me, I'll demonstrate the cariso." And as I sang I composed the following song: FROM LEONA Ah been a sit down on meh door momh No hope fo me future Then Papa Mart a tell meh You had dem soldier boy a come }t:1 So me go down dey country Me a go, go find Eugenia And me go tell e Papa Mart say Dem soldier boy a come ya All en a Hugginsburg me a look for Eugenia Gawn down a Castle me a go go find Eugenia
26 The Oral Tradition of Quclbe and Calypso Cariso Woman: Leona Brady Watson Me go tell e Papa Mart say yo ga soldier boy a come ya A say from last year September ah yo calling a we looter And we hungry and we naked and yo calling a we looter. I pointed my finger right in his face and continued: But Christopher Columbus was a rapist and a murderer And he gown down in yo history as a great explorer So no call ah we no looter. Take John Hawkins, the English Captain. The pirate on the high sea And his cargo was ah we So no call ah we no looter John Hawkins. the English Captain Gawn down in yo history as a great English general So no call ah we no looter. . . (copyright 1990) It was an original composition. I sang what I felt in my heart whether they liked it or not. When you get angry you could really sing cariso. (In the song, I said I was looking for Eugenia, that's my mother, Papa Mart was an old basket weaver who used to live next to my grandmother.) As I said before, my mind goes back to the village when I sing cariso. I was insulted, and I had to sing. That is the power ofcariso! One thing the elders did before they started to speak was to look around to see if anyone was listening. My grandmother would say: "You see tha' cane piece? I been dey wit meh mama when ah we bun (burn) tha' cane piece.·· It was only after I'd grown and was seeking who I was, I realizOO that these people were physically present at the October 1, 1878, Uprising. (Instead of signing the annual contracts that bound workers to the plantations, workers in Frederiksted revolted. They set fire to Frederiksted and all the sugar works and cane fields. Frederiksted was completely destroyed. Danish troops intercepted and the revolt was quelled. Fifty-one plantations were destroyed.) On Saturdays when we were walking back to the countryftom Frcderiksted Market the villagers used to sing, "Hoi on to yo property. " And they would laugh whenever they passed Estate Prosperity. My grandmother would sing out to her cousin ahead ofher: "And dey long. long pa me go to go walk •· Simultaneously everybody answered in song "the long, long pa . ... " I later found out from some people from Sierra Leone "pa" is "road."
27 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Cariso Woman: Leona Brady Watson
One day I said to my grnndmother, ''Why you laugh when you pass the area?" "Me 'member," she said, "hol'ing on to Yaya coattail when ah we bun that canepiecc. We bun the canepiece, and from dey time we bun it, cane never grow dey again." Sometimes my grandfather would butt in and say, "Dent gi'l was some good-for nothing young gi 'Is." That is what told me that the Queen (Queen Mary, also known as Mary Thomas, one of the leaders in the 1878 Uprising) and her gang wcren 'told. They were young women. ''Grannie," l said, "how ol' Yaya been?" "Me know me had done been a woman, because Thomas had want to court." (ln those days a girl became a woman when she was 12 to 13 years old.) "How old was the Queen?" I wanted to know. "Either two or three years older than me," she said. The more I heard about the Queen and her gang, the more I realized that this was history, our history, the 1878 Uprising. One day I said, "Grannie, how many adem gi'l it was." "Oh, plenty," she said. Sometimes she would tell it to me in song: "It was Jonathan. Josiah and Josiah Adams. (lbere were men too in the gang.) Mattie McBean and Ada Abramson. Dem was leaders in the gang ... And they say. Queen Mary whe yo a go? Wha happen to yo? Whaayoado? She say. Don 't ask me nothing I 'all. Me gon bun down Westend to the ground then me goin straight down a Bassin town ... La ram. Laram. Bella England raise yo ' voice. (Bella England was a lady living on Princess Street.) Since last October Sandy Cruz dey in Laram ... Governor Gamer say marshal/law. Mark Millinton say shoot as you go. Captain Ted Mark say no, not a t'a/1. Queen Louise no give no leave to shoot down dey island. If you look in the Danish archives you will find that Governor Garner, Mark Millinton, and Ted Mark were all here then.
28 The Oral Tradition of Quelbe and Calypso Cariso Woman: Leona Brady Watson I also remember a woman with a sway-back walk who used to come to market I said something to my grandmother about her one day, and she elbowed me and said: "No seh, so. A dey queen cat." Today I wonder if that woman could have been Bottom Belly (Queen Matilda), one of the queens in the Uprising ... My grandmother also sang about "D. Hamilton Jackson a dey king a dey island " She looked behind her and said to me one day, "Yo know who Lizzie be?" "No." "Lizzie a dem buckra people." And she started to sing: "Lizzie ask Hamilton Jackson a whe ·part he ge he laming. He na get um from a pelican, no no come .rn from a gaulin. Le he lone. ah yo le he lone Le Mr. Jackson lone. ah yo dey no know he 'e grantf(ather was a minister and he papa was a preacher. 'e mama been a college so he bound fo get 'e laming. They been asking Mr. Jackson a whe part he get he lamin. Ah seh e no come .rn from one pelican. he nah get um from one gaulin. " She told me when they were raising money to send D. Hamilton Jackson to Denmark.. they raised so much silver money a person could tum it over with a shovel. Sometimes they could be washing or cooking and one person started to sing. Everybody would join in. It was like a conversation in song. Each adding a stanza to the song, like it was a game: "A talkie to a Cmcian and not another nation E no land in a St. Thomas E been fraid dey paralize he . . . " If you study history you would know that D. Hamilton Jackson carne back from Denmark on the Carona which was going to land in St. Thomas and then take a schooner over to Christiansted. KEEPING THE CULTURE In the early 1940s, when I was 12, I went to live with my mother who lived in New York. She had left St. Croix when I was six months old. When I left, I really needed to leave because things had gotten to the point where I was always running away from school. lbere was too much beating going on. The nuns beat you. Your grandparents beat you. The people in the market beat you. People on the street beat you. Your big
29 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Cariso Woman: Leona Brady Watson
sister beat you. Yo' big brother cuff you up. It was licks like fire! I lived in New York for twenty-something years, but we held on to our culture. I grew up with Caribbean people who grew chibble and thyme in window boxes and hot pepper in milk container boxes. We kept our holidays-the First of November, D. Hamilton Jackson Day, and the First of October, Queen Mary and the 1878 Uprising. We went to church on Old Year's night. My mother told me if I threw a quarter in the collection box and prayed to God, my wish would be granted. Every Old Year's night I saved my quarter and prayed: "Father God, please let me go back to St. Croix and I won't beg you for nothing again . . ." When I was twenty, I started moving back to St. Croix. I realized that I was in somebody else· s spot. No matter how you try to fit into the Yankee culture, you 'rc not going to fit Whenever I came home I visited the elders at KingshiU Home. They were dying with our history, and I wanted to know everything. At one time I began to write everything down. I kept wanting to hear more. My brain was like a sponge. I returned home permanently in the early 1960s. One ofthe greatest things in life is when you know who you are. The culture ofthe Virgin Islands is so damn rich, but our people have been playing aristocrats so long they don't realize it. Cariso is our culture and history in song. and we can't let our culture and history die. Leona Brady Watson as told to Daisy Holder Lafond
3{) The Oral Tradition of Quelbe and Calypso Marie Richards Forerunners in Quelbe
CLEAR DE ROAD Marie Richards Clear de road, ah yo clear de road Clear de road. leh de slave dem pas, we a'go fo' ah' we freedom. Harship in de mamin ·, sufferin' at night No one ever help us, it is only Father Ryan. Dey bring we here from Africa, das we bamin • land Bring we ya in slavery, in de land of Santa Cruz. Clear de road, ah yo clear de road Clear de road leh de slave dem pas, we a 'go fo · ah we freedom . We no want no bloodshed, not a drop of bloodshed What we want is freedo~ oh gi • we ah 'we freedom. Com leh ah ·we go to town, leh we meet de Gen ·rat Gen'ral name is Buddhoe, he gon' gi' we freedom. Clear de road, ah yo clear de road Clear de road, leh de slave dem pas, we a'go fo'ah'we freedom. Governor von Scholten, dat Governor von Scholten Stretch he power til he crack, and he write down ah 'we freedom . Clear de road, ah yo clear de road Clear de road, leh de slave dem pas, we a· go fo' ah 'we freedom.
31 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Traditional Quelbe
QUEEN MARY - Traditional Queen Mary, oh where you gon· go bum? Queen Mary, oh where you gon· go bum? Don't ask me nothin' at all. Just give me de match and oil. Bassin Jailhouse, ah deb de money dey. Don't ask me nothin' at all. Just give me de match and oil. Bassin Jailhouse, ah deb de money dey. Queen Mary, oh where you gon· go bum? Queen Mary, oh where you gon' go bum? Don't ask me nothin · at all. Just give me de match and trash. Bassin Jailhouse, ah deb de money dey. We gon • bum Bassin come down, And when we reach the factory, We'll bum am level down.
LAZZVBARRY - Traditional
Oh, Lazzy Barry, man I got something for tell you. Oh, I got something for tell you, man. What the nigger a-them a talk you. Some say you stupid, man, and some say you foolish, To sent in America for get a darling for suit you. Yes, Lazzy Barry, man, I have something for tell you. I got something to tell you, man. What the nigger a-them a talk you. Some say you stupid, man, and some say you foolish. You sent in America for get a darling for suit you.
32 The Oral Tradition of Quelbe and Calypso Traditional QuelbC ASK MR. JACKSON. Traditional
Oh, gel, ask Mr. Jackson, gel, a which part he get he learn in·. He say ah na ya for garlin and a pelican ya for sprat. Me father was a minister, me grandfather was a teacher; Me mother went to college, so I bound to get leamin ·. Oh, le'hc'lone, oh, all you, lc'he'lonc. Then you better let Mr. Jackson 'lone, All you no been know he. I talkin' to a Crucian get. And not no 'nothcr nation. Jackson wouldn't land in St. Thomas, Wa they 'fraid they been paralyze he. D. Hamilton Jackson. Oh' le'he'lonc, oh, all you, le'he'lonc. Then you better let D. Hamilton Jackson 'lone, All you no been know he.
LA BEGA CAROUSEL Traditional
I rather walk and drink rum whole night before me go ride on La Bcga Carousel. l rather dance, man, and drink rum whole night before me go ride on La Bega Carousel. Ah yo' hear wha' La Bega say: The people ain' worth more than twenty cents a day. Ah yo' hear wha' La Bega say: We Crucians ain' worth more than twenty cents a day. I rather walk and drink rum whole night before me go ride on La Bega Carousel. l rather dance, man, and drink rum whole night before me go ride on La Bega Carousel.
33 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Ten Sleepless Knights DON'T STOP WE -Ten Sleepless Knights
In December near Christmas in 1992 a bokra policeman try to tell we what to do; he stop the Ten Sleepless Knights from playing music in the streets where everybody saying the music was so sweet.
CHORUS Why the hell them police stop we from serenading; we only come out to give the people the Christmas feeling. Them Daneman meet we drinking guavaberry, and a bokra woman call the police to stop we. Don't stop we, don't stop we; this is ah we tradition. We custom to foreday serenade from longtime generation.
The bokra man pull he gun and then he start to shout allyu making too much noise, allyu better cut it out. Man, the Ten Sleepless Knights accustom to this thing so they tum away from he and Edgy start to sing.
CHORUS
So we went around the comer playing music all the way; we didn't know it had two more police car out there. The other policeman stop the music one more time; you playing serenade then you committing a crime.
CHORUS
The festival committee have a rule, the police say~ you have to have a permit to serenade away. It's a longtime tradition we got to keep alive; it making us feel that the brother have a right.
CHORUS
34 The Oral Tradition of Quelbe and Calypso Samuel Ferdinand I AIN'T SINGING THAT - Samuel Ferdinand ("Mighty Pat'')
I decide to stop sing bout message, message song don't make no money. Just let me uplift me tempo and sing song about party. But me fans and them say ah crazy, and to make sure ah don't pull out they say, Pat, we gon pick the topics and tell you what to sing about.
They say sing song about them Arabs who got big business all over, and when they see their business don't prosper they get vex, light it afire. Next day they fill out a report cause they want insurance money; they must be doh pay off them firemen to declare it as arsony. Songs like that, Mighty, you bound to make big money.
Ah tell them not me, not me, not me. I ain't singing bout nobody. Not me, not me, not me. You won't make them Arabs kidnap me. Not me, not me, not me. I gon follow Frankie and Charlie. Not me, not me, not me. And sing meh song in the party. Not me, not me, not me. Durn ban durn be durn ba de.
They ask me who run the country, if it's Leon or Farrelly; cause apartheid going on down in Hess, government pretend that they don't see. White man calling the blackman nigger, tell him go back to Africa and if a black only say frosty, out the gate immediately.
They say sing about them senators that they put in the Legislature; they will fight for a year and eight months and don't care if the people suffer. Mighty Pat, you don't see how easy them senators making big money ~ next four months they begging for votes, and didn't do one thing for the country. Songs like that, Mighty, you bound to make big money.
35 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Samuel Ferdinand
Ah tell them not me, not me, not me. I ain't singing bout nobody. Not me, not me, not me. Them senators done vex with me. Not me, not me, not me. I gon follow Straker and Charlie. Not me, not me, not me And sing meh song in the party. Not me, not me, not me. Dum ban dum be dum ba de.
Food stamp is the biggest problem, especially to poor people, and if they find out you from down island, they putting Immigration on you. They want to know when your husband love you and if you have ah outside man, what color panties you wearing before they put food stamp in your hand.
They say sing about all the night shift that is rampant with policemen; and when you think that they out on duty, they sleeping with their girl or boyfriend. Crime is rampant here in the country, killing and raping little children; just because their name is the law nobody want to sing about them. Songs like that, Mighty, you bound to make big money.
Ah tell them not me, not me, not me. I ain't singing bout nobody. Not me, not me, not me. They won't make them police arrest me. Not me, not me, not me. I gon follow Frankie and Charlie. Not me, not me, not me. And sing meh song in the party. Not me, not me, not me. Dum ban dum be dum ba de.
36 The OraJ Tradition ofQuelbe and Calypso Samuel Ferdinand
If you ever cut an appendix in the hospital, this is true, man, the roaches them is your nurses, mosquito operating on you. Government catering for tourist, so they keep a jazz festival, wasting all the government money before they go fix the hospital.
They say sing bout that news reporter who working on Channel 8: she will call you to do a story and always tum up late. Don't talk about Cable T.V. taking advantage of you and me, charging now for forty-one channel and only six of them show movie. Songs like that, Mighty, you bound to make big money.
Ah tell them not me, not me, not me. "Them bar tum done tell me. Not me, not me, not me. I musn't sing bout nobody. Not me. not me, not me. I gon follow Straker and Frankie. Not me, not me, not me. And sing meh song in the party. Not me, not me, not me. Dum ban dum be dum ba de.
37 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Louis Ible, Jr. POW AH! (POWER) -Louis lble, Jr.
Everywhere yo go they talk about guns. Pow Ah! They digging these islands under the ground. Pow Ah!
Carrying a gun is a source of strength and power. It makes everyone who carries feel they are ready for war. But little do they know that it's also a sign for coward cause every time they kill they pick up and run.
And they claim that they're bad; showing off, acting mad behind a gun, yet they're running away. And the words that they use and the drugs they abuse make you stop taking your kids out to play. And they so naive and so blind they can't see their killing kills our economy.
Pow Ah Can Corrupt, They Say Pow Ah Takes Our Lives Away Pow Ah Is Killing You And I Pow Ah Makes Our Islands Die
Living in these islands is now a real health hazard. PowAh! And every time they kill it lowers our human standards. PowAh!
Many of our friends are dying from Pow frustration . We top the charts in shooting crimes throughout our region. And all because we don't take time to guide our children. We leave it up to outside friends and lV!
38 The Oral Tradition of Quelbe and Calypso Louis lble, Jr. So the crime rate is rising, school children are now dying, and they· re fighting in school everyday. Teenagers are not learning; they've lost respect for our system; they even chase the Navy gun ships away.
Knowledge is power was the saying; now the saying is Power is everything. We need the youths to have more patience and some compassion. PowAh! To put an end to this violence and killing sensation. PowAh!
It's sad, but we were better off in the days of slavery when whites were just committing crime against you and me. Black people had a sense of pride and showed more unity. Today you want to kill a brother like me just for looking or for bumping, a dime or for nothing they blow another person away. Then it don't always end there; everyone live in some fear as his friend picks up his gun in revenge while the real people with power sit and smile as we fight to the kill gladiators' style.
We need to put our hearts in sync to a positive beat: pow pow pow . .. STOP! As you can see we're losing the fight in the War against crime. We cannot let this trend continue, cause there is no next time. We need to toughen laws, enforce, and throw away some jail keys. In other words, we need to play catch and keep so that young men who inspire to become gun for hire would think twice before they kill and get away. And for what it is worth, everyone should make an effort to keep our future from being shoveled under this earth.
Or these Virgin Islands, America's Paradise will become America's Para Site.
39 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Louis lble, Jr. FOR REALLY? - Louis lble, Jr.
Bad pronunciation has caused me strife. It· s caused me understanding problems all my life. I was having some dinner in a restaurant in town; a pretty lady came and sit down, crying tears that weigh by the pound.
She looked rich and dressed real fancy. As she cried she mentioned to me; she said I've been stood up by the man I advised to run these islands.
So 1 ask the sad lady to tell me the man name; she said no, it make she shame. Ah say For really? YES, YES; Ah say For really? YES, YES. She said the fact is the man is really insane, so she told him to say he got Parkinson's. Ah say For really? YES, YES; Ah say For really? YES, YES. And she give me a good example using the new light pole they installed in St. Croix. She said the man didn't order no bulb. Ah say For really? YES, YES, YES.
He couldn't control his workers, his wife or his life but had me in a lock; I tired bawl Christ. When he wasn't out being a (BLANK) hole and emptying them damn Cruzan Rum bottles he was out losing millions to DeJongh and Williams. She told him to stop act like a dodo and go and buy your damn people WICO. She said rm the other woman under the sheets and I want everyone to know.
40 The Oral Tradition of Quelbe and Calypso Louis lble, Jr.
She told me that just to win re-election he paid in full for half the airport and say forget the concession. Ah say For really? YES, YES ~ Ah say For really? YES, YES. She told me he thief some money and didn't want to look like a scamp, so he told the finance director to lose the payroll stamp. Ah say For really? YES, YES; Ah say For really? YES, YES.
She said seven long years of being head chief and not one of his danm projects are complete yet his territory address is among the best. Ah say For really? YES, YES, YES.
Never such a thing happen in my life~ I never was with a man that was still \vith his wife. But I took this exception and needless to mention that the man controlled all the monies and could slide some to me. And he owns many mansions which are all being worked on. But the one thing I couldn't understand was his billion and one woman.
So that is why I chopped over he head when he claimed he fell off the government bed. Ah say For really? YES, YES: Ah say For really? YES, YES. He·s so damn caught up into politics that he wouldn 't give his name to his boy who·s six. Ah say For really? YES, YES; Ah say For really? YES, YES. So ah told she girl yo lying and she start one big crying. Just then she told me they call him Alex. Ah say For really? YES, YES, YES.
41 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry
42 The Forerunners: 1917- 1954
The Forerunners: 1917-1954 During the three am one-half decades from the advent of United States sovereignty to 1954, the Virgin Islands experienced tar-reaching political. economic, social. am cultural changes. In thooe areas, which inclucbi the writing of poetzy, forerunners lit~ and laid fwndations that furged the emergenoo of the Vugin Islands we know today. On March 31, 1917, almost threea:nturies ofEUIOJX'M control ofthe Danish West Indies ended when the colony experienced a change of sovereignty and officiaUy became the Vugin Islands ofthe United States. The trnnsfer from Danish to American rule was an emotionally charged period fur the islands' population. involving both the fears of uncertainty and the hopes ofbettennent. In two~. "Memories ofTransfur Day" and 'With Mingloo Fee~; · Cyril Creque recorcbi the varying emotions of the popu.Iacc. The early period of American sovereignty was indeed markOO by a mixed record. In areas such as educatioo, medical and dental care, and public \\urks and sanitation. substantial improvements were initialed and implernent.ed In other areas, however, such as political administration and participation, general eammic development, and race relations, the performance ofthe U. S. Navy, much was granted initial control ofthe islands, was truly dismal and cal.ISOO distress fur much ofthe population. Certain American civil rights, such as fu:edom ofthe press, were not observOO, and U. S. citizt:nship was not extended to the people ofthe Virgin Islands W1til 1927, ten yerus after the islands' acquisition. J. P. Gimenez's poems, "A Vu-gin Islander's Letter to Uncle Sam" and "How Tings Change," voic.OO many ofthe oonrems and complaints gcncratOO by the new American rule. In 1931, after fourteen yeas ofnaval rule, the adrninistrarion ofthe islands was tiansferred to the U.S. Depanment ofInterior . Governrm1t by civilians replaced governance by naval officer.;, again. Most Vilgin Islanders were not certain how the change would affect their lives, but hoped fur the best. Another poem by J.P. Gimenez, "Mistah Editah." expressed the recline;; of uncertainty occasiooed by the change. Political empowerment ofthe majority ofVugin Islanders finally began in the late 1930s, following enactment in Washington ofthe Organic Act of 1936. It extmcb:l roost civil rights and the vote in local elections to all U. S. citizms in the Vugin Islands without regard to tlW economic circun1starla:s. The Organic Act of 1936 thereby paved the way fur the previously disenfranchised masses to exert cootrol over the elective political oflia!s ofthe Virgin Islands. Howau, the hope ofecaxmic ~which had not materia1i2x:d in the 1920s, Jm1ainOO unrealized in the 1930s. In fuct, conditions were worsened by the Great Depression, which forced many to emigrate and continued the tren:l of population dec". The widespread coorems aboot the plight ofthe laboring masses were expressed by poets ofthe time. Both J. Antonio Jarvis and Creque spoke ofthe unusual hours and arduous toil
43 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry of St. Thomas· "Coal Carriers" in poems bearing that name. AgricuJtwal workers were drarnatizOO in Creque's "Night Soog ofa Saint Croix Laborer." Neither the old Danish colonization nor the new American ruJe could obliterate the more distant past. Virgin Islands pods ofthe early American period exalted ancient ancestral groups, hoolelands, and cultural traits that had contributed to the local mooaic. Aubrey Anduze's 'The Last Carib" spoke regretfuUyofthe cxtcnnination ofthe area's aboriginal inhabitants fOllowing their mcounter -Mth Europeans. Jarvis. "Africa Whence I Came" and Valdemar Hill Sr.'s "Dream ofAfrica" spoke of the ancestral continental home of most Virgin Islanders. "Slavery Da)-S'' by Cicrw).n Tcxhnan reflected on the fOrbearance of enslaved Africans during the loog decades ofslavery . And the continuing importance of various African cultural nails in the life and psyche ofVtrgin Islanders was relcbratfrl by Jarvis in "Bamboula Dance," by Creque in "Bamboola Echoes," and by Gimcncz in "The Bamboula Dnun." The advent ofWorld WarD brought renewOO. promise ofeconomic improvement. In the early 1940s, wartime construction and the presence of U. S. military persormel affuctcd the islands· economy positively. During the late 1940s, return visits by scrvicancn who had been statiooed in the islands dwing the war became the bellwether ofwhat would later becane a substantial toorist iOOustJy. Despite the small numbers ofvisitors in this early period, Jarvis' ''Tourists" noted some of the effix:ts oftheir visits. Vugin Islands poets ofthe early American period showed great appreciation fur the natural phenomem and the beauty ofthe islands, the same features that lured the tourists. Creque compascd a pcxm about a "Hurricane" that demonstrated his respect fur the great furcc of such stonns. And almost all poets ofthe period wrote works that extoUed the islands· beauty, with subjects as diverse as the mountains, the beaches, the flowers and trees, the da\\'11, the night, and tropical SOWtds and colors. Vugin Islands poets ofthe early American period also evinced knowltxJge and appreciatioo ofevents elsewhere. Jarvis' "Harlem Comedy" spoke ofa certain reprcllrosiblc practire in that weD-known area ofNew York City, to which bad coonomic conditions were pushing so many Vrrgin Islanders. 100 poems ofWiltiOO Hatchette showed special concern with world-wide issues relating to blacks. His "Schomburg Collection" lauded the weD-known library oolloctioo: "Joe Louis Leads the Way·· spare ofthe inspirntion ofLouis ' boxing career to blacks~ and "Blood, Sweat, and Tears''lamented the invasion of Ethiopia and cei1ain other international events associated with World War D. That most wtiversal and exciting ofluunan emotions, romantic love, was not neglected by the fOrerunner poets. Whether it was Jarvis' "Love" or Hill's "Alwa)'S For You"-both stressing constancy in love-or the poignant love tale spw1 by Anduze in " A Beach in the Shape ofa Heart," or Gimenez's "Ah Dean Want No Kalaloo," which humorously
44 The Forerunners: 1917- 1954 recounts the common belief that women can enttap men by feeding them CCJ1ain dtsW;, most ofthe Vugin Islanders \\'bo wrote poctty in the early American period exhibited deep and sensitive tmderstanding ofthe p 45 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Gerwyn Todman Gerwyn Todman (1898 -1948) Gerwyn Todman was born and educated on St. Thomas. He later emigrated to New York City but remained in spiritual and emotional touch with his homeland. He published one volume of poems, the epic-like St. Thomas: A Retrospection ( 1921). SLAVERY DAYS A New World lay before the eyes Of nations hot for fresh emprise, And nothing barred the conq'ring way Of those who would acquire sway. The Spaniard had. in ruthless mode, Made ill its bosom his abode, And swiftly drained each cavern-hold Of that most precious metal-gold. The Frenchman came and pitched his tent; England her hardy seamen sent; And every nation which did care Made on its face a demesne fair. It was not strange that in this World The Danish flag, too, was unfurl' d, And waved the red square, snowy cross, Above the Caribbean's toss. It was not first to span the breach 'Twixt Europe and the Western beach; Nor, like the earlier Spaniard, did Its rivals' influence o'er-bid. It carne when affluence and ease Were giving life a Circean lease In the rich lands beyond the waves, Made prosperous by bleeding slaves. The cotton whitcn'd beneath the sun Of Summer-Summer nc 'er begun And ended by a season's length, But smiling e'er in mid-day strength, The coffee plant, the sugar-cane, The rolling fields of ripening grain, Bespoke the toil and industry Of men who, 'spite this, were not free. 46 The Forerunners: 1917 - 1954 Gerwyn Todman Ceres smiled fondly o'er these parts, And filled the slavers· stony hearts With joy, but not with gratitude To those who caused her happy mood. And, in this game of human thrall Thou join' dst with other lands, though small, And sanctioned bondaged man's estate, Like Egypt, Rome, and lands less great. They had their slaves, and thou hadst thine.• Ev'n as the famished lion's whine Struck terror to the hearts of those Whose fate it was to meet the foes Of mankind in a losing game, Just to uphold a tyrant's name ~ So Afric · s sons of deeper hue Quaked in their inmost spirits, too, And cowered like frighted animal, As o'er the field, the seneschal, His scourge aloft and cracking free, Urged them to further industry. Ev'n as the proud Coliseum's floor Was marked by gladiator's gore, So Negro blood flowed from each gash Left by the cruel slaver's lash, And stained with ruddy colour bright The sugar-cane and cotton white. The Spanish trader ploughed the wave Full-freighted with the trembling slave; For, on thy smiling shores he found His nearest human market-ground. What tales of woe, correctly made, What scenes of hell, in words portray'd, Could here be brought before the eyes, To illustrate this vile emprise! Two centuries of slavish toil These children of the far-off soil Passed through, before the long night broke And Justice from her slumber woke. 2 47 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Gerwyn Todman Then, like the hurricane which sweeps Across the vales and mountain steeps, Squelching to earth imprudent trees, And aught that dares to stem its breeze; So sped their souls at Freedom's call, Breaking from the inhuman thrall And rushing forth into the dawn Of Hope, and Liberty's bright mom. 1 In the year 1673, about 100 slaves were brought to St. Thomas in a ship sent out by The Gluckstadt Company [of) Africa. In 167$ a Portuguese bark Wll$ wrecked hm [with I a cargo ofslaves. and 24 were secured. lmporWiOIL~ continued regularly, the number reaching 2,:!23 in 1744. (AtJ that time there were 39 sugar and 43 conon estates on the island. ~ The l'ro<:hunation of Emancipation freeing "aU unfree in the Danish West India Islands, ·• was ISSUed at Sl. Croix on the 3"' July. 1848 48 The Forerunners: 1917 - 1954 J. Antonio Jarvis JoseAntonioJarvis (1901-1963) Born in St Thomas, Jarvis attended St. Anne ·s Roman Cadlolic School in St. Thomas and DeWitt Clinlon High School in New York City. He later earned a bachelor's degree from McKinley-Roosevelt College in Chicago. Jarvis WciS a public school teacher and principal, a journalist. a historian, a playwright, and a poet. He taught at Charlotte Amalie High School anr served as principal fur twenty-one years at Abmham Lincoln Elementary School (which \WS subsequently renamed in his honor)~ he co-founded The Daily News in 1930 with Ariel Melchi< Sr., and sel'\100 as editor until1940; he wrote historical and sociological studies ofthe Virgjn Islands (BriefHistory ofthe Virgin Islands [1938] and The Virgin Islands and Their People [1944]), as well as dramatic works and poetiy. Amoog his many publications are Education ir the Virgin Islands ( 1935), the dramatic poem Bluebearri sLast Wife ( 1951 ), and the play The Kings Mandate ( 1960). His book of poetiy Bamboula Dance and Other Poems ( 1936) \WS reprinted in 1970 by Kraus (Gennany). BAMBOULA DANCE Can I in pride mock sad buffoons Who ape ancestral circumstance? My fathers, too, these thousand moons Cavorted in some tribal dance. I still can feel, when drumbeats caJl, The pulsing blood new rhythms take; As garment-like refinements fall Unconscious longings spring awake! My honored sire now would say, For all his solemn high degrees, That drums recall Nigerian play And drown out later dignities. Few naked tribesmen yet remain To dance the sacred dance for rain! ATAVISTIC I, whose dark ancestors played Where the Nile's first drop was laid, Have within me Nordic blood Pulsing like the tide at flood. Dowered by an alien sire, Is it strange my tropic fire Often cools to virtuous fear When nice brown girls venture near? 49 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry J. Antonio Jarvis AFRICA WHENCE I CAME Africa fostered me ... Flung wide from the great ancestral tree, I dream of the soil and the sun, Of the mist where the violent river Crashes with constant thunder Into the gorge~ The sound of the jungle drum, And the great cat's roar, Come like the noise of an empty church Felt more than heard. Africa fostered me But I came From the slime and the mud of the race Which is man! THE THROB OF DRUMS Across the hills of Cameroon Wild drums call servants ofthe Snake~ Beneath a golden Kaffa moon Black acolytes to prayer awake. On Kilimanjaro's heights the sound Is still sweet music to the ear, And where the Niger strikes the ground Bright robed and feathered priests appear. As in the past when drums could knell Dear tribal glories to their grave, And black or white might buy and sell His human brother for a slave, So drums of hate and scorn throb still To drown the rising pride of Race~ But daily Negroes climb to fill Each blood bought, hard earned, honored place. so The ForeruMers: 19 I 7 - I 954 J. Antonio Jarvis HARLEM COMEDY Two·timing men, she made her way And never came to harm Till one West Indian took to heart Her evidence of charm. He'd thought her pure because her smile Seemed made for him aJone Until he heard an urgent voice Quick-dating through the phone. He hid himself to catch them clean And fill them both with lead, But when he saw the price she earned He took his share instead. Today he walks in raiment fine, All Harlem knows the game; She toils, but never does he spin . .. And yet she bears his name. COAL CARRIERS A whispered caJl from door to door, A careless laugh, a cry, A double rap and a smothered snore, Coal carriers passing by. The mad moon smiling overhead, The long road silver grey, But sombre shadows hold no dread For workers on their way. That dim dark hulk aJong the dock, Still seen in silhouette, Must coal at'once despite the clock, A scheduled time is set. Black, willing toilers tramp aJong From coal to ship to shore, Dim mirage dawn is hailed with song, The ship can hold no more. 51 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry 1. Antonio Jarvis The blushing mom now shames the moon, And the workers homeward hie Those dollars earned, a welcome boon. Coal carriers passing by! LOVE Love me at noontide When strikes the sun on the desert Like a tempered sword on the heathen, And the sky is smoldering blue. Love me at daybreak As the thundercloud, A crouching leopard, Stalks the vast unheeding sea. Love me at twilight When the weary earth Munnurs of the toilful day, And the stepchild of Shadow Comes hiding the sunset. Love me also when the dark Has made us one. I ask not love When the moonlight with ravishing beauty Has charmed your tenderness. JUBILEE HALL And music played While streaming faces Black and brown, and even white, Wet with sweat, but full ofjoy , Swept past like leaves Blown by the breath ofjazz. How they swayed! they rolled: Some twisted up their hips and shook, And others tossed about. And two there were who moved In perfect time: 52 The Forerurmers: 1917 - 1954 J. Antonio Jarvis Just hips and legs they moved; But on the square their feet remained, A girrs great rounded breasts Lay pressed against a shirt that hid A black and heavy bosom where A panting heart beat close to hers. Sometimes one could hardly tell Whose body moved They seemed as one It was a sacrament of sin Until the driving music stopped When they broke away And clapped their hands and laughed And clapped their hands again And laughed! TOURISTS When the boats come in From distant dreamed of places, And tourists walk the narrow streets Turning curious eyes To gaze in dark, mysterious faces, I wonder how they feel ... When the boats come in Fat men buy silks and laces, And things of coloured straw, And French perfumes: Then for a week the cheerful traces Of their money linger on. Wc see strange types of other races When the boats come in From distant, dreamed of places. 53 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Valdemar Hill, Sr. Valdemar Hill, Sr. (1914- 1976) Hill was born ro St Thanas and educatfd at Charlotte Amalie High Sdtoo~ Colwnbia University, McKinley-Roosevelt CoUege, and La Salle Extensiro University, Chicago, where, in 1952, he earned the LLB degree. He \WS a fuunding member of the Progressive Guide, the first political party in the Vugin Islands (1937) and served as its leader fran 1939 to 1945. His loog and distinguished political career included membership in the Legislative Assembly ( 193945); he also served as administrative assistant to two governors ( 1948-54), and as the Vugin Islands representative to various Caribbean conferences on regiooal. economic, and social development ( 1944-64). He wrote two books on Vugin Islands socio-political history, A Golden Jubilee ( 1967) and Rise to Recognition ( 1971 ). His book ofverse, Ripples: Selected Poems, appeared in 1936; and he also OOited a coUect:ion ofpoems by yoong poets, Sun Island Jewels: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry (1975). YOU We did not meet beside some moonlit brook Where twining branches fonned a canopy; Nor even yet beside the white-capped sea Where spume surf dashed and swirled in caves, and shook The passive rocks above. No sparrow took Our words of love and flitted to some tree And fashioned them to warbled notes. No plea Was made for us by either sound or look. We simply met along a narrow street You looked at me; I looked at you, and lo! The chann was wrought which made us into one. Though mine was not a pristine love, its glow Was more enfolding than before and shone Into my eyes and fused you with its heat. AT MAGENS BAY I see again the pelicans above The azure floor, then plunge! splashing the spray, White foam, into the air. With lusty shouts The sturdy fishennen haul nets alive With glittering fish in all the hues of light; I hear the creaking of the oars dipping, Then flashing with a rhythm nice to see 54 The Forerunners: 1917 - 1954 Valdemar Hill, Sr. And hear. Again I breathe the salty air, And feel the water cold upon my skin Then out to lie upon the sand, and bask Beneath the tropic sun. And there you lie Within my arms-your laughing eyes-your lips . . . I feel them warm against my own tonight. DREAM OF AFRICA With eyes closed, I see the Niger winding in the moonlight; There is a stretch of black jungle Where huts and burning channs Are hidden. Within its musty depths A tiger roars defiance at the Moon For warning prey by moving shadows. There, on a knoll above the grass, A naked man Silhouetted black against the Moon Dances wildly To the rumbling music of the sacred drums. Be calm, 0 atavistic heart ! ALWAYS FOR YOU When the genips are drenched in blossoms of white And the air is laden with their haunting fragrance, I think of you. When mahoganies undress and cast their leaves In golden, mosaic patterns on the white roads, I ache for you. When the tropic trades drift out to sea Bringing salt-tinged thoughts of coral beach, I sigh for you. When the rain comes roaring down in sheets, And huge tamarinds groan and tumble in the storm, I I rave for you. 55 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry VaJdemar Hill, Sr. When the sky is black, expansive ebony, And little stars twinkle oh, so far away! I wish for you. When the full moon hoves above the mountain tops Shedding a silvery glow of peace on the sleeping town I long for you. When my soul cries out in my dreams both day and night, Darling, ifs you, always for you. TRANSFORMED I sat and looked upon a lovely scene Of emerald hills that sloped to narrow bays Where foaming breakers boomed. I gazed intently at the sight, My heart within me surged, And in my soul a glimmering light Then changed the view before my eyes: No more just sea and sky and hills I saw, Like those the artist paints, But one inherent whole: the realm of God. ON CROWN MOUNTAIN Blue sky above, canefields beneath, Sunlight playing hide and seek Among ravines, trees, and peaks. Cool breaths of winds floating from isles Far away in the purple east, Over rolling mountains, dipping into glens, To fan my cheeks here on this lofty mount. Behold I am exaJted to a throne of height! My valley boasts and courage have all flown~ Yet, there is the greater Universe Of stars and other world! 56 The Forerunners: 1917 - 1954 Cyril Creque Cyril Creque (1899- 1959) Cft'XIUC was born and educated in St Thxnas. He later studiOO, through com:spcndence, at the University Extensioo Cooservatory ofChicago . His poems appeared in such ~ periodicals as Poetry World Interludes. Poet:\' Fomm. and Opportunity. An accanplished organist, Creque canposcd several patriotic soogs aboot the Virgin Islands. This deep Jove of his homeland is particularly cvid:nt in the many poems he wrote celebrating the islands' flo~ fiuma, and social history. He publistm two volwnes of verse, Tradewinds ( 1934) and Panorama ( 1947). YELLOW CEDAR IN BLOOM Now that the breath of late November chills, I strew my gold for christmas on your hills. Tum many sombre lanes and avenues To gardens bright with green and yellow hues. Without perfume I draw your soul to me And bid you pluck my bell-blooms, full and free. I fear not sun~ I court not lawn or bower~ I won your choice to be the island's flower. MEMORIES OF TRANSFER DAY Old Dannebrog sadly descends, Old Glory gladly ascends. Eyes move Down and up With the changing of flags. Strains ofthe Danish national anthem Move many to tears. Peal of the American Creates a strange dream In the afterglow. 57 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Cyril Creque WITH MINGLED FEELINGS Three tiny wards, born in the Antilles Grew tame from too much frisking in the sun, Because their queen had said that they might run About the place, just so they did not tease Her pets who were allowed the shade of trees, Or meddle into matters that were done Out of a kind regard for everyone: Dark children must not copy acts like these. They seemed to love these bonds until one day A Yankee connoisseur came along With ideas which he did not choose to say Would make them and his countrymen more strong. He simply bargained for them and away They went, with mingled feelings, for a song. WE LAUD THE LIVING HOUR Since change of flags one fourth A century has fled~ We laud the living hour Beyond the cherished dead. Beyond the cherished dead, To years that lie before We look, with steadfast faith, To greater good in store. To greater good in store We tum both heart and hand: A pledge proud scions make For love of motherland. For love of motherland, Our grateful voices raise, In positive accord, This jubilee of praise. 58 The Forerunners: 1917 ~ 1954 Cyril Creque COLOR I have not known a gladder hue Than that which spreads above the white Tall columns of the day, a dew Washed awning, none too deep nor light, Where taxed eyes for a trice may stray To rest the crosses of the day. Nor have I seen a sabler shrine Of beauty than the darkened deep Wherein the white stars whiter shine, In steadfast focus on the steep, Nocturnal path, where seekers gain An entrance to the glittering plain. Nor have I worn a warmer brown Than earth has spun from common loam To fashion me a natal gown, Which I shall leave when tripping home. All flowers that variegate the land Are tinged by color's dazzling hand. BAMBOULA ECHOES When the slamming guitars twang to the shrieking ofthe flute And the skirt-drum toms a beat roaring rapture like a brute: Glory 0! to see their bodies barrel-rolling on a sea Weirdly billowing bamboul waves that tickle thee and me. Do your fingers never tire, Joe, you smiling drummer-man? You can draw more rhythm with their tips than Paderewski can! 0 that wrangling triangle sets my savage blood aflame, Though I fear your crazy combine should be blistered with the blame. 59 Yellow Cedars Bloommg: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Cyril Creque Aunt Jemima leaves her basket, takes a jig, a slide, a prance~ Can she snub the tempting music of a subtle, pristine dance? Now 'tis swelling like a river the mad surgings of the throng, And the fire burns the hotter as they mingle with the song. Wake, 0 African pasbnasters, shake yourselves in jealous dirt! Did you ever do the dance so well in petticoat and skirt? Come my gay contemporaries, watch these antics rage the day, For the twilight of their echoes soon in darkness fades away. LIGNUM-VITAE Hard and beautiful! Flasher of a fair philosophy, Green laced; Bunching your violeted snow Beneath a tropic flame. Time and again The rival heliotrope hath jealously sneered At your unperfumed lips, But you heedlessly smile And hold the charmed heart of the passerby. TROPIC DANCE Come near and note the tropic dancer sway Gay limbs in graceful rhythm to and fro, Or watch a wriggler shuffle heel and toe, Bent anns on hips upon a gala day, Ignited by hot flutes that brightly play! Some pale bamboula airs which years ago An early sire fashioned in the glow Of pristine passion, groping for a way. 0 Vanity, you tinge the lettered cheek When black drums thrum and waken savage years, Why dam the deep eye with such small derision? 60 The ForeruMers: 1917 - 1954 Cyril Creque How will grown pundits of the future speak? Shall they discard, behind a film of fears, Our cultured fetiches as stale tradition? MASQUERADEFRENZV They are jigging up their face masks to some gay bamboula tunes, And the dust in wanton frolic holds their skirts and pantaloons; What a tumming and a strumming and a drumming of the ground, And a humming of their voices as they tramp the town around! 0 the beating, what a treating, of the drum and stringed guitars! Whose music shakes their suppleness in dance of savage wars; There is joy in costumes yellow, colors mixed with black and white, But they'll toss a fleeting mirth within those sweated things, tonight. 11-IE HURRICANE The sweltering heat that swoons the busy brain, And moves the sun-parched earth to thirst for rain; That robs of rest the red and weary eyes, And for a solace yields the fairest skies, The which by day a soft blue charm impart, By night reveal a glorious diamond chart; The cooling wind which from the ether flees And spurns the tranquil pleading of the trees. The blue above in feathery vesbnents dressed, With gossamer and fleece upon its crest By these the islands of the sea await The blasting open of the stonn-barred gate. The drama starts. The grim precursors come And blow a breath now here, now there, and some Would dash a raindrop on the burning plain 61 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Cyril Creque And posthaste fly alike to act again. They tease for all they're worth the sick at heart, And cause the well at ease in fright to start. A red flag flies with balls ofominous black, And barking guns with shivers twitch the back; Then hammerings of shutters could be heard, As all to firm security are stirred. Now piercing shrieks like fiends in poignant pain From out the distance echo with the rain; Advancing with a deep and gutteral howl, As enraged beasts in pain aloud might growl, The gusts with sledge-blows strike, and hit again Here wound a place, there wreck some weak domain. While on this course of gruesome mischief bent, They stop not even for life-the passion pent Stays not until desire falls appeased: The frantic spirit from its madness eased. How wild the whitest mom, the moon, the night! The difference puzzles even the keenest sight. The chariots of the heavens, black and gray, Run steed-like with the roar of guns away. Electric darts fly from their heated wheels, Below in chaos and confusion reels The pitiful in a last dying groan, The sob of homeless and the haunting moan Of destitute-those souls of dying hope Within the scene-who in the tumult grope. The legions ofthe earth, the sea, the air, Join hands-the strongest human efforts dare Then God sees with a sorrowful surprise A mass of new and supplicating eyes, And marvels that the sternly arrogant Should boast ofease, in peril succor want. The hours plod their course at normal speed And to the frenzied tempest give no heed; The weary would a load put on each back And give of lagging what, in truth, they lack. 62 The Forerunners: 19 I 7 - 1954 Cyril Creque The whistling blasts now puff in language hoarse, All spent with battering, seek another course; And languid eyes look on a wilted day, With prayers that hurricanes may pass away. NIGHT SONG OF A SAINT CROIX LABORER I know no brighter airs Depression craves lbat melodies a ripened cane field waves. Wild-beat nor strum my joy-robbed longing fills Except from wheels that push the crushing mills. Bag-laden wagons, factory to shore, Hum sugar-songs sad longshoremen adore. And when a funnel anchors ncar the quay, Its charming tone stirs Jightennen to glee. FROM A MOUNTAIN RIDGE IN ST. JOHN These tangled slopes are hardy men and tall, Who hold their virgin vigor to command Blue maidens of the sea that throng the sand And flash white tresses on the rocky wall Along the shore. These hills broadcast a call To nature-lovers, health-lost men; they stand Like great supports against the azure land Of heaven and dip their feet where fanned waves fall. Brown islets deck the mirror of the deep; Like sentinels, apart, some stand the watch, While others link as ifto thwart the sway Of billows whipped by crazy winds that sweep, Or hold from crushing death a house of thatch, Or shield nut-palms that beautify the bay. 63 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Cyril Creque COAL CARRIERS Their watch is the skyline which touches the sea, The soft plunging rollers that billow the sand; They hear the steam-blast of the blue-bosomed lea, And the thrilling salt-echoes that ramble the land. The anthracite lumps they fling fast in the hold, And jingling pennies their slim purses feed, The hard hours write in a volume ofgold This solemn exchange of the commonest need .... Black-bathed in an ocean of dignified dust They greet the worn smile of a glorified day; Co-sharers in toil and co-partners in trust They sink with the sun at the close of his sway. RUINED ROSTRUM (For Adolph Sixto) He had a glittering tongue That positively flashed afar Brave, ecstatic words From an exalted parapet. Men heard him, clapt delighted palms, and cheered. A sullen figure faced him suddenly, Gagged him, bound him, smote htm, Dragged him to a grave Where, like so many living mouths, He lies Eternally tongue-chained Within his ruined rostrum. 64 The Forerunners: 1917- 1954 J. P. Gimenez J.P. Gimenez (1899 -1953) Known as the ''Vrrgin Islands Mystic Poet," Gimenez was born on StThomas, where he received his educarioo. He was a songwriter as well as a poet who \\'I1Xe in Spanish, standard English, and Vilgin Islands Creole, presetVing in many ofhis poems the islands' folklore-its humor and its wisdom. His most noteworthy books ofverse are Virgin Islands Folklore and Other Poems ( 1933), Caribbean Echoes ( 1934), Deep Waters ( 1939), and Voice ofthe Virgin Islands ( 1952). Towards the end ofhis life he was made an honorary member ofthe International Mark Twain Society. TROPICAL DAWN The sun's first ray Leaps o'cr the bay Igniting slumb 'ring sea. Across the stream, A parrot screams From a tall fruit-laden tree. With song of glee, The "chincharee" Darts at a passing bee. The gray thrush hops On sweet sour-sop, As he sings merrily. Like golden baJJs Ripe mangoes fall From boughs from which they sway. A thousand wings And buzzing things Proclaim the birth of day. THE BAMBOULA DRUM There's a rhythmical sway, A melody gay, In the notes of the bamboula drum. A something unsaid Which goes to the head, Inebriating the senses like rum. 6S Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry J. P. Gimenez And dancers react As if in contact With invisible strings from the drum. Their movements denote They feel every note As they shuffle or balance in fun. Unconscious ofall, Their feet rise and fall, As the drum takes possession of soul. And they sway on and on Until with the dawn Exhaustion breaks music's control. MY VIRGIN ISLE (For a Continental Friend) Keep your fogs and snows, And all else that goes With your dreary northern clime. Give me the lagoons, The tropical moons Of that sunny isle of mine. Let me wend my way To the sandy bay, Fringed with trees on ev'ry side. Let me hear the bee Converse with the tree, As I listen to the tide. Let me climb the hill In the morning still, Ere the sun pours down his light~ So that I may see The blue, passive sea In its majesty and might. 66 The Forerunners: 1917 - 1954 J. P. Gimenez On a cloudJess night, In the moonJight bright, Let me watch the boats sail by; As they slowly glide O'er the silv'ry tide, Whose song is an endless sigh. When the moonlit mist Wraps sea lanes that twist Through the cays like serpents white; Then my island seems Like those realms of dreams, Which God keeps from human sight. THOSE HOT CHA-CHA BLUES I danced that thing, 'Till I had no shoes, Couldn't stop the swing Of those Cha-Cha blues Oh, girl! Those hot Cha-Cha blues, From the Virgin Isles, Got the tango skinned, By a thousand miles, They're hot! The tune is low; Which the Cha-Cha plays, It gets you so, In different ways: Oh, boy! A scratchy, scratch, scratch, Hot as a match. That rhythm slow, Is mean and low, Yes, sir! 67 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry J. P. Gimenez A VIRGIN ISLANDER'S LEITER TO UNCLE SAM Uncle: I'm writing you these lines today, Because there are a few things I'd like to say. About conditions in these Virgin Isles, Where birds always sing and nature smiles. Of these islands perhaps you never thought. Before or after this land you bought. My letter might seem a good joke or sport, But our Island's main asset is its port. So if with laws you drive the ships away, How shall we exist from day to day? In your country such laws may do you well, But here they're surely giving us hell. Uncle: Although I don't care to be bold, I'd have you know: We live by selling coal. To sell we must offer FACILITY, Compete with those islands up on the lea. Those other days when our port was free, Things down here were as good as could be. There's something else which to us lacks fun, Embodied in a law you call "PRO-HI-BI-TION." The reason for it is not plain to me, And why it should be? Nobody can see. You know, many things we don't understand. Among them-your method of running new land. The saloons here never ran night and day Taking from men their Saturday pay, Though from countless brands we were free to choose, Hardly a crime was ever committed through booze. Most of the sales were made to passing ships. And we were content with a couple of sips. Dominican field hands who passed through here Brought us yearly in trade a fairly large share. Uncle, they would stop here just for a day, Buy all sorts of goods-and then go their way, Uncle, those folks don't stop here any more, Since the time you put the bar on the door. 68 The Forerunners: 1917 - 1954 J. P. Gimenez Something else with which we aren ·t content by far. Certain provisions of the transfer Jaw. Uncle, if for ten years you wandered from home, Would you be called "ALIEN" condemned to roam? Uncle, I hope these things you 'II investigate And adjust these matters before it's too late. Thanking you, Uncle, for whafcr you might do, I am your latest nephew: JOHN KALALOO MIST AH EDIT AH (Written on occasion of the change from Naval to Civil Form ofGovenunent in the Virgin Islands in 1931) Dear Sah: Ah writin yo dese heah two line, Wid which ah hope to ease meh mind. Ah refer to this change of govenment, Which got meh all worn out an spent. Ah hear so much talk •bout dis an dat Oat ah dunno whether •tis rat o• cat. Some say, when dis new govenment come We goin have ''Free Port" an plenty rum. An dem who ain't work fob years o' so, Goin work 'till dey can't work no mo. Now Sah, ah dunno ifall dis talk is true, But ah want to say-(between me an you) Ah also heah a diffrunt sang, Bokra singin all day lang, 'Bout how when dis govenment go, Dey goin tax yo house window and doh Goin tax de air yo breathe at nite, Goin tax de sun and de moon-light, Shut down the schools, hospi~ jail, And may be-even stop de mail. Bankrupt all de stores will go. An dem merchants goin all be po. Dey won't be no people on de street, Nor policemen on de beat. The police force goin cease to exis And de law goin be bo'stick and tis. Ah worry so much under dis strain, 69 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry J. P. Gimenez Oat way ah wance had ah two cent brain, Only ah cavity now remain. So, Sah, ah guess yo kin plainly see, Ah between hell an de deep blue sea Ah dUMo what to say o' do, 'Cause dis ting look like kalaloo. So doan blame meh; if ah talk plenty rot. 'Cause ah now seein meh fungee all shot. Ah dunno wha go in become of us, Whether to run-o• stay an bust. Hopin that you will please enlighten me, As to wha de future goin to be, An thankin yo fob li 'I mo light, Ah is, yours ree-spectfully, Yor sinceer ftien, Jawn Pinch Meh Tight Note: Bokra: a white nwl Bo"stick: a<:lub Kalaloo: a West Indian gumbo Fungee: boiled com meal AH DOAN WANT NO KALALOO Giel, you say Ah shouldn't eat So much fish, an so much meat, You sugges dat Ah should take KaJaloo in-stead of steak. Kalaloo, you guarantee Surely would agree wid me. Giel, Ah know you got yor view, When you talk 'bout kalaloo. Ah doan want no kalaloo. Doan care wha you say o• do, Ah doan want no kalaloo. Wid kalaloo dey got meh ftien, Kalaloo has been he en. Ah doan want no kalaloo. Meh frien Joe, from Port of Spain, Met a giel time an again. Joe went home wid her wan day, 70 The Forerunners: 1917 - 1954 J. P. Gimenez So Ah hear de people say. Dere she give 'im kaJaloo Married Joe befo he knew. Ah doan want no kalaloo. Note: Giel: girl Kalaloo: • gumbo made of a native herb of the same name. Port of Spain: • seaport ofTrinidad, British We;~. Indies Ah:l DEM ROACH OAT USED TO EAT BRASS CANNON Talkin 'bout dat, you jus' bring to meh mind, Ah cap'n we had here in de Danish time. Very nice gentleman. he was, dis Dane, 'Bout him nobody ever make complain. May be, some time he did take some "Akovit," But dat time nobody worry 'bout it. But de story which ah 'm wantin to tell, Is wha to dis ole cap ·n wance befell. As far as people make me understan, Some brass cannon was in care of dis man. Later, when commission from Denmark carne, Not one of dem ole brass cannon remain. Den from dis cap'n Denmark want to know, Where de heck did dem brass cannon all go? The cap' n den replied to dis reproach, Dat dem guns was eaten by "Native Roach." Dis caused much surprise in ole Denmark town, Caused much tinkin-an caused many ah frown. Den dey send order to ship widout delay, Samples of "roach" dat "could eat brass away," But dis ole cap 'n was wise to de trick. An he replied back by telegraph quick- How kin ah sen sample in "wooden ship," Of "roach" dat kin eat "brass cannon" to bit? Note: Akovil: a strong Danish alcoholic drink 71 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry J. P. Gimenez HOW TINGS CHANGE How tings change in dis land o' mine, Taint nottin like de Danish time. In de barrox now tou can't be see, Les you ask consent from de marine. But befo time-you could go dere wid ease An get big can o' poke an pease. Could buy big black bread fob ah few bit, An get lots o' sausage free wid it. An dat black bread was something to eat, Bettah black bread dan dat on de street. Many ah time when ting went on de bum, Gendarme changed bread an sausage fob rum. Den dey use to have de Pascalam, When •twas finish, gendarme shout-"Ta-harn." Den de people run an shout wid glee, An gendanne trow each odder in de sea. In de night gendarme kep wan big spree An invite all rneh friens an me. Note:: BarrolC: barracks Pascalam: the anniversary of a Danish military victory Ta-ham: (Danish) Hold him Spree: a dance or party Gendarmes: Danish policeman AMERICAN VIRGIN ISLANDER There· s an innate pride. A tendency to hide His wants, in the Islander. Though he'll oft migrate, Wizen driven by fate; Yet, he's no wanderer. He is courteous too, And will never do, Or say aught which might Offend. He'll go out his way To avoid a fray; Although he 'II die for a friend. 72 The Forerunners: 1917 - 1954 J. P. Gimenez He has mixed with Dutch, Gennan, French, and such; And fluently speaks strange tongues. Though a fleeting smile Oft covers his guile, When fools try to twist him around He hates all deceit- The liar and cheat. He ne'er stoops to servility. His heart can't be won With praise nor with gun, But just by sincerity. TALKING 'BOUT XMAS IN DE VlRGrN ISLANDS Wha you sayin 'bout Chrismus, man? Dey ain't no mo Chrismus in dis ian. Since dat dere Pro-hi-bi-tion come, Every blessed ting gone bum. Ah dunno wha goin become of us, Chrismus getting from bad to woss. Now Ah scarce hear de bamboula drum, Pro-hi-bi-tion kill de St. Croix rum. De sweet-bread dey make doan taste no mo, Like de kind dey use to make befo. De gale kill de guava-berry tree. An ifwe had dem-whagood dey'd be? Ah only hope Ah live to see Wan mo Chrismus like dey used to be, Dance wancc again to de bamboula drum, An taste wan mo shot of St. Croix rum. Have one mo ole time Chrismus spree, An den white pine board kin larf at me. Na~e : Swecdnad: a native Christmas pasary Oulavabcny: anative beny from whidl a a.i.sunAs liqueur i.' mad!: White pine Board: a rollin Bamboula drum: tom-toms. 10 who5c music the people donced in the I5Cied.'l m holidays 73 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry J. P. Gimenez MY ISLAND HOME (St. Thomas, Virgin Islands) My island green, Is an isle of dreams, A land of sunshine bright Where laughing breeze And spreading trees Whisper on moonlit nights; Where pale blue seas And birds and bees Make music all the time. A jewel rare, A garden fair With silvery stars divine. Aspeckofearth That's filled with mirth, With flowers, ferns and vines; Where at each door, However poor, The stranger welcome finds. In every dream, To me it seems, My isle calls with a smile. Her hills and sea Are parts of me, And I'm part of my isle. 74 Tile ForeruMers: 1917 - 1954 Wilfred L Hatchette Wilfred I. Hatchette (1911- 1957) Hatchette was born on St. Thomas, where he received his education. He published two books of poems, Youths F7ight ( 1938) and Blood. Sweat and Tears ( 1947). SCHOMBURG COLLECTION Collected in one little nook For some pleasant years now, Are the fruits of everlasting toil; Of men and women who took The handle of a plow, As pen, paper, and paint of oil. It does not matter very much 'Bout their race or color, They are here . .. lights of human-tribute: And being labeled as such Lend us a magic hour . . . And of this there's none to dispute! So well they stand against the wall ... In show cases and atop, Look at their strange imported faces Children of starvation· s call ... Harvesters of nature's crop Inspiring dreams of infinite space! Let their voiceless echoes in this treasure-house Awaken glad inklings of immortality- They are you in me ... and I in you ... JOE LOUIS LEADS 1liE WAY Come one, come all, Come big and small- To the fistic hall of fame! Come black, come white, And win a fight- to the credit of your name .. . The good are few, So see that you- 75 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Wilfred I. Hatchette Keep away from smoke, and gin, Be thou no knave- But surely brave! And may the best man win. So-step in line, Be clean and fine; And build your strength each day, Inspiring truth- The U.S. youth, Joe Louis leads the way! BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS Ethiopia The Lion roamed from jungle home, And roared distress with bleeding paws; But no one heard the crimes of Rome-, No blitzkreig burned their broken laws! The League They laughed so loud, that evil rose of Nations Like scavengers o'er reeking dead, That Autumn caught, and Winter froze, And cursed the seed of leavened bread! Gennany The Werewolf howls and stalks its prey, Russia The Bear too tracks in pools of blood-; A ghoulish land with fiends at bay, Resembles now the ancient flood. The Baltic The Ass, wild Boar, and Pigs alike, and Balkan Are swallowed with the Shepherd's flock; States Indeed the iron-boot and spike- Have run the human-beasts amok! Great The gory Bull with loosened horns, Britain, Shall stagger on to Victory France While noble Stag in silence mourns, Internal blades of treachery! This is Europe in flaming hell! That licks a wounded, bleeding side; While frightened mis'ry tolls the bell Of totalitarian suicide! 76 The Forerurmers: 1917 - 1954 Wilfred I. Hatchette Japan, Still further on mad conflicts rise, China. and The Dragon sets the East on fire! United The Eagle screams, takes to the skies States And vengeance puts himself for hire. South The Boa-constrictor rears its head, America To see the havoc wrought anon; Then waits for those in marshy bed Who scorn the earth they walk upon! India Famine, disease hold deathly hands, Where bayonets, bombs and bullets fail; Despair, and ruin brand all lands, While hatred spreads like lightning, gale! Alas! a nameless culture falls- Before the slaught'ring hordes of might, Who now! Who now are cannibals? Who now can make all wrongs seem right. The innocent must share the price- Of vanity each nation bears: And out of guilty sacrifice Shall come-fresh blood, more sweat, old tears. 17 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Edward Richards Edward Richards (1916-) Hailed as a pioneer native poet in the Virgin Islands, Richards began his writing career as a contributor to The Daily News in 1930. In 1933 he published Shadows, Selected Poems, which received high praise from J. Antonio Jarvis, among others. While serving in the U.S. Navy in the 1940s he edited and contributed to The Echo and The Indian (Guantanamo Bay, Cuba); Growl (VSS Bexar at sea); and The Pipeline (USS Ponchatoula at sea). During this time he also co-authored Important American Poets and Songwriters ( 1948); Ebony Rhythm ( 1948); and Poetry Digest Anthology ofVerse (1950 ed.). Richards later narrated the "Poets in Paradise" series for WfJX, Channe112. His work is cited in Jarvis' The Virgin Islands and Their People ( 1944) and Adelbert Anduze's dissertation "The Literature ofthe United States Virgin Islands, 1900-1970" (How.utl University). CONTRAST My shadow flashed Upon a white wall As I was passing by; It seemed strange, And looked strange. I stopped To wonder why! I looked at the shadow, I looked at the wall; (White and black,) The shadow trembled And the wall kept stitl- 1 passed by. 78 The Forerunners: 1917- 1954 Edward Richards LAST NIGHT Yesterday Closed like a cover: And the land all over Swept in darkness The night began. Crept out from the sky a light Looking down It laughed at the black night And saw The weeping trees And the silent breeze And felt sad And rose high, Its brightness fell everywhere And came a wonder, The moon. SERVICE Not always When a cry is heard From a fallen soul Who lies in need of help. We stop And help him up. At times Deep down inside of us A thought with power Seems to make us stop, And help. 79 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Aubrey Anduze Aubrey Anduze (1917 ·) Anduze was born in St Thomas and educated at Dunbar High School and Howard University (Washington, D.C.) where he earned the D.D.S. in 1944. A fonner senator ( 1956-62), re also served as the governor's administrative assistant for St. Croix ( 1965). He has publishOO two books ofpoems, Reminiscence ( 1940) and Reminiscence ll ( 1944). THE LAST CARIB They lived in peace and quietness Until the white man came Into their land of happiness And conquered their domain. Their plains were strewn with trees and palm: Their hills with grass were green. This scene so picturesque and calm On this small isle was seen. The white explorers landed here~ They came from Spanish lands. The happy Caribs living here Met hard fate at their hands. The Spaniards came in search of gold, And soon they tried to conquer The Caribs, who were very bold; But they would not surrender. The Caribs arrows used, and bow; The Spaniards, spear and gun. The Caribs could not beat their foe; The Spaniards quickly won. At length but one brave man survived The fate which did arrive. The Spaniards knew, and soon they strove To catch this man alive. He saw the people of his tribe Around him lying dead There was not any of his tribe Without a wound that bled. 80 The Forerunners: 1917 - 1954 Aubrey Anduze Although he was the bravest one, He turned away and fled. He was alone-his friends were gone; Across the isle he sped. He sought a high cliff of the isle, Below which was the ocean. He stopped but for a little while, Then plunged into the ocean. The Spanish soldiers stood amazed, And there, filled with surprise, Upon the cliff for hours gazed; But he can never rise. He left the plains with trees and palm, And hills that were his home; He plunged into the ocean calm, And marked his grave with foam. LOVING BLINDNESS Do you know how a person reacts to his love? At first all she does is cute. Pigeon-toed with her shoes like an over-sized glove She walks, yet he thinks she's cute. Some disorders in dress like a very wide skirt Pinned visibly on both sides, Or a once snow white sweater that's tinted with dirt Are cunning he first decides. And though lipstick be smeared passed its limited place, He thinks that is skillful art; And the rouge, though it covers too much of her face, It helps her to win his heart. But soon after she yields to his cozy embrace, The facts his thoughts then confute: He imagines his friends are discussing his case; So now she's no longer cute. Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Aubrey Anduze A BEACH IN THE SHAPE OF A HEART Now this is a story that's been told to me I do not know how much is true But if you will listen just as it was told To me, I shall tell it to you. It seems that a lad was in love with a girl. They lived on a beautiful isle. And when he would tell her how much he adored Her, she would just blush with a smile. Then one day, so strong was his love for this girl, He made her a promise that he Would make her a lake as the proof of his love The water would come from the sea. He said it like this, "I am going to make A lake that will be for us two I'll pick out a spot on the north of the isle And it will be named after you." "And it will be made in the shape of a heart An opening will let in the sea And it shall be deep as the love that I hold For you, lovely Cleota Lee." And true to his word, the next day he was gone Determined to make her a lake He pledged he would never return home again Till her he was ready to take. A number of years he was gone, so she grew Disturbed and decided to go In search of the spot on the north of the isle Where maybe she could find her beau. And when she had reached on the top of the hill, Her eyes saw a beautiful sight; For there was a beach in the shape of a heart; Its water was blue; its sand white. Her heart leaped with joy as she hastened to reach The beach she was sure was her own; But when all exhausted she reached there at last She found that she was there alone. 82 The Forerunners: 1917- 1954 Aubrey Anduze So there on the beach that she thought was made by Her lover, Cleota Lee stood. No longer a little girl now she was grown; She'd blossomed as few women could. A beautiful picture she made as she stood And gazed with a tear in each eye. Her native costume showed a figure superb; Her shapely breasts heaved with each sigh. But where was her lover and was this the lake He'd promised to make long ago? And what had become of him when he was through? Those things no one ever will know. But there is a beach in the shape of a heart With water as blue as the skies. It is on an island, St. Thomas by name; I've seen it with my very eyes. It is on the north of this beautiful isle; Its sand is the finest I've seen. The hills that surround it and give it its shape Are always a beautiful green. Did nature design such a beach or the youth Who did it to prove his love true? I cannot say which, but just as it was told To me, I have told it to you. SONNET I Just like an evening star whose brilliancy Surpasses all the rest, she stands supreme Among her sex and all mortality; But she's beyond my reach unless I dream. So fair a one I've never seen before- I often pause and in a daze admire Her graceful style and beauty, and adore Her, wishing that she'd grant my heart's desire. Last night I sweetly slumbered, and I dreamed She came to me and said she loves me too- Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Aubrey Anduze A lovely moon was shining and it seemed That the impossible sometimes comes true. I was about to kiss her 'neath the moon; But morning dawned and I awoke too soon. SONNET VI Spring fades into uncomfortable summer; Love leaves behind a melancholy shade, The summer fades into the dreadful winter, But into spring again will winter fade. Now when a youngster falls in love he's told By others he has done a foolish thing. Quite true it is, the love young lovers hold Might fade as does the season we call spring. But happiness can never last forever, For in each life is due a time of sorrow; Experience teaches us that we must ever Be all alert to face the strange tomorrow. Condemn not love, nor say one loves in vain, For if one ever loved, he'lllove again. SONNET VIII My friend, let not your face betray your grief, To love and not be likewise held as dear I know is painful. Time alone relief Can lend from such great sorrow and despair. I can't say hate her if she prove untrue- No man that loved and failed should be so bold Nor shall I say seek one who loves you too, For by no other's love you'll be consoled. But smile though in your heart be boundless woe For smiles will hide that broken heart you own. Pretend you' re happy; laugh like me; I know In your distress, my friend, you're not alone; For I, too, hide behind this mask I wear A heart that's saturated with despair. 84 The Forerunners: 1917- 1954 Erica Lee Erica Beatrice Lee (1918- 1941) Erica Beatrice Lee was born on St. Thomas and died at the age of twenty-two. A 1935 graduate of Charlotte Amalie High School, she published one volume of poetry entitled Reflections ( 1939); a subsequent volume was planned, but the manuscript was lost after her death. Her poem "Life's Lesson" was awarded the National Poetry Center's 1939 World's Fair Medal. LIFE'S LESSON I walked a little way with joy, A little way-and then she said: "These roses here on which you walk Have thorns beneath their fragrant bed." I walked a long, long way with pain, A long, long way and then she said: "These thorns which your feet have pressed Are sheltering a fragrant bed." Twas then I learned that joy's sweet smile Can quickly fade and tum to tears, But that which pain plants in the soul Can far outlive the changing years. BEACONS As long as courage walks beside the dreamer To guide his dream across the path of life, The rocks ahead shall vanish like the shadows, And peace dwell in the place of storm and strife. As long as there is hope to light the vision Of that dim future far beyond the years, The wished-for things that haunt the realms of longing Shall come to us in payment for our tears. As long as there is love to lend its splendor Unto those things that seem of beauty bare, The soul shall rise to heights of pure possession And cast aside its load of worldly care. 85 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Erica Lee As long as memory's chain is bright and golden Linked with the visions of departed bliss, The heart shall stem the blows of disappointment That oh, so often follow joy's sweet kiss! As long as there is faith to light the future Which to our doubting minds seems so obscure The spirit clothed in defiant glory Shall stand undaunted at life's open door! DEATHLESS Today I look on you with clearer vision, Not just the light that gleamed within my eyes When first you held my hand and whispered softly: "How much your presence speaks of Paradise!" 'Tis but a little while, but since your image Has taught my heart how much it means to care, My soul can now reflect a greater glory Born of the love that you have planted there. Today I give to you a life made nobler By all the thoughts and dreams you brought to me, And hours of love that time has rendered changeless To that immortal world of memory. Today I give to you a love eternal, Made greater by its priceless gift of pain, A love that is too pure for earth's dominion, The heavenly heights its glory must attain. I know not which of us will leave the other To wander through the darkness all alone, But this I know: that death could never alter The love that God has deemed to be our own. Yet, if 'tis willed that I should go before you, Each rose above my grave shall ever be A messenger to whisper to you softly: "She waits and loves you in eternity." 86 The Forerunners: 1917-1954 George A. Seaman George A. Seaman (1904 -1997) Seaman was born in Frederiksted, St. Croix, and acquired his early education on the island. He later attended DeWitt Clinton High School in New York City and Mt. Hermon School, Mt. Hermon, Massachusetts. He joined the American Museum of Natural History as a preparator and went on several collecting trips for them to Central and South America. It was while on this assignment that he wrote the poems that comprise his book of verse, Sadly Cries the Plover (1987). Upon returning to St. Croix in 1949, he accepted the position of wildlife supervisor for the United States Virgin Islands, in which capacity he served until his retirement in 1969. Seaman spent his later years in Saba in the Netherlands Antilles. Seaman published five books about Virgin Islands culture, language, natural history, and philosophy: Mammals, Reptiles and Amphibians ofthe Virgin Islands (1 961), Sticks .from the Hawk 's Nest ( 1973), Cat Walk ( 1975), Virgin Islands Dictionary ( 1976), and Ay Ay: An Island Almanac ( 1989). OH, STILL MY HEART On Santa Cruz Bartramia1 came In the fading years of long ago, Migrating wanderers whose whistles Filled the rose evenings, soft and low. Oh, still my heart. My own calendar of days and nights Was always marked with such fine things, As Chistmas stars and planets bright, And birds that came to us on tired wings. Oh, still my heart! And of these memories sad and gay, That marched along the years well and tried; Some held the heartstrings for just a day While others, for some reason, never died. Oh, still my heart! Of these, the sad whistling Plover Followed me always, the golden seam Woven in the mantle of the lover Who lives forever in his love's dream. Oh, still my heart! Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry George A. Seaman The island years had journeyed by, I hunted alone on the far Plain Of a foreign land, a foreign sky, When I heard that haunting cry again. Oh, still my heart! And on that faraway afternoon, Pale hour of sadness when shadows roam, One small, remembered, piping tune Opened the closed door, and I was home. Oh, still my heart! 1 Bartramia longicauda: the Upland Plover. YONO SE 2 We met by the great river, The spotted eggs, the endless Plain Before all the mysteries were done; Which guards each little thing from view, The receiver and the giver. Hides not where the fawn has lain Or the nest of the Stone Curlew. Was the river always like this, And she answered always, Moving with birds and with light? If she answered at all, Does the land and water kiss "Yo no se." When coming together at night? And she answered always, The focus of your eyes are far, If she answered at all, Travelling along a veiled smile; "Yo no se." Is there a door, left half ajar, Which opens on some magic isle? You follow the ebb and the flow, And she answered always, The brown of water, green of grass; If she answered at all, How come, little one, that you know "Yo no se." The hour when the Ibises pass? And she answered always, I know she held my knowledge light, If she answered at all, Nor once did she ever sing; "Yo nose." But glowed in the swift-coming night When I shot a duck on the wing. And she answered always, If she answered at all, "Yo no se." 88 The Forerunners: 1917- 1954 George A. Seaman Are you happy little brown toad, Here, half in water half on land; Held always to one lonely road Which you alone can understand? And she answered always, If she answered at all, "Yo no se." Guaricha, 3 will you take me To that world where your stars spin? May I hold your warm hands gently, And let us together walk in? And she answered always, If she answered at all, "Yo no se." Do you love me, soft brown eyes; May I hold you, always, and so? In the shadow, my hammock lies Wrapped in the Llano's silver glow. And she answered always, If she answered at all, "Yo nose." We met by the great river, Before all the mysteries were done; The receiver and the giver. 2 YoNoSe: I do not know. 3 Guaricha: the Indian word for girl. an endearment. Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Albert E. Daniel Albert E. Daniel (1897 -1982) An artist and sculptor, Daniel was born on May 16, 1897, in St. Thomas. A self described "primitive artist," Daniel had no formal training in art; nevertheless, his works were exhibited both locally and internationally. In 1975 he was honored with a legislative resolution commending his determination and talent. Although Daniel, the artist responsible for the painting used as the cover art for this publication, is not one of the featured poets he composed poetry throughout his life. Daniel wrote "For Our Late Song-Bird" at the request of Erica Lee's mother and in recognition of Lee's respect for Decoration Day (now known as Memorial Day). It was published in the Daily News on May 29, 1941. FOR OUR LATE SONG-BIRD ERICA B. LEE As I pause to meditate on the deep significance of Decoration Day ... I think of ''this inspired soul" that has ceased to pass this way, But who has left in her wake a treasure of song That will vibrate in the Annals of Art long .. .long .. . Flowers of appreciation to your memory we cast, To show that your work will live on to the last, With its consoling message to "tired men", Giving hope and renewed life again. 90 The Middle Period: 1955- 1975 The Middle Period: 1955- 1975 In the English-speaking islands of the Caribbean, the early part of this century had been a time of extraordinary literary development. The story of the region that was being told through the logs of sea captains, the journals of visitors, and the letters and memoirs of the planter class would no longer represent a major contribution to the literature of the region. In West Indian Literature, Bruce King states that "although West Indian creative writing has existed from the eighteenth century onwards, it was not until the first quarter of the present century that authors of real ability began to appear.'' 1 Kenneth Ramchand concurs when he states that West Indian literature is essentially a twentieth-century phenomena.2 The 1950s brought recognition to the literature of the region as a separate entity. Prior to this time, there was lively debate over whether it should be considered a part of English literature. Edward Brathwaite, Derek Walcott, George Lamming, and Wilson Harris were gaining a wide readership. In the Virgin Islands nearly twenty years earlier, Valdemar Hill, Cyril Creque, J. P. Gimenez, Erica Lee, and others had published an impressive body of poems. Brathwaite describes this period as an "intellectual revolution in which ...West Indians discovered that they had not only political and social sensibilities, but that they had souls as well, and that the region had a light and heart of its own that ought to be seen and heard." 3 Like other writers in the region, Virgin Islands poets of the middle period abandoned European and American models and developed their vision of how poetry could be written. Winston Nugent's "Massah Day Done Dead," in theme and form, demonstrates this new possibility: . . . pickennies weep not fo ' dis ole man done mek river from tears dat right now war ships line dat river bank like jackspannah restin' unpredictable pon dem nest muh pickennies nub look so sad massah day done dead The poetry, reflecting the political and cultural currents churning in the black world, adopted a form, rhythm, and voice attuned to the islands' authentic experience. Althea Romeo's "Sukanah" mixes myth and history to give drama to a real slice of island life: Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry I've come in away from the singing of shoe-shine men, cricket screens, pounding mortar in backyards, glaring moon eyes. Silence in my house speaks of peace; my woman whom I keep sleeps, head hanging over a cot rim, she grunts, breath dressed in rum, in a restless dream. There was, in short, a pronounced turning away from the metropolis and its traditions. The poetry had begun to pursue the path of calypso, that unapologetic indigen that remained unashamed of its body and tongue. The calypsonian John L's "Green Christmas" captures this stance well: Ah don't want a white Christmas with plenty of snow. Gimme a bright Christmas with steelband and calypso, Because a white Christmas is something I've never seen. Ah want me belly full a rum Plenty music, plenty sun And a bright, bright Christmas of green. The plantation era had vanished with the end of sugar cane cultivation in the early 1960s, replaced by an economy dominated by tourism, heavy industry, and a burgeoning service sector. Hess Oil Corporation and Harvey Aluminum Company became two of the Virgin Islands' major employers. Soon there was an influx of American chain store and fast food giants. The islands' population jumped from 32,000 in 1960 to 75,000 by 1970, the increase largely attributable to bonded workers and their families from former British West Indian islands, and a sizable number of American continentals. This rapid demographic transformation initially created great tension, especially between native-born Virgin Islanders and the black 92 The Middle Period: 1955- 1975 "aliens" from "down island," some of whom had entered the territory illegally or overstayed their bond period. By the early to mid 1970s, due to intermarriage and encouraged by the racial solidarity espoused by the Black Power movement abroad and in the region, the antagonism between citizen and "alien" abated even as racial polarization advanced. In 1970 the United Caribbean Association of Black People (UCA), a black nationalist organization, was founded . Its activism brought to focus much of the racial tension that had heretofore been latent. UCA had a strong cultural component and, as became the case with the reggae/Rastafarian thrust of a few years later, its Afrocentric and island-centered ideology influenced a significant number of writers. But ifblack activism threw a spotlight on the issue of race, then the steady growth in the number of whites with increasing economic and political power exacerbated the problem. Some commentators have, in fact, attributed the so-called Fountain Valley massacre and other apparently race based crime to this disparity. Meanwhile, in the poetry there surfaced a corresponding nativist strain documenting the sense of a growing estrangement, ail alienation from roots. This estrangement becomes the motive for, if not the theme of, Habib Tiwoni's "Pon Top Bluebeard Castle Hill," where the poet laments the loss of his ideal homeland: . . . our backyard bristled with broom palms, frangipani, jackocalalu, almonds, growing sweet basil and poinsetta And (in the jungle I was king to me the burds came daily to sing) until the senses awoke one day and saw their selfish signs "no trespassing" There were similar critiques of black displacement, fueled (it was often argued) by racism and colonialism. Many of Bertica Hodge's poems respond to this disintegration with bitter humor and biting satire as seen in her "Progress" and "Poem." Dimitri L. Copemann's "In a Silent Way," Isidro Gomez's "American Paradise (but for whom?)," and Tiwoni's 'The Eroticism of Imperialism" extend the criticism. The same impulse that generated this critique also provoked a body of what might be called conservationist poetry. This poetry, while akin to the nostalgic renderings in some of Corey Emanuel's work (see "Reflections on Semicentenial" and "Sunset in St. Thomas," among others), for example, does not possess its characteristic sentimentalism. In these the poets, including Emanuel, utilize folk sentiments and Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry island myths to assert a heritage threatened to be obliterated by the American juggernaut and to recapture a revitalizing tradition. Emanuel's "calypoem" entitled "Me Ain't Wukkin on Xmas Day" depicts in language, rhythm, and tone a prevailing attitude towards outsiders who might conspire to disrupt a native tradition; his ''The Downtown Senate" offers a humorous look at an enduring institution. Not dissimilarly Althea Romeo's incantatory "Palaver With Papa God" captures the peasant's close ties to land, village, and religion: The plantain in the pot is all we got to share, Papa, This year we live without the joys of harvest. Plenty, plenty seasons change they minds like men, We never know when. Clement White's narrative poem "Jumbee Jubilee" directly employs mythology to good effect. Many of the poets celebrate landscape and people, as in Tram Combs' "September in St. Thomas," Hodge's ''Yellow Cedar," and June Esannason's "Native Woman," where she summons native dishes to evoke the character of her subject: You're sweeter than guavaberry at Christmastime, Tastier than stew mutton and stuffing; Your character matches that of an Old Wife skin, Oh native woman! There has always been an African presence in Virgin Islands poetry, however much this might have been hidden earlier on in the canon's history. And even then Jarvis, Hill, Hatchette, and Creque had made the connection between Africa and themselves (in, for example, "Africa Whence I Came," "Dream of Africa," "Blood, Sweat and Tears," and "Barnboula Echoes," respectively). The critical question remains: how did the early writers treat Africa as subject? In 197 4, Brathwaite's essay ''The African Presence in Caribbean Literature" 4 identified four kinds of written African literature in the Caribbean: 1. The writer is only saying the word Africa. 2. The writer deals with African survival in Caribbean society. 3. The writer transforms folk material into literary experiment. 4. The writer has lived in Africa and is conscientiously attempting to bridge the gap with the spiritual heartland. Many of the writers of the middle period did more than merely say the words related to Africa. Althea Romeo, who lived in Liberia for many years, gives us a strong feel for Africa in "Ma Massa": 94 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 The sound of chopping wood resounds. Gray smoke lazily, slink out the country kitchen. The smell of burnt palm oil capture noses, and dance around the nearby houses. Evening, a shade darker, is brightened by the kitchen fire, unveiling mouths smeared with palm oil and bulging with rice, fingers crawling round greasy pan in search of last rice grains. The discussion of African presence would be incomplete without our briefly examining the way we use the "language." In the English-speaking Caribbean, we attempt to speak standard English. We also speak what is called a Creole English, or dialect, which varies from island to island in the region. It is that English that evolved from the synthesis of West African languages and the English spoken by the colonial rulers. It is our language that has been judiciously used to transmit ideas and emotions from one person to another. Ours is what Brathwaite in his History ofthe Voice dubbed nation language in contrast to "dialect" because the latter carries pejorative overtones. 5 There are some things that can only be expressed in nation language and the poetry of the middle period is representative of this fact. The writers in this period do more than retell the folktales and legends in verse; they speak of the politics, the music, the love, the sorrows, the joys, the holidays, and our heritage; and they do it well. Raymond Ross, Culturalist & Educator, St. Croix 1 Bruce King, ed., West Indian Literature (London: Macmillan, 1979) p.1. 2 Kennelh Ramchand, The West Indian Novel and its Background (New York: Barnes & Noble, 1970). 3 Edward Kamau Brathwaite, from an unpublished lecture. 4 Brathwaite, Roots (Ann Arbor: Univ. of Michigan Press, 1993) pp. 190-250. 5 Brathwaite, History ofthe Voice (London; Port-of-Spain: New Beacon Books, Ud., 1984) 95 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Tram Combs Tram Combs (1924-) Born in Riverview, Alabama, Combs was educated at the Universities of California and Chicago and later studied engineering at Harvard and MIT. Moving to St. Thomas in 1951, he established an antiquarian book business that dealt mainly with the history and literature of the Caribbean and Latin America. "sunsets poems" l image cloud festival a young dog prancing toward sunset: over paving-stones puppy and shadow beating slivers of gold spattering from around them golden airs burst nearing them- n in apricots the sky burns and the lights of town come burning gold in life's august and bronze a lizard swarms onto a brown stone and enters rites of thrust-ups to the west of flames hibiscus fold in pink spirals and papaya trees sail the wind geen "sea songs" l the ocean's flowers burn cold with sun and die without corpses ll among islands a sailing boat approaching the harbored slender stately and rising chill like alien snow take care with the terms when you lend yourself to the city: riot beauty it has, but not gentleness; it demeans what it posesses. stand off, anchor to water; have its skiffs come out. 96 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 Tram Combs Ill tern emerald maze sea-star jewel of the pelleting sun's rays how life stirs life on the beach a Negro dances a net and streams of fishlets ' silver his bucket down; dancers they spatter the beach in rithes like last words, swans' songs, firsts of new consciousness some are retaken impersonally by the waves and live on; madly for time and a tern of the air flashes like a whip end at the water boiling the while; St. Thomas, old volcano flowers passively re-forming the ordure of birds and seas stars and broken cold rock "april carnival, st. thomas" burst into life Thursday the unhuman night with ten thousand gold lights pennants and spangles and shouting songs to tune-booms and ping-pongs tinkling in tromps bury for three nights and days the darkness and the stillness of the grave us-filled in slung lights in the city's hair in star and smiling suns at ears for you and me in satins for bull-fighters and harems and lancers and soot and paint, feathers and swords, Zulus and Indians clothe in colors and fantasies like sun-shock bone, nerve and flesh and the lusive gray- matter of the world 97 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Tram Combs stamp the streets into mambo calypso, man and roll those stones into the crowd into sexual swayze the new and usual dawns will reach us down, one by one; but not yet; make-it, man! Carnival! Creole Bacchanal! "september in st. thomas" I dreamed you, San Francisco, as I lay ill around the earth driving with salt-sweet valley-running clouds rooms for gourmets and gardens museums libraries and painters poets thousands shouting loves lieder and jazz-makers swirls of sea-birds seas' winds spright-tightening the lungs and community affection against ultimate chills. dreamed you-exquisite, stimulating and affectionate to come wherever I am 98 The Middle Period: 1955- 1975 Corey Emanuel Cornelius (Corey) Emanuel (1931-) Born in New York City, Emanuel was educated in private and public schools on St. Thomas. In his senior year at Charlotte Amalie High School, he was class poet and editor of The Reflector, the school paper. He later continued his education at the Polytechnic Institute of San German and at Brooklyn Community College. His poetry has appeared in many local publications, and he has published one volume of verse, Reflections (1967). REFLECTIONS ON SEMICENTENNIAL Five decades now have passed us since the Dane, Harassed by threat of war with Germany; Unwillingly, but with no power to hold, Traded these golden isles for lesser gold. St. Thomas, of these matchless Virgin Isles Suggests to me a precious jewel laid Amongst the softly undulating folds Of emerald, blue, and ever-moving sea. The stranger's eye, accustomed to the dull And somber shades of gray metropolis, Sees in this unbelievable and bright array Oftropic color, island happiness. By night, it seems as if some carefree god Sprinkled a thousand sparkling gems across A velvet carpet spread between the hills; And when the moon is in its fullest beam Cupid might crouch beside the ancient seat Of mighty Drake, and pierce the willing hearts Of lovers in this rustic rendezvous. Then, while this visual beauty charms your eyes, Sweet scents of jasmine, frangipani too, Hibiscus, and the Lady of the Night, And hundreds of the lesser, wilder blooms Softly insinuate their fragrances To you, and often bring to mind An age when Man lived closer to his God. St. Croix, today, our largest, rarest gem, By far the most prolific of the three, Though lacking in the grandeur of the view, 99 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Corey Emanuel Aflame with verdant life, her gentle hills Bless us with fruits of sweet fertility. A sleeping sister-now she sleeps no more But stirs with promise of great industry. Leaving the quiet town of Christiansted Along the scenic North, one almost sees Columbus and his motley, starving band Grasp to their hearts this warm and gentle land. Our smallest pearl, St. John, rustic retreat From daily drudgery and all madd'ning sound; Gives to the weary or creative mind Quiet and solitude in beauty bound. This tiny isle contained the very heart Of slavery's revolt though crushed withal; And many a great house lies in crumbled ruin; Weeds flourish where exotic bay rum fields Provided wealth, nursed by those gentle hands Turned savage in the birth of Freedom's cause. But that was yesterday-today a calm, Delightful peace pervades the scenery Of Cinnamon, Trunk Bay, and elite Caneel, Fantastic Coral, and the languid Cruz. Unravished Virgin, still untouched by Fate, Denying worldly human hurt and hate. We love our home, this semi-paradise Which we have owned o'er half a century; God help us now to put all quarrels aside And join our hearts in friendly unity. THE "DOWNTOWN SENATE" (Bar Nonnandie in Frenchtown) Sweet refuge from a wife's sharp, nagging tongue, All household duties, children's howling cries; One place where man is sure to be among His peers, and drops his husbandly disguise. 'Tis said that more decisions have been made, Laws hatched, rules born within this flowing fount 100 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 Corey Emanuel Than in that hallowed hall where solons sit, Deliberate, and innocently count The minutes till each one can claim his seat And hold his own in this renowned retreat. Each type and class is represented here: Laborers, officials, doctors, law, police; A priest may visit for his drop of beer Before or after Mass. Now not the least Discrimination mars this atmosphere; Each man can freely choose his group or sphere. And many a schoolboy sticks his nose inside, Dreaming to be admitted to the "bar," Confer with peers, point to himself with pride, Established as a "Downtown Senator." TROUBLE (St. Thomas Style) While walking down the quiet streets Of Charlotte Amalie, A little boy sat on a step Crying bitterly. I stopped a while and waited Until he ceased his tears; What great misfortune could befall One of such tender years? "Perhaps your mother died?" I said, Suggesting this was what Caused him such heartfelt misery He answered "Wuss dan dat!" "Your father dead?" He shook his head And shouted "WUSS DAN OAT!" "What awful thing has happened?" He replied as if he'd choke: "I stop to play some marble And me boss rum-bottle broke!" 101 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Corey Emanuel REMNANTS Who knows- within these phantomed walls now crumbled in the dust of yesterday, what hopes were born and nurtured tenderly; or buried in disgust with the dull lethargy of everyday ... what latent joys burst flower-fresh within these darkly love-lit rooms now echo-hung with memories long dead ... who knows- what limitless emotions quickened here: the furtive touch of minds first tasting Life; rank, cancerous growths of unrequited love imploding in fierce and madly jealous hate; subconscious yearnings for that final, inward flight, hurt, disillusioned, back to the Mother-cave ... who knows these things except perhaps the ever-muted stone? SUNSET IN ST. THOMAS This gentle sunset, with its tender tones Of yellow, gold, and myriad subtle hues, Brushed on the changing canvas of the sky, Entrances all in frozen attitudes Upon my mind: a graceful sloop Bent in impossible angle to the wind Doing its pirouette on wondering waves Whose scarlet-tinted tops reflect the glow; A patient fisherman in silhouette, Mending his nets in never-ending toil, 102 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 Corey Emanuel Musing perhaps tomorrow he may be Forever lost beneath the silent sea. A group of idle sailors casting dice, Losing a week's pay with each foolish try! Oblivious to the awesome sight above OfNature in artistic majesty. I walk with you, in love, and I perceive These sights, these things, with utmost clarity; And at this moment I believe in Him, His mighty Art, His love for you and me. ME AIN'T WUKKIN' ON CHRISTMAS DAY (A Calypoem) I heah dey got big controversy Bout Xmas in St .Thomas; De gift-shop owner-dem all agree Oat touris' business come fus' Dese people won' try to understan' When dey makin' dey money wile, Oat Xmas Day is a holy day- De birthday of Mary chile. Chorus: Le' dem fire me or admire me Me ain't wukkin' on Xmas Day Me'n gon' beg ah soul to re-hire me, Me ain't wukkin' no Xmas Day. I glad de touris' full-up de place Wid every color an' creed; Some comin' in just to take a "taste" Or buy de gift wha dey need. But 'tain 't fair to me An' 'tain 't fair to you When de gift-shop owner-dem say To leave de souse an' de callaloo To go to wuk Xmas Day! Dey could make me Gov'ment Secret'ry Me ain't wukkin' on Xmas Day Dey could gimme half of de treasury, Me ain't wukkin' no Xmas Day. 103 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Corey Emanuel Dey could change de law, dey could threaten me, Me ain't wukkin' on Xmas Day! Dey could kidnap half of me family, Me ain't wukkin' no Xmas Day. A thousan' touris' could come to shop In St. Thomas on Xmas Day; I say dis stupidness got to stop Oat is not we West Indian way! We gon • stay up late, Jus' to celebrate, Drink de likker and have a ball~ Dey bes • forget it is Xmas fete An· we ain't wukkin' at all. Le' dem send policeman to haul me out, Me ain't wukkin' on Xmas Day! When he taste de rum he an' all gon' shout: "Me ain't wukkin' no Xmas Day." Dey could call me lazy or call me rude, Me ain't wukkin' on Xmas Day! But me ain't changin' me attitude, Me ain't wukkin' no Xmas Day! THE KILL Deep in the flithering dark a shadow lies, a sleek machine, crouched neatly steel-spring thighs anticipate the Kill . . . Pretty she comes, she drinks, she steals his substance centuries owned; Pretty and clean-white, Mincing-minuette, she comes to death ... a whisper-touch flicks fearful leaves: 104 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 Corey Emanuel springs tight-raged now flash sweet-slashing sabers straighter than purest thought to her dying so wait, sons of the Motherland lulu Ashanti, West Indian, American- unwilling exiles from your fertile, cultured land through ignorance, through sad disunity, through weakening tribal fear: wrapt in the seething volumes of unwanted history, unwritten. unbelieved wait, as the shadow waits in the brief darkening of a common skin; she comes, she spreads her futile beauty white~ lean she offers damning lies written in black blood on the underbelly's truth drive deep, my ancient brothers to the throbbing core the subtly vicious thrust ofunity . . . drink deep her sweet heart-wine and in the climax of this majesty your history is written in the Kill. lOS Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Jean D. Larsen Jean D. Larsen (1936-) Jean D. Larsen was born on St. Croix., where he received his primary and secondary education. He subsequently studied at Manhattan College, earning a bachelor's degree in physics. He is the author of essays, poems, short stories, and other journalistic pieces. His poems have appeared in numerous Virgin Islands periodicals, and his unpublished book, West Indian Sidewalks, was serialized in the Virgin Islands View magazine. JULY THIRTY -FIRST July dies with me Slowly In the Spring of life. She holds my hand On windswept hills Flushed Laughing at my frailty. She sings to me To still my doubts Softly Never quite saying farewell. July dies with me Rapidly In the twilight years. She laughs at the approach Of our respective ends Loudly Pitying not my slackening grip. July dies with me Faster now Bidding goodbye. Finally. Never again, AufWiedersehen. 106 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 Jean D. Larsen GRAY SKJES Whirls, swirls of wind rush by Seeking some distant low. Gray skies cap the world Of frigate birds, gulls and those who know The stroke of oar and motion of the swell. Waves break, retreat, regroup then surge Keyed to some distant impulse. The endless search goes on, Frigate bird. gull, man, pelican, For sustenance, meaning, destiny, death Even as the wind seems to know, Thither lies the low. SEARCHING 1 close my eyes Tightly Probing, Searching for Points of light. I see in my mind's eye Contrasting colors of Hands Touching. 1 hear in my mind's ear Your voice Speaking at the Heart. I feel on my mind's skin the press of graceful fingers Mapping curves of Joy My eyes open but I may never awaken. 107 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Jean D. Larsen LLAMADA Am captured by a voice Sweet Singing of gentle dreams Soft Ringing with laughter Clear Whispering of love Deep Deep Deep Below the threshold of reason. Am captured by a love Strong Can't quite understand Don't really care to for The voice of reason and The voice of love are Strangers in time. 707 BLUES On the edge of the edge Focused on the now Entrails burning with booze Looking down On square miles of clouds, And patches of sea, Bluer than sky. A planet vista Shifting slowly, Coordinates unvoiced, Between here and there And not even a sweet hello. What am I voicing? What moves away except beginnings? What receeds except hope? 108 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 Jean 0 . Larsen What moves forward except time? What approaches except death? And in between? Perhaps a smile or two. IMAGES Intense visual images Fill in the voids of longing. Pervading time time time. Turning past into present Filling valleys. Flattening hills. Emptying streams of memories into the infinity of my days without you. LOVE Love the taste of you your touch and Much More Love the sound of you your form and Much more Love the sight of you Your dreams and All 109 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Habib Tiwoni Habib TJWoni (1939-) Tiwoni was born on St. Thomas, and was educated there and at Pace University. He published his first collection of poems, Attacking the Moncada ofthe Mind, in 1970. His works have appeared in publications in China, Africa, Europe, the Caribbean. South America, and the United States. His poems have been translated into Dutch, and in 1975 he won the Calliope Poetry Theatre Award. (Calliope is an assemblage ofWestbeth-based poets in Greenwich Village). Tiwoni's second volume ofverse, Islands ofMy Mind, was published in 1975. MY BIRTIIPLACE heavier and deeper (For My Mother Margaret) than earth man Seaman I taught myself was born near the languages of a coral reef seven sea shells on a bed of sponges and made myself a in a world of beauty shekcde of sea shells surrounded by living pardon me while I things of all colors, comb my sea-moss shapes, and sizes hair and prepare (hunger I never knew) to mount my seahorse my cradle was rocked and ride off to the by ocean currents caves of the green fresh and strong moray eel in a water world where I learned that was sunny that unlike man and warm the predators kill with red/green and not for waste yellow corals soft nor cruelty but hunger and horny like me 0 the tales I could tell alongside my bed about my mother like the ocean the sea my sea-soul If time wasn't burning you could read the pages of my eyes. 110 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 Habib Tiwoni 'PON TOP BLUEBEARD CASTLE l-ULL In that jungled hill lies the ruins of adolescence (in the grassland of time) the old twisted and burnt cruder bag whose smoke sucked bees from their honey combs Ducking there in our green garden from Jack Spania's lancin' hair were peppercinnamons, male papayas, wild tamarind and casha that tore up the skin like scratches on a lover· s back But (in the jungle I was king to me the burcls carne daily to sing) Kilinke birds trottin' across the road disappearing into the white maran bush as we pitched barrages of curved stones into the pigeon berry and fiddlewood trees There our backyard bristled with broom palms, frangipani, jackocalalu, almonds, growing sweet basil and poinsetta And (in the jungle I was king to me the burds came daily to sing) until the senses awoke one day and saw their selfish signs "no trespassing." Ill Ycllow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Habib Tiwoni THE EROTICISM OF IMPERIALISM My islands were once Virgins but that was long before Iguanas laughed at their so-called Black pride. Long before yankee sailors came to burst the coconuts of native Women with their yankee dollars, And left them smelling stink of Yankee stupidity. Now Virgins no more, they bow To do the blow job of monopolies Who suck raw materials from Between their sun-kissed legs, And swallow it into their United bowels, thus making Their bodies rich, fat and prosperous. Ah, the eroticism of imperialism What warmer womb to impregnate with the germs of tourism Than that of these once Virgin Islands? Islands, listen to your native son He speaks of miscarriage and death That must surely come to the Neo-colonialists, the Germs of tourism, Somewhere near the hour of childbirth. 112 The Middle Period: 1955- 1975 Habib Tiwoni EVEN rF TiiE SEA CHAFES (For Brother Dudley Archer) Ship sal/, ship sail how many men on deck? (A Caribbean children's game) Don't tum your back on her promise me you'll return to the sea (most vibrant woman of all) at the apex of this chantey she waits for seaman you, seaman 1 ... gifted from birth with sun skin salt skin we've both studied the tapestry of the sea that rocks on white legs of sand ... (The swaying of her swollen stomach as she tosses back her seaweed hair) Concerto waves of her voice thundering (come to sea come to stare into the blue eyes of the sea) . . . forget tan' brudder man Ah sea wife waits ro· yew an' me. 11 3 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Habib Tiwoni I'M TELLING YOU Island voices dancing and steel band music crashing against the rays of the Carib sun the island shakes like the young rumps of girls and boys dressed in sun colors drenched and stained with rum ginger wine beer and Kentucky fried legs The pussy hunters (forever on the prowl) talks you to death all day all night 'bout pussy but islands are not as happy as they seem it's the old fa~e I was born here in this ocean of tears and I should know FO'DAY MANIN' (JuJiet Chase) Early I rise to catch morning's quietness when even the wind itself seems asleep fo' day manin' s mist passes through sunlight and I'm at peace like the restful leaves in this house where I was taught manners from morning to manhood. 114 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 Winifred Oyoko Loving Wurifred Oyoko Loving (1947-) Born in Boston, Loving is informally known as the "poet laureate of St. Croix." She has been an elementary school teacher oo that island for over 20 years and has also taught in England under the Fulbright Teacller Exchange Program. Graduating from Newton CoUcgc ofthe SacR:d Heart (N~ Massachusetts) in 1969, she later received a master's degree in 1972 from Wheelock College (Boston). Her poctJy has been published in a variety of periodicals and books, including the anthology Sturdy Black Bridges. Loving has published one volume of poetry, Remember When ( 1974). REMEMBER WHEN you said last nite at the table somethin' ' bout me not bein' ..quite right" for you any/ more. and that, even though you guessed you still loved me, I some/how no longer fit into your plans ... -well. 11 5 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Winifred Oyoko Loving i s' pose i cd never git across to you the d e p t h ofmy Pain or to use your words) "the nature of my frustration" by complainin' 'bout how late you been stayin'out nights or how terrifying the feeling of exclusion is, now that you're on top (of it all.) But me, i remember the joy we used to share just bein' with one another and liow good we felt simply diggin' on each other. (and how "foolish" people said we was to git married so young.) well. i remember. and now you gonna try to tell me we got to go our separate ways? say no. 116 The Middle Period: I955 - 1975 Winifred Oyoko Loving i say why can't we re-build what we already got and let our home be full of love, and life, and sharing. and giving, and purpose, and dignity, and let us plan a future yes let us plan a future that can be called ours for us and for our children. you know all i ever wanted to do was love you. Remember when?? well. ido. 117 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Winifred Oyoko Loving MOUNTAINIDGH He spoke words Warm as a tropic smile His brightness Attracted me to his heights of heaveMess /said i was only semi-happy in the valley We played, we ran Hands loosely held Through spaces of yellow sunshine He whistled while I sang The moon kissed the sun In our presence. I always wanted to climb a mountain We're almost there now I can feel the atmosphere Changing gently, I am getting used to being high on a cloud On a natural man. Being totally happy is not Unreal anymore Mountain tops are heady places To view the valley from. The aquas and greens From my head swimming love-perch Are the crispness of his kisses On my forehead In our heaven. 118 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 June Esannason June Esannason Essannason is a junior high school teacher in St. Thomas. NATIVE WOMAN You' re sweeter than guavabeny at Christmastime, Tastier than stew mutton and stuffing; Your character matches that of an Old Wife Skin, Oh Native Woman! When I look at your mesple-shaped breasts, I feel the flaming desire in my Coal Pit; And when I take your Angel-Skin body in my anns I feel like I'm holding a boiling pot ofKalalu; Your touch is like the soft caress of a Flamboyant Tree, And you're dangerous as a Crab With a big Gundee! Yes, Native Woman. lbat:'s what you are to me. 119 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Willie Wilson Willie Wilson (1948 ~) An author and teacher, Wilson was born in Rye, New York, and moved to St. Thomas when he was ten years old. He attended All Saints School in St. Thomas and Colegio San Justo in Puerto Rico and received a bachelor's degree in literature from Boston University as well as a master's degree in creative writing from Hollins CoUege in Virginia. In 1991 he was a recipient ofthe Christa McAulifre Fellowship. His publications include Fungi Factory and Other Island Quandaries ( 1992) and Up Mountain One Time ( 1987), a novel that he adapted for both stage and television. He currently teaches elementary school and dramatics at Antilles School, where he has also served as dean of faculty. THATCH CAY A distant green virgin I am walking rolls, her breath on sea rocks; touches me tongues roll and but is too much. growl in rock pockets My toes tum up casting spray from the blistered lava on shells that rim each like ten tired red eyes like teeth. that have tried to reason why Bearded cactus a thin bud, shadow me like wizards having at last pushed and nod at waves and the through white break of gull flocks the rock slit that tuck only yawns, and dive waiting for the nibble to gullet fish of a goat's lip. like silver spoons. THE WAY YOU PUT ME DOWN You say you own the ocean, that this is your season, and like a typhoon you stonn out, leaving me like a sampan in the South China Sea. 120 The Middle Period: 1955- 1975 Willie Wilson You veer north, shoulder your way up the blind coast, taking your havoc with you, taking both my oars. And I thank you. Believe me, we all thank you: The chair unbraces, the broom's hickory collapses in the closet, the dust settles and whispers to the floor. Silence finds its way home and curls into the comers like burlap. Girl, we all need your brand oftorture at times-and I love you for it. I love the way you leave me, the way you put me down, oarless, rudderless. adrift. sinking in your sea, till I've gotten to your bottom, till I've forgotten who you are. WORDS FOR MY MOTIIER The tail end of four brothers, you carne into the world like a peach bound to blush. your world the hush of dinner gowns, Farmington and six Great Danes. You never bruised; you were a lady, you walked your perfect stallion and it carried you, carried you, carried you. At twenty-one, life found you in the greenhouse, cornered you, and took root. 121 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Willie Wilson An accidental orchid, it cast a spell. Your bewildered carriage became a cart, a wooden shadow he kept in tow. A shattered china vase, your wished your fragments you wished your water you wished your roses back (dreaming like a gypsy of melons, moonshadows and a swayback mare. He pitched your tent on the lawn courts. You turned tea leaves for the heiress while he, dark and dreamy, threw dice from the highwire above the eighteenth hole. He threw for you. He put palm oil on them, put blood on them, put wrist ... threw them) for twenty years. Together you moved on, found your island and found yourself, sitting unhinged among the natives with your silver service, your grandfather clock, a seashell in each ear. He found you a beautiful boat with a glassbottom, invited you aboard, then disappeared down the wharf. And that was it. I was barefoot and ten with my marbles, my iguanas. Too young you say? Yes, but I saw it. And yes, I have seen you in the shop selling their best music box 122 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 Willie Wilson and in the palm arcade, the mulatto pantomime passing your way. Or at sunset, back in time for a soapbox serial, a calypso rhyme, a wistful scotch or three, the dogs and cats about your feet. Ycs, I have seen you, and I have seen the lash and the swipe leave their mark, leaving you to fidg~ watching lizards in the dark. Yes, r ve seen it. And yes, rve put away the marbles, I've set the iguana free, But I'm holding on to my bare feet and I'm speaking. Mother, it's not time yet. The evening surrounds the porch, surrounds us bo~ but it lies. Your words sail into it, clean, clear, light. Yes, fresh linen, yes, teUing me there's a burro in the yard eating all the hibiscus. And I tell you it's not too late, give him the poinsettia too, saddle him with moonlight, Jet him carry you, carry you, carry you. 123 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Isidro A. Gomez. Jr. Isidro Antonio Gomez, Jr. (1951- 1988) Gomez graduated from Sts. Peter and Paul High School on St. Thomas in 1971 . He studied journalism at Fordham University and had a daily colunm in the Virgin Islands Home Journal. AMERICAN PARADISE (but for whom?) Towering condominiums; Restricted beaches; Tourist-beaten streets; Golden sunsets- But where is the native? Master-mind corporations; Tax exemptions And above mainland prices But where is the native and What does he have? Rambling winter homes; Spacious resorts and Twenty-four-hour room service . . . Silvery sunrise: I am a native and I want a darn big piece of the pie! 124 The Middle Period: 1955- 1975 Clement White Omtt!lll A. While (1946-) White is a tenured associate professor in the Department of Modem and Classical Languages & Literature at the University of Rhode Island. Born on St Thomas, be attended Charlotte Amalie High School and the then College of the Virgin Islands, where he received his associate ofarts degree. Later he received both a bachelor's and master's degree in Spanish/Latin American literature from Kent State University, and a doctorate in latin American literature from Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island. He has published widely in both Spanish and English; major roccnt publications include "Two Nations, One Vision: America's Langston Hughes and Cuba's Nicolas Guillen" (co-authored with his wife Dr. Jeannette White), which appeared in the Langston Hughes Review (May 1993), and Decoding the Word: Nicolas Gull/en as Malrer and DebunlrerofMyth (Ediciones Universal. 1993). JUMBEE JUBILEE Ah saw a jumbec back in May While walkin' by ole Stumpy Bay; Lookin' at me he shake up he head, Laughin' spiritually, "You don dead." Ah bite may fingah to test he word Foh deat' is a ting ah cam 't afford, Feeling the pain may teeth had inflict, Ah say, "You does lie too much, 'tis a trick." "No," he said, showing me he rusty big cup, "Come, let's drink to it-for yo' time is up:' Ah say, "Gimme five minutes, Ah won't be late, But me ain' t comin' now, Ah don' have a date, With no-teeth Tilda. dey gurl from town, Who don· say to com· we goin · have some fun ." 'Tis only then dey jumbee check he time, "Tilda, yo· say? But her life too is mine." Then dey Fort clock soun • out twelve midnite reaJ bold; So Ah mus' sen· dat spirit back in he hole. So spinnin' three times Ah tum may back to he, Saying, "Jumbec, Jumbee," den Ah was set free! To meet Tilda in dey graveyard by dat sweet mango tree! 125 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Bertica Hodge-Hendrickson Bertica Hodge--Hendriclcson (1949-) Born on St. Thomas, Bertica Hodge Hendrickson graduated tiom the then College of the Virgin Islands with a bachelor's degree in English. Currently she teaches English honors classes and African-American literature at Charlotte Amalie High School. YELLOW CEDAR (Territorial Flower of the U.S. Virgin Islands) Pop Pop Little bells Yellow bells Ring out your beauty. I admire you Like a lover Afraid to speak For fear you will Go away and Never bear Beauty anymore. Seeds in bean pods Burst open Like the dawn of Spring. They fall To the ground Pop Pop Flop, And scatter Where they Nourish on tropical ground. When rain clouds gather Little trees grow Round your feet, A colony of your kind Lives on To add yellow, To shine like the sun If we let them. 126 The Middle Period: 1955- 1975 Bertica Hodge-Hendrickson NEW LIGHT I look into the red of the setting sun At history in a new light At Columbus raping the virgin lands Exchanging virginity For beads and useless nothings At nations raping the virgin lands With slavery and sugar industry Everyman Was taking his tum To rape the virgins Impregnating each island With a new breed Of European. Asian Chinese and African At the end of the sunset The islands joined To give birth To the now WEST iNDIAN. 127 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Bertica Hodge-Hendrickson SUN OF ST. THOMAS And the sun strikes on the dead To awaken what's left Of the inhabitants Of a tiny dot of an island Called St. Thomas And the sun sets An explosion of fire Over the dot On the inhabitants Who want to sleep if they can. And the sun is a product of St. Thomas The people Exploit the sun. And the people Sell sun Sun and rum Fun in the sun Of St. Thomas And one day The sun refuses to shine On StThomas A boom or doom No longer in bloom The end of the tourist boom For St. Thomas And the sun strikes On the sleepers and dreamers To awaken what's left Of St. Thomas. t28 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 Bertica Hodge-Hendrickson FINDINGS I came back And found that To identify myself Was to be militant; To express was irresponsible they say; They say, gc them some money and sec how fast they shut up. Responsiblility you see is for de man on de hill wid fence round he house and iron round be window. He money is King And he is responsible for we. POEM Come all ye faithful Disillusioned peoples To America's paradise The isles in the sun And don't forget to smile It makes a difference. Come and join the fun game Of politics where men play Chess with people's lives, Where the winners treat the losers To a testimonial dinner At $10 a plate. Come and enjoy the lovely Sparkling not so free beaches If you didn't get too much Super tan spilled on you. Be faithful Perhaps you 'II get schools built on beaches Or houses built in mud Named in your memory. 129 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Bertica Hodge-Hendrickson Help to pollute the air And water in America's paradise, Where litter-bugs are tax exempt And some criminaJs keep law And order, where there is no wild, wild west Except when it's alien round up time. Come and obtain a membership In the smiling disillusioned souls' club And get lost while looking for America's paradise. Stay awhile while you hope to find it, While it continues to stay lost With each new bulldozer. AUlHORJTY Get off the hills You authority on Pollyberg(Tutu Savan/Simon Fann/Bordeaux Who you think you are? With your three cars latest model, Air-conditioned for the weather Suit and tie at 85 degrees The glass is up so you won't and don't hear And the heat pours down The teacher-less schools and hospitals remain ... But you maintain your tie And never change; Even at 88 degrees You won't listen. In November you talk From a script over/used and mis/used Of what you didn't do and will not! Who you fooling? The trap is here Even in the showcase! 130 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 Judith Peets JudiJir Puts NEVER DYING TIME Work, work, work my son Time does fly fast so, Make your bed faster You' re the one who's slow. Play, my unhappy children by the green-blue sea, Build make-believe castles Under sea-grape tree. Green banana, plantain Take so long to grow, Hurry, Harvcs' season Soon to pick mango. Mammy wake up 'fo day maming To sell couple banana bread Walking through de hillside Sale pan on her head. Hurry fastah woman, Cheren home to feed .. Mammy, a wan watah ..." "He .. . chew dis mango seed." In me younger days, me son Oh, we had to hurry so! Get up ' fo day maming 'til you jus' can't go no mo. But up til modem time still lives Never Dying Time; Yes, up 'til dis time today Mama picking lime. 131 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Judith Peets ESPECIALLY FOR YOU In the embrace of your wannth I meet the sky Ascending like a crescendo Needing the ecstasy of the winds that cease to blow I am longing to begin a song in my mind That'll hold you to me A melody keeping you close, Like a symphony I'll not trade with the coolness of the wind for a love that is not yours But I will listen to its song, "To you I b:=long'' A glowing mountain' ere so high Maintains a subtle challenge under the sky That'll not descend ... True, My love is like the Universe That'll never end . . . As long as there is you . . . Especially you. 132 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 Judith Peets MAHOGANY BIRDS What's de new name for roaches What· s dat name again Dem ting, does insects dat roam in herds Dem ting wa does be like scavengers A trying toe remember ... Yah-h-h Mahogany Birds! But how did dca arrive at dat name Yo mean toe tell me dat dem well-known scavengers Are still maintaining their fame! Dis melee occurred in de tourist season When a tourist decided fo no particular reason Toe see if he could distort Mahogany Birds features Not knowing he was destroying indigenous creatures Up come another scavenger lnfonning des idiot like graduate scholar "Why are you trying to fumigate these animals That are much like us two-footed manunals Don't you know it is no good to extenninate the birds Or disturb their rest with slanderous verbs You see ... long ago in our history As was passed on to my forefathers and me There were no birds of this species in our islands lbat could create a breeze for brother man When they flew in, They generated the island winds by flying around flapping their wings If you wanted one to match your furniture You simply had to invite one of them to stay over They came in black. white, beige, and mostly brown They were so useful we let them stay in town. Thereafter we called them "Mahogany Birds" Every man respected those honorable words They nested within the Mahogany trees Ready and willing to strike up a breeze So at anyone·s slightest whim They would cool him off by flapping their wings So don't squash or mash the loyal creatures 133 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Judith Peets They come into our homes to look for food We allow this to show our gratitude." He touched their hearts with his history And tourist decide to buy from he Dese mammals that flowed in by de herds- Dese rare, indigenous creatures . . . Mahogany Birds I don't know how de ge dem board de ship . . . But you know A gentleman found one in his spot of tea When he attempted to take sip! Onward they sailed, onward home Anybody who had food toe eat wasn't alone Dem lecherous creatures ate everyting toe de bone Now how I understan it dae were trying toe get a tan Jumped overboard, went fo a swim and with a swish Change intoe flying fish! Look no ... le me end dis story here Because no restaurant ain gon decide toe serve me Well-browned flying fish . . . And call it indigenous Mahogany-Bird Dish! 134 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 J. Kimwatsi J. Kimwatsi 1lfE SLAVE THOUGHT I want to run But there's nowhere to go I want to be free But the chains don't think so I sweat and strain My body in pain Put me in a grave If it's better than being a slave. My heart beats faster Day by day Just thinking of freedom After I run away I cry and bleed While I plant the seed If I can't be free Hang me from your highest tree. I sleep and dream Wake up and scream Take me for a trip Away from the whip. Yes, I's a black-nigger-slave for you now But let me go! For my body and soul is destined to learn how. And you sit there Not hearing my plea When you know damn well I've got to be free! 135 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry J. Kimwatsi CHANGE Change meh son change ah real change baby don't stay baby all he life change dollar bill don't fit in can soda machine you need change so change Change meh son change you ain't see deah volkswagen dem change how come you don't change deh stop light duz change donkey don't bray deb same bray everyday you can't go in deh water deh same place twice the tide duz change (how come you don't change for real) Birds duz change ... a real change the moon duz change ... a real change the season and time duz change ... a real change How come you don't change for real. Change man change not like from fab to tide but ah real change that is unchangeable change man change change for real and you'll see ah change. 136 The M1ddle Period. 1955- 1975 Althea Romeo-Mark Althm ROitti!O-Mark (1948-) Romeo-Mark was born in Antigua and in 1956 moved wtth her family to St Thomas, where she attended elementaiy and secondary school. She later graduated from the University ofthe Virgin Islands and Kent Stale Uruversity A poet and short story writer, she has four books of predominantly verse. Shu Shu Moko Jumbi (1974), Palaver. West Indian Poems (1978); Two Faces. Two Phases· Poems and Short Stories (1984), and Beyond Dreams: The Ritual Dancer (1988). Other poems and short stories have been published in anthologies in the United States, the Caribbean, West Afiica, and Gennany She served as assistant professor of English at the University ofLaberia and taught in the Pan-African Studies Department at Kent Stale A funner secretary-general of the L1beria Associanon of Writers, Romeo-Mark has participated in the BreadloafWriter's Confurencc/Workshop, the Cuyahoga's Writer's Workshop, and ochers. She currently lives m Swttzcrland. PALAVER WITII PAPA GOD The plantain in the pot is all we got to share, Papa, This year we Jive without the joys of harvest. Plenty, plenty seasons change they minds like men, We never know when. Bellies rumbling to the drums of hunger. They grumble, grumble like old village women sitting at the bend of the road looking at their empty calabash bowls. The dry barren land lies in wah for the rain to come; Each dny a new crack parts the clay like sugar cakes. 137 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Althea Romeo-Mark We pray for rain, We pray for flood, Papa God, forgive us we will even eat the mud, It is the good earth. You say the good earth will provide .. . We want for the rain to come, to come, Our calabash bowls are empty, So are our wells, Hunger is marching in our stomachs, He dwells there like a demon. The drums are louder, Papa! Louder Louder, We pray for the rain to come to come down Like a hammer, Papa. 138 The Middle Period: 1955- 1975 Althea Romeo-Mark SHU SHU MOKO JUMBI inion I am descending the thoughts silent of wisdom. spirit. I silent wait dancing upon your "chi'' spirit. your personal "chi" You your own personal "CHf' do not to come hear and dance or with me, see me with me move. in silence, You ln silence-dancing, know dancing-in silence. that Weare lAm silent, I silently dancing AM silently dancing spirits, the dancing silently we are. word lAM which the possesses silent your eyes. dancing spirit. I hold it 139 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Althea Romeo-Mark SUKANAH I. I've come II. Climbing out window, lD away shadow less from in moonlight, the singing of shoe-shine men, I touch ground, cricket screams, run, pounding mortar elastic in my freedom in backyards, which ends glaring moon eyes. at the coming of sunlight. Silence in my house III. I catch fish speaks under the reefs of peace; and my woman cannot eat, whom I keep have no pockets sleeps, or body head hanging over to hold it. a cot rim, I dream hours. she grunts, IV. I must breath dressed in rum ' return in a restless dream. to the prison I've come of skin m away in a dim house. from v. My woman smothering scenes, sits shed my coat, on the edge drop my pant; of her cot it lies empty and laughs of me. like a demon; I rip my shirt, she speaks peel off underwear ' of evil, shed my skin; I hear evil, my spirit breathes see evil. free of man's life once more. 140 The Middle Period: 1955- 1975 Althea Romeo-Mark VI. Mywoman has salted my skin knowing I cannot go back m to it dried, dead, brittle breaking into nothing. She knows I will die as man, as spirit without body. NEW CLOTHES/NEW MIND I must When I leave work today, have Hot, choked and sweating body and spirit In my tie and coat, or I'm going home wander in the night, To slip on my dashiki. fly away I'm a revolutionary from the voices After my office hours. of men Check me out for advice. at day. We will talk about VII. My woman Changing the islands believes And me Retaining our culture. evil for lam Sukanah, man who sheds his skin after the death of day. 141 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Althea Romeo-Mark MAMASSA I. You could see She sends her wards off that she had had her share one-a big basin of life's burdens- of hall a and doughnuts when she opened weighing down his small head, and retied her lappa, another-pushing a wheelbarrow her wrinkled, stretch-marked stomach loaded with assorted dukahfleh. seen fleetingly, ' They will be gone all day. said she had done her duty. She follows them Her bare breasts, soon after flat on chest, with a train of helpers were not those toting pigfeet seen in Penthouse or Playboy and salted meat, magazines. smoke fish and boney, Despite all that bitter balls and pepper, her face looked young; small packets of macaroni, it bore very little signs and bene seeds, of aging; yet, all sorts of needs, she had had no facelifts, the odds and ends used no Oil of Olay, Ponds, that bring dividends; nor Noxema Cream. and she won't forget She had no visions of the out-dated newspapers looking like starlets and cement-coated wrappers, on T.V. and cinema screens. a toddler holding on securely They simply said to her falling lappa. "she was tight." Ill. At the market II. She works hard when business is slow from birth of day her friends scratch frying halla and doughnuts and plait each other's hair at five a.m., the finishing touch, getting children a look so debonair, off to school- defying sidewalk salons eight of them and costly dents in pockets. have survived They exchange news, through God's grace both good and bad, and country medicine. sing each other· s joys and wail each other's sorrow. 142 The Middle Period: 1955 - 1975 Althea Romeo-Mark They cook their rice and soup and feed and change their young. Ah yes, they sweat it out in the heat of the mid-day sun and feel it as it slowly takes its leave, welcoming the evening breeze, MAROONED calculating the day's in-take. Brown woman Who said this life would be in pink dress as sweet as cake. sits under gaze The sound of chopping wood resounds. of sun god Gray smoke lazily, slink out legs stretch the country kitchen. across green bench The smell of burnt palm oil during fickle spring; capture noses, and dance around her hair the nearby houses. is a neglected garden Evening, a shade darker, the locks is brightened by the kitchen fire, of a woman unveiling mouths smeared who mourns with palm oil and the dead, bulging with rice, the locks fingers cmwling round greasy pan of a castaway soul in search of last rice grains. culture starved Her face- battle scarred tired but serene, mail order bride? and speechless among refugee? the screaming, souvenir screeching., of tropical hohday heat? happy, angry, I pray sleepy, sun god children' s voices. does not blink for she, lost in a sea of pale faces, would drown in the cold. 143 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Dimitri L. Copemann Dimitri L Copemann (1953- ) A multi-talented Crucian, Copemann is a visual artist, a musician, a song writer, a band leader, a poet, and a teacher. He is also a prolific writer who has published numerous poems in local magazines, newspapers, and anthologies, among them the two volumes ofthe University ofthe Virgin Islands' Within a Golden Grove. Along with several others, he e FIRST CRY .. . Lazy ... quiet ... a btuesy new day Dawn has blossomed The fields empty ...... then, A shout . . . a falsetto cry Now the working day has just begun. First one slave, Then . . . Another Crack of the whip .. . Another cry followed by a holler, orders being shouted echoing among the countryside .. . this brings us into the lowdown blues. 144 The Middle Period: 1955- 1975 Dinutri L. Copemann A SAXOPHONE SPEAKS ... a saxophone doesn't play Out from the darkest, deepest on promises funkiest. most soulfulcst nightclub it plays on Truth, Spirit and in Harlem. oo soul ... pressures, and the hatred of the because ifs a part American Ideal is brought in of you, it's a part winds of of life ... only singing disgust, shame, total vexation its joys and its sorrows, until I sing songs of revolution. to us all. but, you howl, scream, wail, at the empty and sensitive faces ... minds ... caressing me with a repeating musical structure ... you play the blues? ahh ... the sound is fat and cool or sometimes wann. IN A SILENT WAY he speaks to me as an adviser (For Miles Davis) or counselor, In a silent way releasing notes make our marks of comfort. We For all then, Eternity ... again he's angry and violent he makes the rhytluns boil, when Laughter the American Ideal .. Not screams. doesn't favor him. the saxophone As we see run across falters, squeaks and bends a great white plain Blue Haze tortured souls with .. . anger, the sudden rushes of notes, into swallowing themselves in shame locked away in old suitcases the player's face wrinkled with pain, he goes crazy melodies search the Blue Haze. down and the crowd Crash, says, "yeah brother, heavy Smash against the get down, do yuh Old notebook, jagged thang" . .. and all, then he even moans Eyes wild at the Filmore and a a bit more. Poor man's lunch On the Comer 145 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Dimitri L. Copemann crouching beneath the passing crowd TilE PROJECTS black girls and hooded pimps black shudder at the subway in dream explosions the heart's eyes, ~~old-green-black, rhythm Screams dream-explosions ... Longing screams blast off apartments dried and bleached The crumbling wallpaper ... in a tropical decadence . . . are we today's American truth reggae-rhythms or lie? shaking from dread arch-corridors That horn lives moving the streets in ah.. 146 The Middle Period: 1955- 1975 Dimitri L. Copemann ride the tradewinds into the mind, dread songs building fires in youthful hearts, ganja fumes incense the shadows . into moving spirits leaping at passmg questions .. . black faces reflecting the majesty of the sun brown faces squeezed and dried of all humanity, dread songs SOUL OF WOUNDED KNEE . black and brown laughter Sam isn't green, really, scramble towards the azure sea .. . He is just dark refusing the politics of a dying When light seems to tenement yard ~ ask too much. harbour view, keMedy, "red brick," From out ofdried hills harrigan, all of them, concrete ... and worn reservations a brave aspirations in tattered jeans future buds in concrete appears. 3-dimensionsal colours 1ne women sing and moan waiting to harden and crack in the Indians' nocturne blossomed petals across lonely plains, wracked only to be scattered in the same to the soul, the ravaged garden. Rhythms no longer excite ... feathers bruised, scattered blow to far off cities to tell a tale of misery. Knees, scarred, bleeding from the soul, crying from the heart. Who is the young brave that stands so firm wtth setting moon at his back ... and the night passes him by leaving some of him for the day? 147 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Winston Nugent Winston Nugent MASSA DAY DONE DEAD dem days me pickennies massah day done dead was de time o' tribulation . .. come pickermies o' burden dem days done dead look pon de ole man an' much pickennies never wish to be like he dem days done gone look pon de strain in wid de wonders o' me roots he eyes an' membah aaahhh! muh pickennies dat wuk an' hard wuk nub look so sad. alone constitute de blisters day yuh see aaahhh! pickermies weep not fo' dis ole man done mek river from tears dat right now war ships line dat river bank like jackspannah restin' unpredictable pon dcm nest look pon de hair pon dis head THE MONGOOSE dats de field o' dead ancestors the bun to de core o' dem bones mongoose has like rotten peanuts trying to an African heritage survive de parching cycle he aaahhh! poor pickermies was a slave de one foot yuh lookin' pon to dats de pay fo' long survival the come now me poor pickeMies snakes. massah day done dead dats de reason why ah ole man like meself will tell yuh all 'bout de days massah had fo' heself dem days pickcrmics o' me seed dem days is me half dead body here lookin' pon yuh all 148 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 17te ContonporaryP~: 1976-/995 Two words best capture the changes that have transformed the Virgin Islands in the last twenty-four years: growth and development. In 1970, the political landscape was drcunatically altered by the territory's first popular election of a governor, Dr. Melvin H. Evans. This milestone of self-governance was followed in 1972 by a federal law that provided for the Virgin Islands to send a non-voting delegate to Congress. The Constitutional Authorization Act in 1976 paved the way for constitutional conventions in 1971-72, 1977-78, and 1980-81 , but draft and constitutions failed to win support of a majority in both 1979 and 1981 . In 1982, voters showed a preference for reviewing the status options prior to deciding on a constitution, so in 1993 a much delayed status referendum was held, yielding inconclusive results because of the low voter turnout. Thus, in tenns of political self determination, this period is marked by two significant gains: an elected governor and a delegate to Congress, and by two unresolved issues: a constitution and a status preference. Also by 1970, two major legislative acts changed the islands' social structure by extending the rights of non-citizen workers from the Eastern Caribbean, known as "aliens.·· The first law enabled their spouses to live here with them, and the second law enabled their children to attend public schools. One immediate result was that by 1980, public school enrollments bad quadrupled. Another important long term result is that a significant number ofWcst Indians arc now residents, rooted in Virgin Islands soil and enriching the already fertile indigenous culture. The population growth of the 1960s continued at an unprecedented rate during the next two decades. In 1970, the general population was about 75,000-up from 32,000 in 1960-and up to 96,000 in 1980. The trickle of mainlanders "became an invasion," and native Virgin Islanders became a minority. There was a corresponding growth in tourism as well. For instance, one account notes that in 1960, 56,000 cruise ship passengers visited our shores. By 1980, the number had multiplied to over a million. By 1990, the combined arrival rates of air and cruise passengers was 1,943,000. In response to the growing needs, many facilities and institutions were extensively extended or upgraded. For instance, the then College of the Virgin Islands opened a St. Croix branch campus in 1972; the runway of the Alexander Hamilton Airport on St. Croix was extended to 10,000 feet in 1990, and the Cyril E. King Airport on St. Thomas underwent a major renovation from 1978 to 1992. On September 17, 1989, Hunicanc Hugo struck the Virgin Islands with devastating force, leaving in its wake damages in excess of one billion dollars. On St. Croix, 90% of the buildings suffered structural damage. While the recovery from the hurricane 149 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry is virtually complete, limited natural resources and an overburdened infrastructure are ongoing concerns, arising from the demands of an ever growing populace. The rich diversity of the contemporary population is evident in the poets appearing in this section. Among the native-born islanders are several St. Thornians, including Wanda Mills, an architect, and Carol Henneman, a teacher. Crucians include Monique Clendenin, a communications specialist; and Richard Schrader, a customs inspector. Poets who migrated here from other Caribbean islands include Alfredo Figueredo, a teacher/philosopher originally from Cuba; S. B. Jones-Hendrickson, an economist from St. Kitts; and Mark Sylvester, a librarian from Dominica. From the contingent of poets who carne here from "northern climes'' are Arnold Highfield, a linguist and scholar who carne to St. Croix in the 1960s~ Marty Campbell, a mathematician and "bead man," who relocated in the late 1970s~ and David and Phillis Gershator, teachers and writers who now live on St. Thomas. The differences in the poets' backgrounds should not obscure what they have in common. For one thing, they all share a strong publication history beginning with the inclusion of many of their works in local anthologies, several initiated in the late 1980s or early 1990s. From the pages of The Caribbean Writer, first issued in 1987 by the University of the Virgin Islands, we find the plaintive love song ..Dey Music Gawn" by Barbara Callwood and Patricia Fagan's "Daydreams on a Subway Train." This reminiscence echoes Claude MacKay's classic "The Tropics in New York" and reminds us that there are many native Virgin Islanders-Fagan, for example, was born on St. Thomas-who now live elsewhere, but who nevertheless keep horne in their mind's eye. From the first volume in the Collage series, we see Richard Schrader's heartfelt lament "Is This St. Croix?" It is a melancholy assessment of the radical changes of the recent past. From Collage Two we see Tamarind's vigorous poem "Post-Hugo Madness," which reminds us of the social disruption that followed that disaster. From the weekly column entitled "Poetry Corner" in Caribbean Impressions we find Vivian Bennerson's poem "The Steel Pan," which reminds us that the line between Virgin Islands culture and West Indian culture often blends, and from the magazine The Voice, we see Tregenza Roach ·s sensitive portrait 'The Fowl Keeper" and Carol Henneman ·s praise poem to Zora Neale Hurston. If we are not too exacting, the subjects of these poems can be loosely classified into a few broad groupings. First are poems about nature. While it is true that the islands-with all the development-are less green, still much beauty remains. Meditations on the tropical landscape are foremost in Amy MacKay's serene 150 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 recollection "Sunday" and in Arnold Highfield's lush and elegant aubade "Morning Garden Princesse," while Phillis Gershator explores the allure and danger of the sea surrounding us. As can be expected. Hurricane Hugo and its aftennath are a major preoccupation-as seen in Gary Harold's "Hurricane'' and Tamarind' s "Post Hugo Madness," which personifies the island after A vengeful Hurricane Lashed away at her lsland- Herheart, Leaving it bare and bitter, Like a sour kenip. Guy Stiles' "The Blooming" ends on an affinnative note as 1t describes a flame tree, shocking after a hurricane has stripped it bare and even more startling when ... the bright red blossoms begin to bloom as if forgetting it was out of season. A polemic stance marks the many poems that look to the past P,ithcr to evoke nostalgia, to commemorate pivotal historical events, or to extol revered ancestors and heroes. Oriefand rage darken the tone ofMoniquc Clendenin's "Coves" and Lenhardt's "The Death We Have Become." Both poets cry out against those who come to plunder and pollute the land and bemoan the losses of the native Virgin Islander- losses of their land, their heritage, and their economic control. The historical figures of Queen Mary and Buddhoe inspire the contemporary writer in Jones-Hendrickson's "On the Road to Frederiksted.." and they appear in c. g. richard's "the looking glass," a call to black men and women to "wake up [and] wipe your eyes." More contemporaneous figures are recognized in Vincent Cooper's "For Carlton Barrett," a tribute to Bob Marley's drummer, and in Joseph Lisowski's "A Man for the People," which recalls the inspirational rhetoric of Gilbert Sprauve, a former senator; and in David Gershator's moving "Elegy for Val," written in memory of Valentine Penha, a beloved St. Thomian. Ordinary folks and relatives are not overlooked: Wanda Mills celebrates and lyrically embraces black men in her "Homme Noir." 151 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry The island culture, especially music and carnival, is conspicuous in numerous poems, either as a backdrop, as in Marvin Williams' "Jou'vert Morning Bacchanal," or as a central theme, as in Helen Sackey's nostalgic poem "Scratchy Band Dance." Both of these poems also effectively render the vernacular to convey the local idiom. Successful representations of oral speech are also evident in Rael Sackey's "Nowa-daze" and poems by Henneman and Schrader, among others. All in all, this contemporary section sparkles with the richness and diversity of poetry in the Virgin Islands today. From the simple to the complex, from the lyrical to the polemic, from the bitter to the serene, these poems crackle with energy, imagination, and insight. Although many of these poems look back to the "good ole days," many others find cause for celebration in the here and now. Roberta Knowles University of the Virgin Islands 152 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Monique Clendinen MoniqueC/mdinm (1959-) A fonner editor and managing editor ofthe Sr. Croir A vis, Clendinen was bom and raised on St Croix. She is a graduate ofSt Joseph's High School and the University of Detroit An entrepreneur and consultant, Clendinen also tracbes speech and communications part time at the University ofthe Virgin Islands. Her poetry has appeared in various local periodicals, and she was a contributing author of the collection Hear Wha · Ah Seh (1984). She has also been a book reviewer for The Caribbean Writer. COVES There are coves and enclaves of my paradise I had not known to exist Pockets of beauty not yet encroached by those seeking to plunder and pollute for the sake of pleasure seekers seeking paradise Memories of home as it used to be still, quiet and fulfilled engulfing me in its warmth dazzling me in its magnificence caressing and soothing mywearybody wiping tears from my blood shot eyes. 153 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Monique Clendinen IF I. .. If I were a young African woman, long ago, in the lands of our forefathers And you were an African king, a young, strong black man By chance one day you would see me alone by the river Cleansing my body from the day's impurity and you would desire to bathe with me. I would be honored and not be afraid to touch your strong, ebony manhood, the pride of our future generations. I would never expect to take the place of your queen .... But our expression of love even if it blossomed into another human being would remain something sacred tome. Ifl were a young slave woman long ago, on our West Indian island And you were also a captive young, strong black man By chance one day as you visited my home with your plantation's master You would see me alone under the grove of tamarind trees Sleeping and resting my body from the day's work and you would desire to sleep with me. I would be honored and even welcome your strong, but gentle arms as a place to rest my head. I would not be afraid to love you and dream with you of freedom the freedom of expression that captivity could never erase I would never expect to take the place of your woman .... 154 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Monique Clendinen But our expression of love even if it blossomed into another human being would remain something sacred tome. I am a young black woman now, in the lands that our people still struggle to call our own. You are a strong, black man. By chance one day you would see me alone beside the clear blue water of our home Looking at you with questioning eyes and you would desire to love me. I would be honored, but I would be afraid for our freedom of expression has been shattered ... And if we did love, our expression would remain something sacred tome even if profaned by the world around us. DRUMBEAT In the silence of the night. I can hear it calling, Calling me away in the middle of the night. Calling me away as it did years ago Years ago in the land of my forcbearers, Steal Away! Runaway! Runaway to ah-wee freedom! Steal Away! Runaway! Runaway to ah-wee freedom! 155 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Monique Clendinen (UNTITLED) Have you ever seen a flower explode? small, beautiful, serene bursting into a million colors? Have you ever felt a heartbeat stop? consistent sure life-filled, stilled into silence? Have you ever seen clouds in summer refusing to give rain to sun-parched earth? needed wanted now insensitive to all other feeling? Have you ever heard the alarm of the moment? soft reticent silent clamoring into sound? Then you never saw the eyes of my mother, as she looked at the mutilated body of my brother, as her hand felt for his dying heartbeat, as she looked to me for assurance and she found only silence. 156 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 e.g. richards c. g. richards (1958 -1989) Clayton Gregory "Askia" Richards was born and raised in Frederiksted, St. Croix. He received his early education at St. Patrick & St. Joseph's High School and later earned a bachelor's degree in English from Howard University. Richards was a poet and activist whose works appeared in both local and stateside publications, including Watu (Cornell University) and Hear Wha 'Ah Say. He was the first native-born director of the St. Croix Chamber of Commerce. "this silence" beneath this silence this calm that stretches across the boundaries of tolerance, this muteness that reaches out to embrace souls that feel the heartaches of our existence beneath this silence deep in the cradle of my bosom a light shines on a distance a bright, red flame flickers inconspicuously beneath this silence down in the depths of my heart a volcano bubbles boils up slowly builds up to the rim of an oversized caldron that simmers under the heat of oppression or explodes? 157 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry e.g. richards "the looking-glass" goodmamin' i am your looking-glass i bring no news no story no lies no propaganda no melee i am only real i can only reflect reality. if you are black i will only reflect regal black faces ofblack women of black men of black people ofblack moods of mixed moods of frustrations. . . 1 am your mtrror a reflection of you i can only show you yourselves ourselves. no mascara no eyebrow pencil no lipstick can distort reality. no minstrel face no white mask can shield black minds from the essence of ourselves. i am your looking-glass a reflection of you wakeup wtpe your eyes of its sleeping sunder look around you 158 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 e.g. richards -can you see?- where is Queen Mary where is General Buddhoe where is Kanta and Claes and cast where is Ourstory? i am your looking-glass 1 am you we us wake up clean your eyes of its yampi look around you --can you see?- where have our black values gone where have our black principles gone where have our black morals gone "weh dem deh, 'pa dem gone?" "the wanderers" yes we too have wandered -nomads of the sahara hunters of the congo to shackled shores the pain tales of whips that cracked the hearts of men. 159 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry e.g. richards fatherless motherless leaderless -like this- we deadwalked from our doorsteps to the dry grass the sable sand the angry seas that dumped us on trading blocks wet with sweat, wet with blood swimming down the weary pillars with the speechless pains of this human market place. in ships in stench mscum in shit packed tight like canned sardines we sailed the chattering seas fearfully in search of this shock this shame this shackled shore that bleeds from her pores this fireless hell where only the serpents eat of the forbidden fruits of life. 400 years we deadwalked, crawled on callous knees even broken b-1-ackbones through the canepiece the cotton fields the painpiece we walked, we wandered we worked, we slaved we fought massa's kitchen hat in hand hand in heart minstrel face 160 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 e.g. richards black skin, white mask we swallowed we stomached we vomited mas sa's whips weaving skin baskets out of our b-l-ackboards. back broken black broken we deadwalked up this rugged mountain dodging death on dark days, fighting endlessly to see brighter days. hat in hand heart in hand head in hand black skin, black mask we have staggered to this mountaintop wet with dew, wet with tears wet with sweat, wet with blood we have come to this crossroad hat in hand heart in hand head in hand black skin, black mask black heads, black hearts, black hands we have arrived at the mountaintop. .. 161 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Isidor Paiewonsky Isidor Paiewonsky (1909-) Born on St. Thomas, Paiewonsky attended the Convent School (an elementary school on St. Thomas run by Belgian nuns); the St. Thomas Academy; and New Utrecht High School in Brooklyn, from which he graduated with honors in 1929. Joining A. H. Riise, the family business, after graduation, Paiewonsky pursued his interest in Danish West Indian history. For twenty years he wrote the popular column ''History Comer" for the Daily News. In addition to his two books of poetry, Paiewonsky has published two books on the history ofthe Virgin Islands: Eyewitness Accounts ofSlavery in the Danish West Indies (1987) and The Burning ofthe Pirate Ship La Trompeuse (1991). Profits from the sale ofPaiewonsky's books go to local charities and to scholarships enabling young Virgin Islanders to further their education. "sky diver" (for my son paul, 1950 - 1967) sky is full of a boy falling he is tangled in the roots of an airborne plant a treacherous plant wind blown umbrella falling down to the sea boy shatters the surface of the sea in sad collision of sunlight and heart beat and foam 162 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Isidor Paiewonsky "friendship" rain falls upon the outer foliage of a tree in the intimacy that follows raindrops work their way inward seeking hidden twigs and leaves i have known friendship like that friendship that came like a great white shower drops probe deeper and deeper into my secret places to know hidden twigs and leaves of my intimate self "hummingbird" whirls like a wound up toy sunlight boiling color in its iridescent neck 163 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Isidor Paiewonsky "hunger aims the pelican" he dives on his own reflection dive explodes the calmness of water sprays particles of fish silver fast life of minnows made faster by panic scatter to anywhere "the catch" net drained of ocean glistens each fish caught in a cell of cord eyebuttons of fish stare no lids are here to shut the dry world out eyes are frightened liquid recognizing nothing gills move up and down like soundless red accordions 164 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Lenny James Lenny James THE HALF BREED Relic from a bygone age remembers when "light" was close to "white"-so therefore, "right." Confused by Black identity and awareness, upset, so upset that "Nagur" dem don't know their place no more. poor old soul. In olden days her complexion was a passport; her wavy hair a wonder to behold. In present times, the locks of dread surround her, as she realized that SHE is just another "nagur" in the fold. poor old soul. Trapped in a twilight zone of her own making forgetting that her man is Black and her rainbow multi-colored offspring are what Afro Saxons?? Saxons of Africa and not of Brittany? poor old soul. 165 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Lenny James THE DEATH WE HAVE BECOME How sad it is Virgin Islanders, that only at funerals and weddings we meet, to greet each other, to the death we have become. A silent minority in the home of our forefathers, who slaved the soil, gave blood and death, in order that our breath be strong and free; instead of this chained misery ofthe death we have become. How unjust to lose the land, Have no control economically; seeking refuge in an overburdened government that we cannot run. In an age of technological wizardy, we strive to be a perfect Zerox copy of the greatest nation since man began. Maybe it's the distance, or perhaps even the weather, but the copy is ALWAYS carbon underdone. Our leaders drown us in the ocean, for the rivers have all run dry; and when told of our once great heritage, outsiders laugh and say "You Lie" Didn't Von Scholten give us freedom before Abe Lincoln the "great"? Or was Anna Heegard's white lover a historical mistake? 166 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Lenny James Wasn't St. John the New World's first Black republic, before even Haiti I've been told; or was the mass suicide of Diggers just a colonial quirk of fate? Buddhoe, Queen Mary, and the roving firebum, appear to be some simple arrogant niggers whose celebration got out of hand??? Have we come to this? This living death we have become? In disillusionment, both our educated and illiterate youth tune out The children re-emerge with dread-locks on top of undernourished bodies that avoid meat, eating "natural" mush, until they lose all their teeth. Our narrow streets are safe and sound for even DRUNKS in childlike innocence to stagger; But, some segments of our so called community scream CRIME. SO THAT WE WON'T SEE their dagger ...... but we feel. The tragic tragedy is so much sadder Virgin Islanders. Unfortunately, the sad mad horror is yet to come. So sad a part it is, Virgin Islanders, that it will be the saddest and final part ofthe death we have become. 167 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Marty Campbell Marty CampbeU (1946-) Born in Oakland, California, but raised in the Chicago area, Campbell has lived on St. Croix for fifteen years, further developing his talents as poet, short story writer, math teacher, and seed necklace maker. His poems have appeared in various journals, including The Caribbean Writer andLilliput Review, and in the Collage series. He has authored and co-authored several books and numerous chapbooks, among them Mesh up ( 1981 ), Croix These Tears (1983), Saint Sea: Poetry and Prose (1986) with Joe Biondo, and Companion to Senya (1989) with Senya Darklight. He edited Collage Two: Poets ofSt. Croix (1992), and he currently edits "Poetry Comer" in Caribbean Impressions. Campbell was the winner ofBBC London's Caribbean Poetry Contest (1980). DE ROOSTAH WHAT TINK E MEK DE SUN RISE Now dere's all kin ah roostah, worl roun. Stateside talk about de roostah crow at de brek ah dawn. Wei, not so fah St. Croix roostah. I don know if you know about St. Croix, b'wha? In St. Croix dere' s roostah what crow Ah any time ah any day. Now. Dis roostah across de road. E crow when e wek up in de middle ah de night! Now dere's roostah An dere' s roostah. Dis roostah is roostah! Maybe he locks ain hangin out ah he head, But from wherever dey hangin, he locks fah true dread! E come up shakin & crowin so flat You'd ah tink it ah mek any sun rise-out ah its hat! It ah mek dis son yah rise, I ca tell you dat! Anyhow, .. . If de sun rise, ... he say, "See? I mek de sun rise." An celebrate de res a de day. 168 The Contemporary Period: 1976- 1995 Marty Campbell If it don rise, he fall direct asleep, Forgettin he evah get up for ah peep, Or figgerin he dream it, one or de uddah, An wait fah de nex time e wek wit a shuddah! An crow again to see if it tain he Who mek de sun rise in reality. DECIDUOUS DIASPORA, NOVEMBER (To John Rashford) Baby baobabs' leaves yellow, green when you were here in June, some I ate, remember? gone in December, say, to March or April? Leafless. I wonder if their clock is from here or Africa. We do get cold, if you could call it that, and wind. But dry? Well, maybe. Actually, with April through October, say, they get most of both rainy seasons here but shed sudden yellow snow before the last rain's through to regroup inside elephantine trunks. Soon they will be bare. Dead to all but those who know. 169 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Marty Campbell FACE The trees do not punch clocks, they grow rings. Some of them fold their leaves in prayer every night. Most don't. But all face the sky (who often contains the sun). Can we call that any thing other than face? But then they face me too! Right here. In this field all around me. (I have to turn.) And all on the hill across the way. Me sitting here, not punching, either; not growing rings, but folding leaves and trying for that broad sphere of face. 170 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Senya Darklight Senya Darklight (195? -1987) Darklight was born in Trinidad and lived on St. Croix for several productive years before his death. His poems appeared in various local periodicals, and he won first place in the 1987 Crucian Black History Month Poetry Contest. The posthumous collections Senya ( 1988) and Companion to Senya ( 1989), edited by Marty Campbell, contain the majority of Darklight's poems. JOURNEY TO KILIMA-NJARO So many of my sisters and brothers Scattered all over the earth Are tired of cleaning houses they do not live in Tired ofwashin cars they do not drive Tired of guardin property they are not allowed to use. Those who do not possess anything have nothing to lose. They are the ones closest to freedom. Total liberation is the next step to take. The harvest of the earth is due. And the forces of light are prepared to reap love and life. In the distance I hear voices chanting, Africa we comin over Home we comin Mother we comin Ay yea yea wo A wo Ay yea wo A wo ay yah. We comin from New York Shitty Where people have no pity. Where they have plenty cars but they can't go. Home we comin. Comin from Califony Where everything is all so phony. Comin from the Caribbean Where we've been carried beyond. We comin from Ay Ay, Yea we comin from Saint Cry. Home we comin. We leaving these worlds of trouble and strife 171 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Senya Darklight Where we almost lost our light Going to a place of happiness and peace. Come with us to the East Where our elders dance and sing Far away from death's sting They see life's beauty beyond everything. Africa we comin over Home we comin Mother we comin Ay yea yea wo A wo Ay yea wo A wo ay yah. Kibo Mawenzi Mawenzi Kibo Two peaks of Kilima-njaro We are journeying to a vibrational vehicle of musical sound Going where we all come from To the womb ofthe earth By the Great Riff Valley And the lakes from which the Nile flow. We have arrived at the foothill ofKilima-njaro Where we greet the people of Chaga land. And the elder of the village speaks to us saying, "Sisters and Brothers, Sons and Daughters, Welcome. In the village of life there is a sacred place. It is known as the Temple of Love. Through these portals must pass all mortals To gain entrance to the fountain of life everflowing Through faith each and every one can overcome the wall of fear. For it is only a picture subconsciously projected On the screen of our minds. By seeing all life through our Most High eye We can avoid the traps of vanity By not worshipin physical beauty. For all images of material things appear only for a time. Unlike the spirit of all beauty that is true reality And can endure the changin forms of life and live forever. The road of material gain can lead to spiritual loss For all that we claim to possess truly possesses us. It is our thoughts that imprison our minds. 172 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Senya Darklight And when this fog of forgetfulness fades away Then we shall see the temple of love And know the origin and destiny of all life For as it is in the eye of a hurricane there is a calm So in the turmoil of the worlds Peace can be found in the spirit of all beauty. So respect your teachers, regardless of how they teach. If you follow the path of love, eternal life you will reach." Oh great wind, my faithful friend Take this message wherever you sing Beyond mountains standing tall All shall listen when you call. Unite the seas of separation with this message of unification. The highest mountain in Africa Is symbolic of the highest within you. The snow-capped peaks of Kilima-njaro Represent the purity of heart all must attain So remember wherever you are Kilima-njaro Kilima-njaro The mountain of the clouds is within you. Kilima-njaro-oh-o-oh-o-oh-o Kilima-njaro-oh-o-oh-o-oh-o Kilima-njaro-oh-o-oh-o-oh-o SOUL MUSIC We are all flutes through us god makes eternal music Can you hear the sound? Tum down the boom box of your mind and listen in to the music of your soul 173 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Ira Claxton Ira Claxton (1956-) Born in Antigua, Claxton attended St. Joseph's Academy and studied fashion design at Bauder Fashion Institute in Dallas, Texas. Both a poet and a designer, Claxton's poetry has appeared in Caribbean Impressions and Collage III. NAGUSHAKU Nagu Shaku! I do not hear the drums my forbears heard. Only the name. And even that is fainter with each cry Shadows seem to fall across the sound Obscuring it from view. Nagu Shaku! Oh pain! To know the drums are in that name And not to hear! Nagu Shaku! The spirit tugs its mortal chains to seek release. How to do Without the body's fatal fall? I groan upon my stomach, Hands held hot and wet against the pulse. Nagu Shaku Once more the name is whispered in the winds. The inclination of a drum is shadowed to the sound. And I, I am now one slow preponderous heartbeat That is the love and memory of the past. 174 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Ira Claxton SAY WHAT TASK Say what task begins How it will go and for how long Will we because we are only half full Run dry of our passion? Like bleached husk of driftwood beached upon the sand. The sea will not have them They sit and watch the wave One after one deny them their ultimate right to freedom And we who have somehow in our great human wisdom Fashioned ourself into whitened logs Will also watch each passing wave come and go And mourn its loss. 175 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Enide M. E. DeFreitas Enide M. E DeFreitas (19??-) OfWest Indian descent, DeFreitas was born in New York City. She attended Catholic parochial schools and later received an associate's degree in liberal arts from the then College of the Virgin Islands. She currently lives in St. Croix. DEATH IS A BITCH Death is a bitch No longer The Dark Stranger to see you To your door She is a hound That milked a thousand young And saw a thousand curs But she wasn't there last night. She didn't gnaw me with her teeth Or pull at me Or call me to her feet I summoned a specter To see me to my sepulcher And heard her howl as I descended. 176 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Corrin Graham Corrin Juliet Graham (1949-) Born in New York City, Graham graduated from Charlotte Amalie High School and studied liberal arts at the then College ofthe Virgin Islands. Currently she is secretary to Verne Hodge, the presiding judge ofthe Territorial Court. She has published four books of poetry: Rejl.ectioro ( 1983); Rays ofSurohine ( 1985); Musings ( 1987); and For Those Who Love ( 1989). A SLAVE I've tried to explain how you make me feel. You said do as you must, be free. But you've ,cast my soul in limbo. I no longer have control. I feel foolish, sometimes silly to even allow this to happen to me. I was once on my own and free from this turmoil in my soul. I resent what you do to me. I don't know where I am going- can't remember where I've been You have me dangling on a string. I can deal with anything but uncertainty. I don't mind holding on ifl have peace. But I just can't adjust to this drifting, confusion and frustration. 177 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Amy Mackay Amy Mackay (1969-) Born and raised on St. Croix, Mackay attended Country Day School and graduated from Bucknell University (Pennsylvania) in 1991 with a degree in biology. Now a biology teacher at Country Day School, she is an active environmentalist. DOROTHEA LANGE Today, I turned the pages of your life. I leafed through page after page of written story, Never pausing long enough to read. I moved forward until I came to your photographs. The images demanded I look once more. My eyes searched And details emerged from the shadows. Your people came sputtering From a long, dreamless sleep And began to breathe. Blood coursed through their veins. The frozen moment Now unfettered. Your migrant workers and tenant farmers Stood before me. Arms close to their bodies, Containing their anger. Backs, clothed in grimy tattered shirts, Stand straight and unyielding. There is no shame here. Your camera did not rape and plunder These victims ofthe Dustbowl. The lined faces and blistered hands Possess dignity Which reaches out And asks me to share their experience. 178 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Amy Mackay I work the land, Dry brown earth dusts My torn overalls andfingernails . Rich black soil, Now blows loose across the fields. · I am the uprooted sagebrush in its wake. Unable to find work, I wait for a reliefcheck, Talking to others, pretending life is good, Hoping to hold the frustration at bay. No end in sight And no matter how far I travel, No relief I closed your life's work And held it in my hands, Unable to forget the eyes Denied the luxury of pity. SUNDAY A hummingbird hovers by the window, Stabbing a nearby flower. On the patio, a sugar bird sits On the rim of my coffee cup, Hoping to find traces of leftover sweetness. And I sit on the fringes of this Sunday Morning, searching for the sugary syrup Which makes up my days. At the beach, I watch children chase A ghost crab along the shore. He is no match for the pack of busy arms And legs that swoop down on him. He's tossed into a scratched plastic pail, The kind I used as a child To make castles in the sand. 179 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Amy Mackay The children gather around to stare. They challenge each other to touch. I watch as they hop around the pail, Screeching at each other. In the evening, sun-baked And exhausted from surf and sand, I fall asleep while reading And wake much later. I crawl into bed, The sugar bird perched on my coffee cup, And the ghost crab trapped in the plastic pail. 180 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Michelle Deal Michelle Deal WOMAN WANTS TO DESTROY ALONENESS "Woman wants to destroy aloneness, recover the original paradise." -AnaisNin the water caresses the shore reminding me of your fingers tracing my body your touch stirring my soul the water tumbles across the stones I feel something inside something I've never felt before the water pulls away taking me by surprise wait. don't leave me ... the water returns swirling around me, teasing me taunting me, loving me your hand reaches for mine your touch soothing me I feel something inside something I've never felt before the water pulls away will you come back? the water crashes against the shore scaring me I am afraid of you the water pushes against me trying to make me fall I feel something inside something I've never felt before the water pulls away ... as I step back 181 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry MaoPenha Mao Penha (1953-) Born on St. Thomas, Penha graduated from Charlotte Amalie High School in 1971. He is the author of ten books of poetry, including Living on the Edge, Prisoner in the Streets of Paradise, and My Footsteps (written in conjunction with his daughter). Paralyzed in an automobile accident, Penha is now an ardent advocate ofthe rights of the handicapped in the Virgin Islands. ONEFORMAO OneforMao Coping on wheels With poetic statements Committed and warm Passionate in raiment Yet reasonably calm As sky and firmament I look past sun, past palms To God, manly in action. Still there's a need for a womanly scent I face life's storm from my chair 182 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Mark Sylvester Mark Sylvester (1948-) Born at Castle Bruce, Dominica, Sylvester has been a resident of St. Croix for many years. He is a playwright, an actor, a poet, and a writer ofbooks for children. His poems have appeared in various journals and newspapers, and he has published two books of verse: When I Awake ( 1977) and The Road I Walk ( 1986). He was awarded a poetry fellowship in 1992 to the University of Miami, where he studied under Kamu Braithwaite. FORGOTTEN Shut within myself locked within cold walls I holler at the darkness that imprisons my sanity hollow echoes keep shouting back at me TWINS forcing me Two pebbles to swallow my spit dropped plop! plop! I am forgotten into the ocean trapped of life, in the dark exploring the depths. with my own fecal stench Their cry may echo the voices in this rotten cell of presidents, paupers, priests. my present Should one voids my future a fish ever swallow, we will search the ocean will someone far and wide call that fish to find my mamma? and rip its belly open. 183 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Vincent Cooper V'mcent Cooper (1947 -) Cooper was born in St. Kitts and later attended the University ofthe Virgin Islands. He holds a doctorate in linguistics from Princeton University, and has been a professor of literature and linguistics at UVI for many years. Both poet and critic, his work has been published locally and abroad, most recently in Kunnappi and in the collection OfMasks and Mysteries. He has arauthored two volumes of poetry, Three Islands (1987) with Joseph Lisowski and Trevor Parris, and Tremors (1989) with Lisowski. PENMAN Penman, dip your quill into the ink of truth~ Unmask Masa's mimics~ Welcome the Magi who bring words of Jah tidings~ Stretch Christmas from Toronto to Timbuctu~ Unmask Masa's mimics~ Spread Carnival all over~ Undress Masa's mimics for Egungun~ Rip their skirt for Sagwa~ Pull their wig for Nega Business~ Cast them to Egungun Cast them to Egungun Cast them to Egungun Cast them to Cast them Egungun Penman, Stroke your pen Across our sands With each line an Island Embrace And preach The Word Unbleach The Word And cast the workers Of Babylon downpression Into the bottomless pit~ 184 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Vincent Cooper Cover their eyes in shame~ For they have forsaken the way Of the I-teous, And have chosen the path Of Babylon. And restore to I-land Peace and I -quality And make the lion Lay down by the lamb. Let there be peace In the river For I-ver and I-ver Aso. Ah say the pen is eager~ And before time de word deb~ And de pen is eager And jab word is omega. Aso. Aso. FOR CARLTON BARRETT Drummer drops dead. This drummer was dread. Died when a bullet wound Mash up he head. Him cyann drum no more ''Natty Dread." But every time Albertine get music ina she head, She taak say she duon believe A fi she husband dead. 185 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Vincent Cooper HURRICANE HUGO September 1989 Africa's coast unleashed Legions of spirit Demons of fury Whom meteorologists Nicknamed Hugo As if incensed by some ancestral wrong, These armies of destroying angels Hissed and roared their Sinister serenade of doom Across the Caribbean, Chasing continents of frenzied cloud Across charcoal skies; Shango thundered throughout the heavens His angry antithesis To Mantras chanted By congregations of cringing converts; Capitalists in cathedrals Communists in convents. Trees staggered, Stripped of leaf and limb; Gardens sprawled flowerless, A billion bees droned their Disapproval, Deprived of nest and pollen. Trailer houses crumbled or Straddled rooftops of other houses Tenements collided, Merged like minced meat. One woman crawls To a neighbor's house Clutching two frightened infants To her breast- Her roof collapsed. Another parent jumped To cistern's watery grave; Two children drowned. 186 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Vincent Cooper One patrician With local roots And generations of family respectability Rummages through the Churning debris of her leveled domicile: Her fingers fumbling for a birth certificate. One man sits atop The ruins of his house; Eyes stare somber, Tears tumble from cheek to chin Which sag and contort with grip of grief; Thirty years of backbreaking labor, Thirty years of sucking salt, Thirty years of dreams Blown away Like dust to dust, Sand to ashes. Some speculate Hugo's a blessing in disguise; Others surmise: Hugo prevailed Where CARICOM failed ... Some believe the Hurricane Converted "islands" of selfishness Into communes of Saints and Virgins. On Sunday 20th Father Hodge Intones at morning mass: "LET US PRAY" and neighbors start to share And care for one another's welfare. Hurricane Bring blessings in Disguise. 187 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Vincent Cooper FOR RICHARD LONG We sat together With Maya Angelou With paper and pencil To reconstruct A diaspora We sat together With paper and pencil To consecrate Coca Cola's gift to literacy We sat together With paper and pencil To deconstruct Ghana Gullah Guyana We sat together With paper and pencil To reconstruct Kwe Kwe Candomble Santeria Pocomania Amina Crop Over Voodoo Kimbango Jonkunoo. We sat together Conspired To redefine America. 188 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Vincent Cooper AND MILES ... The pied piper plays: Mi-lah-ti-come-dung While rainbow ribbons, hissing falsettos Spiral upwards From the treble cleff. The red head drummer rims and rolls: Cli-kong chi-kong-a loa a roar; the limping beat of a god in heat. The hunchback bassist swings From silver strings vibratin': Vo-dun-vo-dun-vo-dun-dun-du -u-n-n-n-n Chi-kong-vo-dun. And the trumpet tum red And the guitar bawl blue And the drum bl-ack bl-ack bl-ack. Then Miles get up and blow Miles get up and get up and get up-and Blow for all the little people all the pretty people; Love the pretty people of the world; Red-and-Yellow-Black-and-White All are precious in Jah site ... And the lightning flash And the winds blow And the thunders roar and roar; And sweet jazz music make Jah come dung And Gabriel trumpet a-glow. 189 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Joseph Lisowski Joseph Lisowski (19??-) Lisowski, associate professor of English at the University ofthe Virgin Islands, earned his doctoral degree in English from the Stare University of New York at Binghamton. His translation of The Brushwood Gate by the Chinese T'ang Dynasty poet Wang Wei was published in 1984. He has authored or co-authored four other volumes of verse: Spring Street Blues (1987), Three Islands ( 1987) with Vincent Cooper and Trevor Parris, Tremors (1989) with Cooper, and Near the Narcotic Sea (1992). Many of Lisowski's poems, stories, and translations have appeared in magazines such as Amelia, New Black Mask, Negative Capability, and Creeping Bent. A MAN FOR THE PEOPLE (For Gilbert Sprauve) "I give you a dream, A dream of owning your own land, Of working in your native land With dignity. I give you a dream, A dream of no more hunger, Of no more thirst for revenge. I give you a dream, A dream of clean streets, clean Schools, clean seas, A dream of no more drugs, Of no more man against brother, A dream of sister and brother Tall with dignity. I give you a reality Of we With dignity!" His voice shook the chairs Where we were stirring. My eyes teared at the ache. The large man, blacker Than night, than death, Than despair, Fired a ball of light That caught the heart trembling With the quake Of old ways, old laws, Old institutions Breaking. 190 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Joseph Lisowski TROPIC HEAT Words come slow, their syllables Sometimes extend for weeks. A phrase can take a month, And a stanza a season. The old year ends GOAT SONG Before I finish a poem. It is tough to keep custom, On St. Thomas mountains To write a new one Morning goats cry like babies, Each year. A post natum wail declaiming light. One New Year's Day I hear their bleats as agony, I awoke on Maho Bay Each note measuring another loss, To a melee of yellow birds. Another day farther from the womb. I thought of them years before. Later, when the sun is high, They littered about the deck Only the squawks of gulls are heard. Squawking some seasonal tune. The goats, like adults, have quietly Still half asleep, I opened the window Blended in the tum of day. To their chatter. They scattered. I listen to the creaking of palms Only two returned, curious, begging, Forgetting all strident pleas It seemed, for a kind word. And walk near the narcotic sea I broke bread instead, staggering Into a listless evening Pieces on the rail. Before the fall of stars One ate greedily. The other watched Gives way to another morning Until the flock returned. And their shrieking cries. I'm unsure of the year. Even so, it was no dance But a rude grabbing. I thought Of the lost words I wanted to clutch, The years I consumed, the poems I've never redeemed. 191 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Corey Emanuel REMNANTS Who knows- within these phantomed walls now crumbled in the dust of yesterday, what hopes were born and nurtured tenderly; or buried in disgust with the dull lethargy of everyday ... what latent joys burst flower-fresh within these darkly love-lit rooms now echo-hung with memories long dead ... who knows- what limitless emotions quickened here: the furtive touch of minds first tasting Life; rank, cancerous growths of unrequited love imploding in fierce and madly jealous hate; subconscious yearnings for that final, inward flight, hurt, disillusioned, back to the Mother-cave ... who knows these things except perhaps the ever-muted stone? SUNSET IN ST. THOMAS This gentle sunset, with its tender tones Of yellow, gold, and myriad subtle hues, Brushed on the changing canvas of the sky, Entrances all in frozen attitudes Upon my mind: a graceful sloop Bent in impossible angle to the wind Doing its pirouette on wondering waves Whose scarlet-tinted tops reflect the glow; A patient fisherman in silhouette, Mending his nets in never-ending toil, 102 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 David Gershator today some boost the new K-Mart built on sacred grounds some not really interested in fighting to rescue a past beyond their kith and kin for some, Africa's the yearn for others, oblivion but on an island the Taino bones called home they called it so by cove by valley, by village, by name to the north a colder sea to the west Borinquen to the east Malliouhana to the south A y-Ay some sounds, some meanings insinuate themselves into conch shells, clay shards, midden mounds, zemis Attabeira, Yucahu, Yaya, Yayael Guabancex of the hurricanes some shadowy heroes and gods remain hovering in the air but this island has lost its name and there's no lost and found to reclaim it this island has lost it, has lost its name its past, its sound, its echo, its name 193 Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry David Gershator ISLAND ROOTS set 'em up I have no use on a rack for what grows down sell 'em retail eating and sucking to people at the earth who keep I have no roots losing their skin though I long and keep coming back for more. for a hold She was pregnant on more when she flew in than an island and she's leaving ora woman with empty arms Island and a tan woman She's tasted clocks surrounded and coconuts by she's done her time blue and drunk her milk I read the love letters laced with sand of light It's strange how in your lagoons the grains get and feel no love lost into everything for the mangroves you drink Take your white skin Papayas tenderized brown skin her stew black skin mangoes puckered cinnamon skin her lips high yellow and mulatto You're not allowed dry 'em out to carry soft fruit like fish nets off island on the beach She drops her fruit tattoo the maps and flies. of your passions with price tags 194 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 David Gershator From ELEGY FOR VAL MOKO JUMBlES (Valentine Penha, 1942 - 1972) DEVIL DANCERS Old market women AFRICAN KINGS claim STARRY QUEENS BIG JETS drop out drove the evil spirits fall out off the island in fever of Main St. dream That sounds impossible like wishful thinking impossible to walk It seems in the footsteps every JUMBI ofthe dream JAB LESS without waking &LOUPGAROU without sidestepping was out the shopping mobs to get you on the narrow sidewalks and they did I'd like to they did squeeze when nobody past was looking Lords & Ladies There are men Kings & Queens who look like men fora day There are faces shoppers off the ships that look human customers off the jets There are places & put on a grinning mask that look like heaven that would freeze There are masks white tourists and masks & black taxi drivers at 90 degrees The ghost carnival goes on and on Carnival Vapor waves sky dancing EXPLODES on the town's EXPLODES tin roofs EXPLODES PLAY MAS' stars SUN GODS disappear MOON MAIDENS change BLACK WARRIORS colors SLAVE DRIVERS 195 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry David Gershator bodies I saw you sweatin' it was beer Market Square &rum FOOD FAIR steel drums souse rollin' up fungi Main calaloo good girls bullfoot soup jump in roti bamboushay homemade candy tramp up spice Market bush tea &back try some Post Office taste some &back you were Market in there &back tasting mne testing months sipping later maubi BABY watch out BOOM don't drink drink too much tramp surrounded Market by a crowd &back of admirers Carnival lifting sky your baby son EXPLODES single handed EXPLODES up EXPLODES into the sun smoke over drifts off the old Fireworks slave mart over! Just like No clouds any other Stars member of the community take over you closed down Main St. the dance you closed it down Every shop Last time and business in town 196 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 David Gershator made way It should have been for your passing advertised as an extra added attraction KING OF THE HOUR if it made LORD OF THE AFTERNOON Mr & Mrs America You closed it down man feel at home you closed it down I can hear It was the only time the community band in your life the old brass band you closed Main St. down coming on strong now In your fantasy in a minute you would have liked to do it the biggest doors in town with no flowers swing shut no suit & tie traffic no mUSIC backs up not this way man backs up not this way pulls away Val pulls over it was better the brass band sounds deep when we paraded &slow down Main the living to end the war & the dead The town move on down saw protest posters the dead & homemade signs leading for the first time the band just like the mainland & the tourists The dead saw something familiar have to go to town Oh you 're peace protesters one more time How nice before We have them back home they go one last time they've got the right of way no matter what anyone says 197 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry David Gershator I don't know what the Governor said or if he was even there I wouldn't put it past him to buty you with praise Val to bury the future after all is a politician's favorite pastime and a grave is as good a place as any to dig for votes Your last parade completely stopped traffic and KING DEATH local calypsonian composed blank silent verses that shook up the town 198 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Phillis Gershator PhiOis Gershator (1942-) Born in New York and raised in California, Gershator has lived and worked on St. Thomas for many years. A poet, a librarian, and an author of children's books, Gershator's poetry has appeared in The Caribbean Writer, Home Planet News, and other literary magazines. Most recently she has published six children's books: The Jroko-man: A Yoroba Folktale (1994); Rata-pata-scata-fata: A Caribbean Story (1994); Tukama Tootles the F7ute: a Tale from the Antilles ( 1994 ); Honi 's Circle ofTrees (1994 ); Sweet, Sweet Fig Banana ( 1996); and Sugar Cakes Cyril ( 1997). CONCRETELY CELEBRATING THE QUINCENTENNIAL I On the islands they're mixing concrete for monuments and markers to celebrate fourteen ninety two when Columbus, sailing offthe face of the map, touched these shores and gave them new names and proved at last-in the year of heresies, recantations, lies and burnings at the stake the world is round, not flat II We appreciate the science of it all the accidents the hand of fate We celebrate Discovery not the loose ends unfurling in its wake not greed not power lust not the flag with a cross With mixed feelings we approach the date 199 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Phillis Gershator III Progress is a mixed blessing so let the concrete mixing begin! A blind man's concrete lighthouse rises on the shores ofHispaniola A concrete K-mart in the Virgins buries an Arawak village Another concrete hotel blocks the beach Here, there, and everywhere Concrete for Columbus for capitalists for consumers for caudillos Concrete for the sake of concrete SURVIVAL after "Immersion" by S. Griffin I So you're afraid of what lurks beneath a circling fin I am too though I've never seen the movie Jaws or read the book whichever came first cartilage or teeth I think about sharks and your heart pulling you down into the deepest shark infested dream waters saved in the nick oftime by the dawn and I think about the sharks that killed two brothers in the Caribbean for the bloody fish they caught or their shiny knives young men following their hearts' desire the deepest water the biggest fish 200 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Phillis Gershator II So you're afraid of the water? Slow to jump in? Is it the loss of control, the weightlessness; is it the unending expanse or the unexpected tides; is it the certainty that your lungs will give out if you give in? The water is so dark at night, deceptively blue in the morning, pink and grey when the sun sets Quick change is suspect like radical conversions and magic tricks No wonder you hesitate to trust your life to a reflecting surface III Navigating uncharted waters in your sleep following the deepest dream your heart speeds up slows down you wake in shock gasping for air a beached sea creature on dry land The dream was real but, thank God, it wasn't No one had to press and blow life back into you or bury you at sea or lose you altogether presumed eaten The fear was real but, no, the waves do not have teeth What does it mean all those fears 201 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Phillis Gershator those dreams? It's a lifetime occupation reflecting on fact and fiction whichever came first in the mirror window sea IV The cure for shark fear: Exchange roles Circle the table and take a bite Shark meat is delicious You' II never feel the same about your nemesis when it's a part of you, your own blood and bone The peoples ofNew Guinea know these basic facts And the Indians You embody a new spirit Your teeth grow sharper You reek of elemental waters Streamlined, swift, sensitive to the scent of blood, you are at home now and confident in the sacrificial sea 202 The Contemporary Period: 1976- 1995 S. B. Jones-Hendrickson S. B. Jones-Hendrickson (1945-) Jones-Hendrickson was born on St. Kitts, where he received his early education. He later studied at the University of the Virgin Islands, Illinois State University, and the Universi~ of Exeter in Devon, England, where he earned a doctorate in economics. He has been professor of economics at the University ofthe Virgin Islands since 1976 and has written many books and articles on issues in that field. Also a poet, novelist, and short story writer he has published widely in numerous magazines at home and abroad, including The Caribbean Writer and the Collage series. His two books of poetry are Reflections ThrougJ Time ( 1989) and A Virgin Islands Sojourn ( 1991 ); and he edited OfMasks and Mysteries ( 1993), a collection of poems. In addition he has published two novels, Sonny Jim ofSam Point (1992) and Death on the Pasture (1994). ON THE ROAD TO FREDERIKSTED I A writer's pen Modeled me into a book at the knees of Queen Mary She gave me a lighted Torch to bum the town flat to the ground so that Denmark will know We ain't no pappyshow. She gave me courage reserved only for the fearless men of steel, dedicated men from Moo Bijou, La Vallee and Timbuctu a machete sharp like a razor pointed like a tack to swipe off their heads if they ever fight back 203 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry S. B. Jones-Hendrickson Look at me today, my brother my sisters; admire my casebound glory, spotlessly clean, dread supremely confident that I would be read Watch me as I am taken from the library under the arms, in bags, through the electronic eye I, Queen Mary, With Buddhoe My bibliography HIS WAYS He comes to class his eyes flashing like the behind of a firefly fine grey unkempt beard he watches his watch as time moves on like a discu~s in flight In class he is himself listening to all, suggesting ways to study the "dismal science" in a way that Nobel Laureates will envy He teaches and has taught in a small classroom of a small college where neither mosquitoes nor sandflies suck his blood on a Thursday night turned white with rain. 204 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 S. B. Jones-Hendrickson His colleagues adjust their greeting faces they hear about his classes the failure and the passes their manner permits them to be true, True blue. The sports complex mushrooms from the grass on the other side the Governor makes one last gasp to save agriculture Pancho writes another program for the P.C. The cursor will not move to the left like a bumble bee that is not supposed to fly. His anxiety bubbles like a freshly-made pina colada whitening his moustache and contrasting with his unkempt beard. The ways of man can be like hard-boiled eggs you have to crack them to tell. 205 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry S. B. Jones-Hendrickson ANGER GROWS Two children, a roofless house, and anger grows A garage and closed doors. Hot musty air. Anger grows: weeks, months, Engulf you; a sceptive creature called anger. Anger grows with each passing day Eerie, weird, mystic in feel. A smell of poison wiffs past your nose, a pungent acid tears your sense of smell. Divided house: who should get what? Did you buy the Lladro on your trip To BIM? Is the batik worth the insurance claim? A cupboard of beans, pork and stew. Green leaves for kalliloo. Yours? Mine? Anger, the cradle of what was once love, the sight of broken hopes and dreams. You? I? Faxed in space. A quality Of mercy that has no fax code. Love that has no call-forwarding. Anger rising like the smoke of a coal pit On a wet Sunday morning. People on their way to Church No air in to blow the smoke of the coal pit away. And Anger thrives, not dies. Love leaves like the roof after a storm. Anger grows. Y au Grow forlorn. December, 1989. 206 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Jaime Luis Rodriguez Jaime Luis Rodriguez (1933-) Born in Vieques, Puerto Rico, Rodriguez received a bachelor's degree from Temple University, a master's degree from New York University, and a doctorate in Spanish language and literature from the National University of Mexico, where he was studying under the Fulbright Program. His poetry has appeared in both Spanish and English lite~ journals. When the Waters ofthe Waters (1986) is his third book of poems. A retired teacher, he currently lives in St. Croix. From WHEN THE WATERS OF THE WATERS UNO Sabre montura en vaivenes Ia espuma marina caba/ga jadeante: serpientes de 6/eo estrangu/an su risa. ONE On a wavy mount the sea spumes rides back and forth as if gasping for air: oily serpents strangle her laughter. DOS Hasta Ia oril/a reca/a e/ pez ciego sufriendo de estertores; sus ojos son nubes plomizas sin cielo. TWO A blind fish struggles to the shore suffering with tremors; his eyes are leaden clouds without a sky. TRES ;Quien te viera, estrella de mar como piedra de ruego en altar turbio, sin fondos sonados, sin algas ni arena! THREE The starfish, a rock of immolations in a somber altar, lies without a dream of the sea bottom, without algae and sand. 207 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Jaime Luis Rodriguez OCHO ;. Ves Ia tortuga? Aletea en Ia arena y no encuentra Iugar para su nido: su playa es reguero de cosas en guerra. EIGHT The turtle frantically flaps on the sand unable to find her nesting place: her beach is a gathering of strange metallic creatures at war. DOCE Como avian de picada el pelicano baja. El agua no sa/pica. El pobre se agita en un lienzo de grasa. TWELVE The pelican swoops like a plane on a dive. The waters remain still: a huge eye of grease lays siege on struggling wings. QUINCE Cuando las aguas de las aguas no jl.uyan en alborozo fibre, Ia mar sera t:spejo de luto sin luna. FIFTEEN When the waters of the waters flow no more in free jubilant streams, the sea will be a mourning mirror without a moon. 208 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Guy Stiles Guy Stiles (1928-) Born in Elmira, New York, Stiles has lived on St. Croix since 1973. He attended Union College and Columbia University, and later earned a degree in mechanical engineering. Today he is a project engineer for the Virgin Islands Alumina Corporation. A dedicated poet, Stiles is the author of St. Croix and Other Poems (1984) and The Oranges From Santo Domingo (1992). His work has also appeared in various magazines, including The Caribbean Writer and The Lyric, and in the Collage poetry series. ST. CROIX II In June, the flame tree peaks; gangs of bright red gather against a pliant green. Beneath the boughs along the edges of the road determined young black men, refusing the mainstream, appear and disappear inside their chosen bush. Hair worn in locks of dread, dressed to say Africa, their eyes look far away, longing for that distant stream in which their own gods move. THE BLOOMING The morning after the hurricane, the big flame tree inside our yard had the look of trees in winter. All its green was gone. But as we passed it, day by day, we missed that moment when the green was there once more. And even more suddenly we saw the bright red blossoms begin to bloom as if forgetting it was out of season. 209 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Guy Stiles THE ORANGES FROM SANTO DOMINGO Not even always round, neither are these ordinary oranges from Santo Domingo color added. Holding one of them here in my hand, I think of its long ancestry in Asia. And then from there moving westward surely as the promise to Abraham, when Columbus sailed they were already in the Canaries. This one I hold, now a native, yet descended from seed carried here in caravels five centuries ago; migrant, like ourselves, it waits to be consumed; the promise of that single moment for which it was made. TO SARI, AFTER ALMOST TWENTY YEARS Living as I have, long enough to watch twenty years pass twice, there's little wonder left at Ulysses' ten years there and then the same to sail him back to home and wife at last. And what he had, is all we ever have; his own wit and the help of whatever gods his world knew. And you, your first choice already unwoven when I came along near the ending of mine; living there, where you were, on your own ample wit and the grace of whatever God our world knows. For myself, all was gift. No great warrior king come back to seize his own, the one suitor you had, you kindly sent away and I was home at last. 210 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Arnold Highfield Arnold Highfield (1940-) A resident of St. Croix since the early 1960s, Highfield was born in New Boston, Ohio. He completed his education at Ohio State University where he earned a bachelor's degree in social sciences and history, a master's in medieval history, and a doctorate in Romance linguistics. He has also studied at the University of lausanne and the University of Madrid. For many years a professor of history and linguistics at the University of the Virgin Islands, Highfield has taught at Central High School, Ohio State University, Lycee Jacquard (Switzerland), and Ohio Wesleyan University. His poems have appeared in the Collage series, The Caribbean Writer, and other literary journals. His first volume of verse, An Archaeology ofNames, was published in 1993. MORNING GARDEN PRINCESSE I As foreday morning edges into light I drive the mad pearly-eyed thrush into raucous protesting flight and walk my garden as the simple blush of this homing day warms the carapace of huddled morning waters. Barefoot and expectant on my soil. I dissuade the tips of the morning shadows from belief in life til afternoon and longing but serene in half-pyjamaed majesty I declare that not tomorrow but this day I will plow your belly; you are rich and moist in yearning though impervious to all words, eager to bring forth okra and marjoram to my touch as well as herbs that bear the weight of noon. You, the mother of every known weed, you shudder forth agave into the world and think not a thing of it while I walk through my lands in tenuous dominion and long to plant seeds from the northern sky in your every rumpled part. 211 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Arnold Highfield You take no notice of me but push up champignons and vetch and ferns to my groaning amazement me, the father of all the world. You dazzle the egret on the fence and confound every annelid that ever roamed an earnest existence in the nether zones. II You say "Mihr, you will be Mihr." and with that magic naming I am anew the sun and rain. In truth, you enchant me again and again until I would be as you would have me, thunderer of your deepest longing, hand that measures your thigh coarse finger that traces your belly, to where the plow leaps down and parts those ancient rifts where all thinking ends. III In all these mornings, I confess, you remake in every move the earth and the world for me and you open and you roll under it all no less to launch soft tendrils in your own drowsy moment without so much as a thought for it. THE GUINEAMAN I Cibuquiera, Cibuquiera then a hand reaching now a cross marking charts, terror, marching feet. From Guinea came saints, from Bonny, loa. These soils drink their names; rains and seas of cane flood all recollection. 212 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Arnold Highfield Still- ancestors enchant these fields with songs of rivers, ways of forest, ofDaboy, adder, a delta's tortured run. If God hears at all, he hears the thunder in their feet. Orishas nightly fly, as promises partly kept, over genip-scented hills. And nights, bamboula-candomble hammers sacred notes opening the narrow way to God. These dancers long for town's sweet lies, to whirl to life the Daneman 's lumbering shades. They would coax from severed heads, one manly conversation, and give great drums the heel, in mourning names now lost, spirits lately driven. Passioned notes kindled in the bush invade each greathouse stone as serpents thrusting into sleep through nostrils, open ears and tongues. No peace! The drums short patience resonates in lady silks that thread sweet nighttime airs. Under taman, thunder damns all trace of simple rest, condemns forgetfulness, for breath, for hard embraces. II Church walls stand in practiced canterbury nonchalance while lights in wheeling southern constellations illuminate the industry of whelks and limpet shell at work in sacred mortar. 213 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Arnold Highfield Ancient sea walls such as these secure the priests and dozing ferns; both colonize in reclining pose mock gothic notches, arches. Along the cloister garden paths the sacerdotalist strolls in prayer, -as eyes suppose beyond the gate-, finding by the grace of God defence against silk cotton shades, against the eyes, the tongue of Obayifo as he conjures: "eternity, Father, give me eternity." III In the King's town foreday mornings come, streets lie idle, dead but for errant breakfast carts. Alabaster-baby Danelady sits behind worn buckra walls at breakfast, scarcely moving. Our-lady-over-Havensigt blesses yet another day- plantains, mamey, yams in sacrifice; and roundabout the yard attending heads all hang, irreverent mango clusters indentured to the sun. The blistering heat scores set lips to covenant, engraved along the word July, July-before-the-storms. Heads as muffled cannonades, eyes as deadly shot await the sail of the Guineaman, the freefall of the anchor, the chain that prophesies. Whatever brings the Guineaman salt, spoken tongues and names. 214 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Arnold Highfield CHRISTMAS WINDS Older now and with a trace of blue I am driven by the northeast wind through a phosphorescent reef to port, to home, to a rusted gate where soft-eyed children peer and silently await, the Christmas winds, the weather bird by turns: the manchineel refrains from giving shade I've learned by trade and along this shore the gale that finally comes bends flat all lies like reeds; eyes abstain from judgement's lingering weight and tum away; silence scores the dissolution ofthis day. There a door has shut; a cooking fire aglow's the point I contemplate for this night's sake. Now the children dance on tiny precious toes. They tum, once or twice they blink: I ruminate a world, a life, another place that might have been had I jumped ship beyond the trades at Carriacou. St. John, V.I. EPIPHANY MAS Play mas, in carnival play mas for this epiphany. You played King Winter's face in turnabout and with a Guinea grace your countenance harrowed as the last cane-waste but you bore on. Play mas and choose among December's short forgiving days when I danced in dead Quaco 's shoes but could not command his feet Quaco, son of Goree late, and in drag-fade I slugged along the roaring street dedicated to the drum. 215 The Contemporary Period: 1976- 1995 Arnold Highfield By English Church you stopped and thrust the whip into my unaccustomed hand and laughed; politick ever, I pressed it back, you'd understand, for I counted you a friend; but that smile I knew wrinkles on began at once to fade across curled lips in bronze, Benin cast. Dark fingers knotted about the plaited hasp and festivity at noonsong turned its glabrous cheek to afilibustier 's stubbled chin. saliva flashed, enfleshed a raptor's beak until your rum-fired blood aflame in Amina sentiment would break in storm across the bubbling gade; was it for a Balthasar that it slowed again to congeal? beneath the furrowed memory of the drum beneath the hammering steel that moved our compliant feet along the gut for three odd Kings-the fleet in remembering, the besotted by dint of masquerade cling on with the hope they thought they clearly heard in the song for one Epiphany mas. 216 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Vivian Hester Bennerson Vivian Hester Bennerson (1933-) Born in Washington, D. C., Bennerson has lived on St. Croix since 1963. She received an associate degree from New York University, a bachelor's degree from Vermont College,<; studied creative writing with the Long Ridge Writer's Group in New York City. Her mos1 recent book, Epheta, Universal Prayers & Thoughts ( 1996), is a collection of prayers, poe: and essays about women. THE STEEL PAN Fingers mine caress my notes into life's fluid sound. Pour forth your rhythm and reason to be. Take mallets in hand, swiftly, like light, softly strike upon my internal keys awaiting your life. Five fingers have eyes attached to hand and wrist as organ-like are my sounds. Soft, warm, loud, cold, hot, I evoke them all. Dependent upon you to find and know how to cause this steel of mine, made into skin, to tum into life's delights. When lovingly caressed the heights of inner calls are reached ever anew! Genius, man, was he, to be knighted, Sir Winston Spree, for this instrument's invention from discarded steel drums turned musical for all to hear and see! 217 The Contemporary Period: 1976- 1995 Helen K. Sackey Helen K. Sackey (1922-) A former nurse and librarian, Sackey is now retired. Born in St. Thomas, she has lived in St. Croix for many years. SCRATCHY BAND DANCE Chingilicky, tingilicky, listen to the steel W ritchity, writch, that's the squash Tweetlety, tweetlety, twee goes the flute, Backed up by strumming banjo strings. Boompah boomp from the old iron pipe Gnarled, work-worn hands rat-a-tatting, slapping, Skipping on the goat-skin drum head Or sometimes thumbing a "whooee, whooee" in between. Yet all of these instruments had been made From what was found around, But their combined sounds were so very sweet That the bare, black, agile feet Ecstatically pranced on the dusty earth, At first to formal quadrille beat. And the "stiff, starch and iron" clothes rustled and swished While the dancers twirled and sashayed With the women's brightly colored headkerchief gear Bobbing up and down and from side to side. And the menfolk "cut five" with intricate style As they advanced and jigged and withdrew. But as the night wore on, and the lanterns dimmed In the smokey coconut branch tent, The music subtly changed to "quailbey" tunes With their alluring and erotic charm. Then the boy held the girl closer to his heart As he whispered in her ear, "Yo' livin' wid anybody?" "No," she replied. "Ah got meh own cabarn." And he said, "Go on home, ah'm comin' to you, So leave yo door on de string. 218 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Helen K. Sackey Ah'll reach dere befo' de mawning star arise, But don' worry yo' head 'bout a t'ing, 'Cause Ah won' leh nobody tark yo' name, Or put it in a Cyple sing, For Ah'llleave befo' de milkman a-bawl But yo' II see me when Ah come home from wukking in de fiel'." Thus musicians and dancers and lovers, each one Made beautiful paeans of delight, As they enjoyed the only freedoms that they were allowed To make harmony, rhythm and love. 219 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Rael Leander Sackey Rae/ Leander Sackey (1956-) Sackey is a researcher who also writes sports articles, children's stories, plays, and a newsletter for the United Caribbean Association. Born in Frederiksted., St. Croix, he attended St. Dunstan's Episcopal High School and later studied computer data processing in Tallahassee, Florida. NOWA-DAZE Pullin' cane off de Bethlehem bagoon Swimmin', fishin' in de Gallows Bay lagoon Pleyin' ball in de cow pascha Finin' out which wan a we co' run fasta De tings we used to enjoy in ah we yout' Yo' mean to tell mih dey really gahn fo' trut'? De chirran dem lahs, dey deb in a terrible state Politician pramiss we riches and we swallow de bait We fo'gettin' owa culcha an' wahn wha' we cahn afford We deb on a train wha' gahn wile an' de leadahs say "All aboard!" Strugglin' daily to mek de place good fo de bokra I tink I too big to keep pleyin' massah 220 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Barbara M. Callwood Barbara M. Callwood (1 956-) Callwood was born on Tortola and grew up on St. Thomas, where she attended elementary and secondary schools. She has been a junior high school English teacher, and her poems have appeared in The Caribbean Writer, as well as other periodicals. PLAYGROUNDS Promises then flavored ice-bribes Persuade them to trek with me, Back Past Mother care and Adolescent dreams to childhood Playgrounds: But the tree which gifted Geneps sweeter than any sugar cake which bucked and threw me, tumbling through green leaves to hard ground and this faded line a concrete yesterday sign- The tree is gone as if it never was. The trucks and vans parked Where seeds rolled and crunched Underfoot, coldly Reject the unexpected dampness Of my eyes. And the gut which thundered With the frenzied shrieks Of disobedient West Gang and Upper Crew Is unrecognizable in its silence- Protected with red Danger sign And solid wall Which can't keep in the faint unforgettable smell of rotten leaf, decaying tamarind, moss covered rock Which won't keep out my memory eye that leaps over rock and time to watch long grown playmates, wet skirts held high, splash through swirling water, collapse in hysterical laughter, 221 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Barbara M. Callwood build friendships that survive time's change-bent hands. Restless, long bored With parking lots and concrete walls, The children listen Vacantly to my rambling Good-ole-days tale, Unable to see beyond the run-down Peeling present, Unable to look inward as I do To the childhood I carry As they will carry theirs. Eagerly they tum away Their chatter of movies and ice cream. I follow silently. My aging body moving slowly As my ever-young self Skips noisily at my side, Leaving the playgrounds echoing In my mind. DEY MUSIC GAWN When he leave Dey way rollin' bass note He only take ah few ting: Does weave dey way All roun' an' between Da way he had Dey tenor pan sweetness 0' sayin' meh name sometime Ofah poundin' calypso melody. Da change it to ah bluesy jazz note Like when ah sax man Da ting we had togeda Blow from deep inside heself Was red hot an' smood, An' mek meh heart Pulsin' steel pan hot Startjumpin' beat An' syrupy saxophone smood. An' wata bus from meh eye. No. He'n take much wid he An' dey way When he leave He use to hole me in bed- He jus' take dey sweet passion. Arm an' leg all twis' up wid mine. He take all dey music An' gawn. 222 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry James Kamau JamesKamau MOODIE (Ode To My Mother) I Moddie is what everybody calls her; Talk about strength and love She expresses it in her children; Protects her girls with fear; Guards her sons with honor; Her girls, god they're fly; Conceited and feminine, each in their own way; Her sons are as different as night and day; Each an egoist with a love of life; An expressed ideology; She raised them to have pride Dignity and respect for God and self; Nothing or anyone is better than them; Even set their standards of morals and beauty; II Moddie is what everybody calls her; Seems to have some mystic power Of knowing when she is needed; Can sense a situation developing; Acts to aid her seeded Although her advice is often laughed at, The laughter is only a shield of care, Thankful that she's there; She has the strongest umbilical cord Of any woman I know; To this day she still carries nine Tied to her bow; Truly ahead of her time; Even plays tricks with her mind; 223 The Contemporary Period: 1976- 1995 James Kamau III Moddie is what everybody calls her; A daughter of the island Where fongi and fish reign; Peas and rice, fried plantain Served with chilled maubi wine; Hell, she mastered the kitchen Before she was nine; A serene personality, pure in thoughts Seldom complains; Born to the elite but gave it up for love; A life of joy and pain; Talk to her about suffering, she smiles and says Believe in God, you' II see your day; IV Moddie is what everybody calls her; A woman that's a mother And a mother that's a woman; It's the greatest gift she has given her children She's an african virgin of the caribbean Ancient as the blue waters Polluted by Europeans; Don't talk to me about Mary I've the original queen mother; I believe in reincarnation, So I know she was here before; Like my father, I love her And will always call her Moddie. 224 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Raymond StJames Raymond StJames WEST INDIAN WOMAN West Indian woman- you gave me the strength that I've always needed. You gave me the love that I've always wanted. When there were problems ahead you stood by my side. You were strong-you didn't run. And still your heart is as warm as the tropic sun. You should never forget the rough roads that you had to go through, working in the cane fields as hard as a man. Only you, I know, would be able to understand. When there was joy we tried to caress each other. When there was pain we tried to comfort one another. And still, when you smile, it is like the tropical breeze blowing through the trees on a bright and sunny day. Give me your hands. I am so proud of you, 'cause you are a true West Indian woman. 225 The Contemporary Period: 1976- 1995 Raymond StJames IT WAS JUST YESTERDAY Smelling the baking of sweetbread. Our women walking with loads on their heads. stepping so gracefully down the endless road. Yes, it was just yesterday. Hearing the screeching of donkey carts; that familiar taste of coconut tart. I see children playing. Some are flying kites. I would then hear an elderly lady say, "that child is so polite." Our women washing clothes by the side of a stream. No it is not a dream. It was just yesterday. 226 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Wanda Mills WandaMil/s (1962-) Architect, artist, planner, and writer, Mills was born on St. Thomas and attended school there, graduating from Charlotte Amalie High School. She continued her education in the mainland United States, earning a bachelor's degree in architecture from Ohio State University, with complementary studies at the University of Pittsburgh, Carnegie Mellon University, the University of Minnesota, and Arizona State University. She has published one book of verse, Meditations in Solitude ( 1988). DAUGHTERS OF SHEBA (To Winnie And A Host Of Other Great Women) They are Laws The regal princesses Of feminine impotence Who cross the plains And In search of Defiantly charming Wisdom Opponents Veiled with a beauty Into submission That is rivaled With resolute Only Determination By their keen eloquence And extended maternal And noble posture Wings. Breaking preconceived IN MY GRANDMOTHER'S EYES (In Memoriam: Ina Theodosia Mills) In my grandmother's eyes, I see the travail of long years, And the sorrows of many more; The strength of a herd of oxen, And the tenderness of a dove. I see the wisdom that many seek, And a Love that soothes the soul, Silent tears that need not flow, For they are felt by all. In my grandmother's hands, I see the burdens of the years Thwarted by the spirit of the determined. Hands calloused by harshness, Yet, as gentle as the whispering breeze. 227 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Wanda Mills Hands pointing in the right direction, Caressing in times of failure. Hands that hold so firmly, And let go-so, so gently. In my grandmother's feet I see time long passed, Speaking to me of pride and despair. They bring me lessons of hope, and good faith . . . In dreams unspoken and thoughts kept silent. Those humbled feet, so fit to walk Through streets of gold, and waters of wine, In slippers of the finest silk, Laced with diamonds and pearls. Hers was a life long lived, Of thoughts well given, And gifts well received. Pains felt/quickly forgotten, And memories lovingly left behind. So as I saw her on that bed, With all of her sinew being quickly washed away, In my sadness, I smiled, For I knew that she was going Home. Her eyes were dimmed, Her hands were weakened, Her feet were still, My heart was still . . . Yet, when she looked at me with eyes so dimmed, I saw all of these things, In my grandmother's eyes. 228 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Wanda Mills HOMMENOIR HommeNoir ... Your seething rhythm, Rushing like a river Through the pores of my existence: Having no mercy for the turbulence, That you leave behind. Blindly, I search for the sound of your voice, Only to find you sitting on a rock With a certain sadness in your eyes. Tears roll down my face, As if to shower my helplessness. My hands afraid to touch ... So fearful that you might disappear Into the solemn darkness of the night. If I could only run my fingers Through the mountains of your troubles ... And enter into your well guarded world of mystery: To marvel together at the beauty of God's earth, And walk beside you in an empire of our own. Together we shall conquer ... Homme Noir/Black Man. 229 The Contemporary Period: 1976- 1995 Linda Lynn Quetel Linda Lynn Quetel (1967-) Quetel's first novel, Simple Sins-The Awakening is being released by Minerva Publishers in London, and she is currently working on a second. Born in St. Thomas, Quetel is an active environmentalist. NIGGER A raindrop in your pond shattering the peace, causing ripples, breaking the bond. LEGACY I walk through the fields of oblivion, not master nor slave, of each but neither am I; I grasp the whip in my hand, but feel the lashes against my bare skin. I walk with my feet blistered and sore down generations gone by; Both sides of my existence merge through confrontations of hate and war, shame and sin. Bloodlines unclean, handed down to me, injected with impurities, a breakage in bond, the silent legacy. 230 Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Gary Harold Gary Harold (1942-) Originally from Iowa, Harold moved to St. Croix with his family in the early 1980s to join the faculty at the University of the Virgin Islands. He has always been a writer, with stories and poems in various journals, including The Caribbean Writer. His book of poetry, Endangered Species, was published in 1992. ISLANDS Sand and salty memories surfwhite fluorescence at night a tropical one hundred watt light wears on a small plastic green palm wearing dust on some midwest piano someone's always stationed there and that is his photograph to the left the dreamy-eyed one in full dress Tradewinds rattle through palm fronds suck flat cotton clouds across the moon very much like living on postcards the scenery is never changing just passed around between uniforms in a story of homes lost and land gained where we can only imagine we know a paradise where the gods were good times We fight now just for access to the little propped-up sand strips where rich people are laid out in the tropical winter sun and call it a day at the beach Dreams live at the meeting of the land and the sea while the tides and the crabs are about their part in the business of the universal exchange of energy The islands, our god's pricetags, sit hypnotized by the incandescent virtuosity of the breaking of the surf 231 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Gary Harold HURRICANE Somewhere there's orange juice and toast someone's society starts another day their morning news of Hurricane Hugo who's tearing up St. Croix In a few days we'll have US troops and a St. Thomas radio station we'll have a white plastic bucket for pulling up cistern water and a strange new sense of community based solely on survival There's just now, for now this present tense quiet in the hurricane's eye remembering the tastes of fear my back to the bathroom door the wall pulsing with the wind sitting in black water remembering I talked to God instead of about him and that I bargained for my daughters' lives as if the one he wanted was me and finally the stars the roofhaving exploded in the rush of the eye's west wall And there will be tomorrow walking in the aftermath the bombed and twisted litter of trees and roofs and lives and it will be too much to know and I will find myself with a broom sweeping water from a roofless room 232 Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Gary Harold THE DARK Dark comes cool as creek water stretching herself into long shadows pouring under dogwoods and honeysuckle inching smoothly up the pine trees and becoming more than lack of light She became one of Edison's victims having gone a naive girl to the city where desperate men and fluorescent boys pushed her into backstreets and stairways to use her and blame her for their crimes She comes wounded to the woods forming a soft woman's face carrying her sadness and her loss grateful now for a natural embrace healer and healed becoming one. 233 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Alfredo E. Figueredo Alfredo E. Figueredo (1949-) Figueredo was born in Las Tunas, Cuba, and received his early education there. Later moving to New York, he graduated with the Elsa Sherman Memorial Prize in Poetry from Thomas Jefferson High School in Brooklyn and took departmental honors in anthropology when he earned his bachelor's degree at Queens College. He did graduate studies at Hunter College and at the University of Connecticut, where he earned a master's degree in anthropology. In 1972, Figueredo moved to the Virgin Islands, where he has been curator of the Virgin Islands Museum, territorial archaeologist, a teacher in private and public schools, and an instructor at the University of the Virgin Islands. His poems have appeared in various periodicals, locally and abroad, and in the Collage poetry series. His first volume of verse, The Colors ofa Clown, was published by Antilles Press in 1991; he also served as editor of Collage III: Poets ofSt. Croix ( 1993). STONEHENGE This I say before the rocks are set: One on high and two will hold it up Circle round the triplets in a net, Make their gathering hollow as a cup. Days to wonder, weeks to have been met, Noons to settle down and nightfalls sup Breaking morning, rising parapet Coming back to hail a barking pup. Moons to last and sun enough once more Jaws set westward, tails appointing east: Memory serves, but slaves demand their due- Wreck confusion till she cracks her core Open gates to let escape the beast, Prancing down to be the last run through. GOLDEN GROVE CAMPUS Slender pillars, crowned By verdant, sprayed capitals, Pace with rings of white The asphalted, narrow way As it reaches tiled roof halls. Often the wind blows And bends the seeded grass stalks Swaying as sea waves, Through the column-parted lawn Reaching far across the plain. 234 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Alfredo E. Figueredo BANANAQUIT It wavers, but will not delay, A flaming breast among the trees; It searches for what none can say. Breathing the fragrance of the day, Seeking to follow what it sees It wavers, but will not delay. Will a flower attract its stay, This companion of the bees? It searches for what none can say. A burning secret locked away, Are seasoned fruits its long-lost keys? It wavers, but will not delay. A nest, perhaps, its silent quay After the heaving, bitter seas? It searches for what none can say. Nothing stops it on its way? Its performance will not cease? It wavers, but will not delay; It searches for what none can say. 235 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Marvin E. Williams Marvin E WiUiams (1955-) Williams was born on St. Croix and educated at Claude 0 . Markoe Junior High School and Central High. He later attended Cornell University, earning a bachelor's degree and master's degrees in fine arts and professional studies in communication. Williams is a poet, short story writer, essayist, and editor. He is presently an associate editor of The Caribbean Writer and an assistant professor of English at the University of the Virgin Islands. His stories and poems have appeared in various journals and magazines in the Caribbean and abroad; and he has published two volumes of verse, Ebony Field (1976) and Dialogue at the Hearth ( 1993). POND BUSH I Pond Bush dead and I, its son, is dying without the chatter of shak-shaks in wind, without pealing squawks of chicken laying. I too supple with wisdom to cackle and this small island too stiff with cackles to hear my picong cacklings; so after seventy-five years of incubation, I quietly giving birth to death tho I happy like any hen getting rid of her egg. But it ain't life ejection of death that attract me here to stand where the gobi had stand til sun burn it into calabash and we carve it into gourd: No. I crawl here now like a tarantula who lose his sagaboy youth, scraping memory leaking bucket to catch his orgasmic first sting when all sex leak out his lance and his lance limp with rememberings. So tis muscle rippling memories what drag me here, and I confess to a kinda nostalgia tho it be one without tears. I live too long to make romance out dead years, and I know, tho tis profane, death does make angels outta monsters and life does make gods mundane. 236 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Marvin E. Williams Tis to these mundane gods I return to chisel out my memoirs of a age when god was your neighbor who could feel your rage, and devil was backra who thief your labor. Heaven and Hell was simple then. Gobi, Yankee, Koshu, Darky, Goat, Papa, Tippet, Dundusla: I return to wake them tho steel cars drive them from bosom to wreakheap memory, where time demolish given names leaving the deeds that make nicknames. Nicknames more honest than given names tho given scheme to squash mortality. Love does ensure immortality after things die, so Pond Bush dead and I, its last lover, bound to ensure its immortality. II Pond Bush house them had huddle facade gainst facade til you puzzle to decipher which supporting which, who woodlice eating who wood. When American offer concrete shelter, the house them bulldoze for the best; the people them scatter for the worst: No more sugar to borrow til next week please God; we done learn to be dependent alone. In Pond Bush picong was manna to starve away hunger. But The Bush get ambush by that worm Progress who increase my quota of blasphemous breath: So I curse him, damn cripple Ogun, while he sunning his stuffed guts, while he waiting for the gong that will summon new devils to hungrier dinner. 237 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Marvin E. Williams But Progress ain't no monster or messiah; and if tis a devil, tis a angel. I sit and squirm my backside on the chook-chook seat time give me, watching Progress kill the ravenous life eating our children before their new eyes pop open to take in Pond Bush rotting body; before their new eyes pop open to take in Pond Bush tingling spirit. But Progress leave me a buncha bills I caan pay, rum chills I caan defeat, and juicy memories I could bite into but caan eat. So with my false teeth I chaw memory like tobacco, and when the groggy juice drunk off my saliva, I going spit out life's bile and swallow the alka seltzer death got to offer. So let me chaw memory with my false teeth, and when I spit I want the youth to get hit middle their mind's eye. I want them get hit right there, so they could wipe ripe their eye them and see when sitting down to dine at Progress shrine. I want them to dish out food father to the scattered gods, so rage could die, and neighbor and labor restore to life. 238 Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Marvin E. Williams NOONTIDE, FORT CHRISTIAN A shrieking seagull catapults from sun's niggering rays, his wings slapping winds which swat the slack flaps of sailboats huddled, besieged seadogs, groggy in this hurricane portal. The epileptic noontide froths at the mouth ofthe channel, hawking, spitting its ague halfway up the thick Fort Christian walls, walls rejuvenated in ripe-wound red for the tourist's bandaged dollar. Cannons preside above the spastic waves, miming eurekas for eardrums timbred by Cortez's thunder: Their Blue Beardian eyes dim from wildfire into hearth for those visitors wondering at this relic of empire in black gestation. With maps ushering them down hallways metabolized in their blood, they photograph the Rustoleumed cages whose clangs clutch the slave woman's conflagration, the bones of her cohorts, the bones of her cutthroats, the ashen communion of ghosts. 239 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Marvin E. Williams HEIRS Today when Rastas, seeds of my seed, bleed like I bled yesterday; when their locksed-up heads knuckle with the knocks which unraveled mine, I grow mad to kindle their smoldering curses before they erupt into silences. But I bequeathed hurts to them: this punch-drunk land that breaks plows; this futuristic hand that grips no aged kin; this carnival laughter that bellows each warm December, offering a drunken catharsis to race stasis; this archipelago whose scattered eggs make shells that expose its yoke. I bequeathed these hurts to them, and no heir surrenders the estate to the resurrected dead, so they curse me for loving too long the hurts they've begun to cradle towards love. But youthful eyes homily chase the twitching horizon; so how can they see that this love, our heirloom, ambushed me at the bequest of my forebears? So I sit like a dumb ox grazing on their growing silences, grazing on their solitude thickening inward like the spicy heart of Paz's Mexico booming in its embalmed echo. I wince, I choke as their curses dehydrate into gutturals, as their love-roots sprout trees rigid against tradewinds' muscular proddings. So I, stump the young woodcuts left, hear their dumb omen. I feel a humping in my arthritic blood, a new doubt flowing in, a new hurt we might have to raise and love until we grow old and it leaves us. But 240 Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Marvin E. Williams like a gambler with nothing, I call for new cards, knowing nothing can't give birth to less than nothing. So I welcome the sunset and follow the ringlets dancing out the dungeon of my corncob pipe and pray, like some gambler, that a restless breeze will burst its August shell and shake these dormant trees; that the hurricane's winds which bar our windows each wet September will blow anger's chipped chips furlongs beyond the bog that hugs their blocks. I pray, Lord, I pray that no busy twirls will interfere with the newly unwinded threads of airs; I pray no twirling undertows will swirl them back to embracing their twisted spools. STRAND STREET, FREDERIKSTED AFTER DARK The park lights color all dresses purple, so that those who scoured wardrobe to find the perfect match between chic blouse and earring on earlobe look as fine as those wearing hits and misses. The tourist boat's hom startles to settle the scene, a throng of tourists stagger out a bar, holler a store of corny vacation curses and, to honor the rum that strips them bare, add a few off-balance 50s calypso verses that humor the natives in purple dresses who, wanting such leisure, whisper wishes upon a star Those secret wishes might not take them far beyond dumb labor and articulate dues, but that's why we seek balance in calypso verses; that's why we need not import the blues. 241 The Contemporary Period: 1976- 1995 Marvin E. Williams JOU'VERT MORNING with so much native skill BACCHANAL but as islander ' Last jou 'vert morning I revel in his ability to kill festival kicking kinetic with words. Every manjack know wants down main street, that in lieu of swords rum jumping from hand punning does break loose to hand faster than money, corked up juices mass dress up in more masks to drown the Puritan whore than Europe thief from Africa screwing our bardon up. Plus to give their museums exotic since this makeshift Eden begin authority over dark history, to be colonial and man drum drunk and staggering was to pun or beat up pan thru some cock's crowing dawn (Pung pun pon pan). or cussing Jesus, and Calypso adopt pun and raise it this arse, Manjack, from Grove on its hidden meaning milk; going collar me up by my starch now tis a communicable disease and iron shirt wanting and as poet ' to start a bacchanal I mad to contract it. cause I say his salt song To tie a man's tongue could never be Roadmarch. is to give him the gift My shirt was starch of tongues, but our Iii rift not cause I ain't Creolise, didn't call for Manjack but when people vex they does to show off his gift. In fack make up more precise lies I believe he pick this fight than them stateside contractors just to parade it. So this government does hire he wording me down, naming me to build lemons to make we sour. everything in rhyme So with gobi-like eyes from snake to mangoose blazing red with more fire and a few other reptiles than what flaring from the raw this island too dry to produce. rum he drinking, he shouting: A fresh Old Wife just cut loose "What your Y ankeefy ass from its tarpaulin skin know bout mass? You been don't be daubed with more lime in that damn icebox so long than he was daubing me in. that you ain't know island queen Half the masqueraders kiss off from island wabeen. Leave my song the band and come tramping alone and scatter your dumb cloth over to hear Manjack back to Betsy's rass!" knotting up my name in rope: He ain't had to pun on me The hot rum make them overripe for fight, and I smell them spoiling 242 Yellow Cedars B1ooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Marvin E. Williams to start unmasking mass. their egos had want blows. One banana boat arse begin to laugh I for one had plan to keep my nose in ripples of solo barrack yard: clean to suck up the new air "Soursop, like you taking card!" them Rastaman promising, but clear I ain't pay no mind out the blue this Grovian woman decla1 to that leggo beast full to my face: "Don't call Manjack from Gairydom's squawk chigga mouth because I know cause he come from Grove Place. all man does babble Chigga knocking dog in East and West after they learn to talk. And some masquerader with nettle I ain't no calypsonian chime in: "Grove does grow them best I christen with Icarian blood, Bacchanal cafoon the carnival. I is a poet baptize Like honeybees smoked out their hive, in slices of chameleon's mood; me and Manjack haul arse and alight I does wear guerrillas' derringdo in Flatbush bar where picong not the cunomuno does guard mass till carnival come armor ofthe martyr, so to arrest it. Something grow I know when to shut my mouth on Manjack face like a wart out politics, but I ain't til his medicated question heal it: embalm in the flowery classics: "What lice biting black people children I rooted enough head at all?" Rum and frustration, to know West Indians quick I tell him, to pitch heaven to the devil is a dangerous combination; mix them when you ignore their curses; and coward people going get brave so I ignoring enough to occupy a grave. Rum might Manjack's verbal frescoes run all night to catch anger, but like he was any island artist. when breaklight you going see thunder But I see the muse dying begging cloud for fight. in Manjack's signifying face, "Fight with one another." so I surrender my chameleon heart "Fight period, brother." to his Icarian art: "Manjack, "Fight? Chupse! What fight? you is ah old chigga mouth; everytime This island need it." you sing only chigga coming out!" "We does remind me of a magga cow Manjack smile, but meanwhile standing in a green pasture the masqueraders start to get vex mooing hunger hungry to know, after the poetry while waiting for Godot who going hit who next. Their eyes to feed it." turn inward, and they see "I ain't know that feller Godot our words was braver than we, so but I know 243 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Marvin E. Williams what you mean; I tired bleed it attack: in calypso." "We full a shit, but "Yet you getting vex Soursop, bwoy, I love we spirit!" when I say you can't win Roadmarch. You does sing too complex and too slow. When West Indians playing mass they want slack tempo." ''Tis this heapa slackness tieing we up in rope." Police siren scatter masqueraders into Flatbush; it had mass pushing to dry love the bar, tho its nymphomaniac spout was bare and spread wide open like our Senate. Fear evolve Manjack to mouse without hole, when a masquerader, muscles rippling thru his wit, compose a lyric chisel with iambic abuse and tell Manjack "Top it!" The Grovian woman, bowling ball behind capsizing drunken pins, slow grind the bar and revive the bacchanaling: "All-you only make nar, give everybody in the bar one on me ... even the house!" Manjack revolve up from mouse and canter for our free drink. When he canter back he temper his 244 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Marvin E. Williams THE RETURNS Each visitor returning from home laments through canerum swigs: Few I remember live there anymore; we live scattered in huddles across the states, and the island's landscape pursues us here. Rebels who would rescue the soil from our tillers, farm and commune alone in our receding rainforests. Home has no memory of its prodigals. But where am I to tum, unhinged in Ithaca, impermeable to the native passions which naturalize? What am I to write, I who ignore this life I borrow, wringing dry my tongue for words to transform island from memory into squirming organism? Am I in love with Santa Cruz or, in my quest for revenge, demanding the returns on prodigal youth? Colonials must find out. Yet I wonder: after my returns from the balding forests, after I decompose into my father's pose, renew his feet's affair with the dogs, how long will it be before I get home to profitable grave? 245 The Contemporary Period: 1976- 1995 Tamarind Tamarind (1953-) Born in Frederiksted, Chanell Steinmann Wheeler attended St. Joseph's High School and graduated from Franklin & Marshall College in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, with a bachelor's degree in English literature. Under the pen name ''Tamarind," she published poetry in Collage Two: Poets ofSt.Croix (1991). She is currently a travel agent in California. POST -HUGO MADNESS It was fall. The dry leaves Crunched Under her heavy step As she tromped through The tall, dead California grass Parched by drought. She sliced the air With her swinging arms, Heaving sighs, And bitter tears Trying to wash away her losses. A vengeful Hurricane Lashed away at her Island- Her heart, Leaving it bare and bitter, Like a sour kenip. And here she was- Five thousand miles away Trying to make sense of it all! She had only one Simple wish left in life Sweet, eternal sleep. 246 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Tamarind The dry leaves crackled Under her boot. The placid cows left their Mark in her pathway. Dry, desiccated pods Tiny, green shoots of grass Growing out of their stark brownness She stopped and stared. If green grass can Grow out of desiccated waste Then why can't I? Tender, young shoots of Hope Grew out of her Dry, Desiccated Tamarind Pod of a Soul. She walked on, Stepping L g h t y. 247 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Richard Schrader, Sr. Richard Schrader, Sr. (1935-) Schrader was born at Calquohoun on St. Croix. He attended St. Ann's and St. Mary's Catholic Schools and received his undergraduate degree from John Jay College of Criminal Justice and his graduate degree from the University of the Virgin Islands. He is the author of a book of poems and stories, Home Sweet Home (1986), and five cultural histories: Walking Through Kasha and Roses (1988), Notes ofa Crucian Son ( 1989), St. Croix in Another Time (1990), Kallaloo (1991), and Fungi (1993). A retired soldier and prison warden, Schrader lives with his wife Claudette just a short distance from the old sugar cane village where he was born. NUBIAN RIDER Ride man, ride your donkey To the market and stuff your basket. Ride man, ride your donkey On hot roads Cooled by lovely Flamboyants. Ride man, ride your donkey Under the cover of giant Eucalyptuses And huge flowery Casha Ride man, ride your donkey Serenaded by the sound Of "Woman's Tongue" Dancing in the breeze On aged Tibet trees. Ride man, ride your donkey To rich fields Populated with crops. Ride man, ride your donkey To the quarry. Collect all the precious stones You can carry. Ride man, ride your donkey On the banks ofthe Nile Plunge into its waters And cool off From the desert sun. 248 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Richard Schrader, Sr. IS THIS ST. CROIX? Is this Ay Ay Is this St. Croix of years ago, where once lived a island of natural beauty sharing people? with green hills, lush fields, "Come boy, tek this fish pleasant valleys and virgin soil, Gi 'e yoh mama." now raped by the big developer ''Tek this yam, with the bulldozer? Gi 'e yoh papa." Is this St. Croix "Tek this mango, this pear, ringed with lovely beaches this lime, once accessible and free? ''Tek ... Tek ... Tek ... " Is this truly St. Croix Is this really St. Croix, once a shining gem an island once populated with in the Caribbean Sea caring and trusting people? fanned by the gentle breeze "Sissy, I goin' out, of harmony and tranquility? if rain come Is this my St. Croix tek meh clothes off deh line, of long ago close meh winda, when people worked the land, shut me duh." lived off the land, Is this my native St. Croix did not sell their land, and where people once did not give it away? broke bread together, Is this St. Croix, shared souse, roast goat, my home, sweet home, fungi and kallalloo where happy Crucians arroz con polio y habichuela once gathered under the moon colorada? and the stars, Is this the same dancing till day break good old Santa Cruz, to hot, sweet, ripping, once garden of the West Indies, bruckdown, scratch band music? abundant in fruits, Is this St. Croix, ripe with respect and courtesy, my heart, my hope, my dreams? rich in community? Is this truly my good old St. Croix? 249 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Richard Schrader, Sr. OLD BEATS NEW Old beats new Old beats new Like leftover red pea soup Like de old avocado tree And kallaloo. Knocked flat 'pon e belly Old mashup new. But bearing. Old is champion! Old beats new Like friendship molded in years Of love and understanding. Old beats new Like old values soaked in the wine SWEET RAIN Of our ancestors. Old beats new Come, rain, come. Like guavaberry rum. On the roof of our homes The older it gets Sweet music play. The greater it tastes. Come, rain, come. Old beats new Quench the thirst Like a poem frozen in age Ofthe parched earth. Yet warm, fresh Come, rain, come. And flowing. Raise the heads Old beats new Of trying Kallaloo. Like the old songs of Nat King Cole, Come, rain, come. Soft, soothing and sweeter Touch the roots Than before. Of promising mango. Old beats new Come, rain, come. Like Bob Marley's songs of freedom, Pour out your life sustaining juices The fire still rising, To river and sea. Touching me soul. Come, rain, come. Old beats new Rise to the heavens. Like de bangles Shower us with heavenly blessings Y oh momma gi 'e yoh Again and again. Before she goh. 250 Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Patricia M. Fagan Patricia Fagan (19??- ) Fagan was born on St. Thomas where she attended elementary and secondary schools. She has published many articles, book reviews, poems, and stories in journals and magazines at home and abroad, including The Caribbean Writer. ISLAND FEVER: SUNDAY'S SONG Sunday opens slowly to barkless dogs and singing thrush White skin chile done lost her shoe lizards lap morning dew. Sing, cuckoo, sing. Moravian, Catholic, Church of God all in tune to mango rot. Yellow, pink and green chiffon undulating to voodoo hymns. Sing, cuckoo, sing. The devil and she mother; the people don't know which way. "The Lord be with you chile Shout, holy, holy, hallelujah!" Sing, cuckoo, sing. Which man did come last night? How deep he drove it home No mind to none, no joy for all. Fair skin chile pale like bone. Sing, cuckoo, sing. Blood run down church steps washing truth to sea Noon day sun blinds the light Clear skin girl lie she white Bong bells, scourge flesh Sing, cuckoo, sing. 251 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Patricia M. Fagan DAYDREAMS ON A SUBWAY TRAIN Draw me a hibiscus, sweet darling, make it red and opened. draw me the flambouyant in blossom; the palms tall and grand. draw me the old black woman selling tarts and soursops on her head I need to see ole Mrs. Proudfoot on her donkey; we used to say hello every morning. draw me the hands of the steel drum player their roughness banging out calypso. draw me ole Mr. Pete, beads of sweat run down his black face as he takes his cows to pasture. And how about the time we got caught teefing fruit, lord, those soursops were sweet. And don't forget Rafie, the town drunk, drinking rum and throwing the empties at the tourists while cursing. draw me the black women squatting, as they fry fish on their coal pots. draw me home; I can walk barefoot up the hill, see the morning sun and forget this subway train. 252 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Patricia M. Fagan CHARCOAL I II black man bent under But those were old photographs tropic sun viewed in a wrinkled olive book burning lignum vitae The Danish Isles ofthe West. for charcoal Now kodak snaps the Red to boil morning tea. White and Blue cooly black woman's hands waving over tin shacks carry coal sweltering in blistering sun for Rotterdam 's steam for bargain hunter's a cent a bucket buys trade magazine. little sugar While in the dark her cracked yellow feet a spector' scream mark the earth of freedom's flight step by step Queen Mary, the one-legged under Danish flag. slave jumped to her death Millions of years ago on the jagged rocks of the sea in another tropical forest The stories chant, trees, flowers, plants "Look to the water!" absorbed sun reminding us of her yearly day after day apparition and a bloody sea then sank into earth's bosom And we weep to the drums metamorphosed to coal. that beat somewhere else The Dannebrog lowers a past to marching rats and fighting roaches "We must progress" captions while old man tends his coal pot the coal carrier's dreams of and Lennox A venue screams identity. golden roads and electric light Blackbeard's pieces of eight pay for Old Glory. 253 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Tahira Yasmeen Muhammed Tahira Yasmeen Muhammed (1975-) Muhammed was born in East Meadow, New York. A 1993 graduate of Charlotte Amalie High School, she is currently studying journalism at Atlanta Metropolitan College and hopes to be a writer. NIGHT IN THE COUNTRY The sun sets golden above the horizon White fluff clouds No solid body The sea rests calmly The wind gently blows The sun Finished its duty And the moon comes out To take its place Night creatures stir To stalk out their prey Nocturnal eyes gaze at me I hurry home Jungle-like noises haunt me along my path I do not want to become Another victim of the night. 254 Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Tregenza Roach Tregenza A. Roach (1959-) Originally from St. Kitts, Roach has lived on St. Thomas since he was eight years old. Formally trained in journalism at the University of Missouri-Columbia and in law at the University of Connecticut, he is presently an attorney in private practice on St. Thomas. THE FOWL KEEPER He was manacled by her fingers. The strength of her fear of flying expressed through hands bruised by cane and cotton carved dents and crannies in his biceps, bringing blood to crest just beneath his black skin. After almost eighty years of being, she had come to know the intimacy of the clouds as they floated so closely before her face, beckoning olden spirits. How much higher is heaven, wondered she, as she in wonder of the blue and of the light revisited a childhood of distant fields and forests and breezes crossing the plains of her island and floating down to kiss the gentle sea. Again on brown, familiar earth she righted herself, even in her mind, and stepped forward and offthe bulging, 255 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Tregenza Roach streamlined vessel of the air. In a place familiar yet unfamiliar all at once she found her kin, not as she forced them from her loins, but weathered and worn and tired. They reclaimed a time-worn image of her sweeping skirt, just skimming the loose dirt in a yard. The apron bulging with com held in one hand while the other swept handfuls to fall softly on a cushion of dust. And the fowls a cackle, every shade of gray and white and brown from hurried flight descending. She faced the choice to stay or to return. And with much puzzlement and dismay wondered aloud and in earnest, "Who will feed the fowls?" 256 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Dennis McCluster Dennis McCiuster (1954-) McCluster is a writer and editor living in St. Croix. Originally from Georgia, McCluster moved to the Virgin Islands in 1990 to work for The Virgin Islands Daily News, serving as assistant news editor, features editor, and St. Croix bureau chief. He started writing as a teenager and later attended Toni Cade Bambara's Pamoja Writers Workshop during the 1970s. In 1983, McCluster won the Georgia State University Review Mortar Board Poetry Award and two years later was elected founding president of First World Writers in Atlanta, Georgia. His short stories and poetry have been published in VI Voice, The Catalyst, The GSU Review, and DeKalb Literary Arts Journal. McCluster used his editing and writing skills as a peacemaker when he was activated by his National Guard unit to participate in the Bosnian peace mission. In his role as an Army journalist, McCluster edited a daily newsletter in Hungary, supporting the Sava River bridgehead. McCluster has recently written a children's book, Runaway School bus. Currently he is once again working as a reporter for The Daily News. WAITING ROOMS Waiting rooms in poor peoples' hospitals remind you of unemployment lines slaveship holds and death row. All the places we have waited piled onto each other suffocating in the smell of our fear and degradation. Oh, yes. Degradation: A tongue the oppressor speaks well. 257 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Dennis McCluster MY REVOLUTIONARY GRANDDADDY I useta think revolutionaries had to be loud and march all the time shoutin' "down with U.S. imperialism!" which is cool . . . but I remember granddaddy and how he peacefully, sweetly shaped our destinies as a king and kept food on the table by humbly shaping lawns with the same loving care like a serf. And realized his revolution was inside. How he fooled 'em all Had them think in' he was ahoy while they cowered in his shadow he stood so tall. 258 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Carol Henneman Carol O'Bryan Henneman (1953-) A native Virgin Islander, Henneman is a career educator whose teaching experience ranges from the elementary level to the university level. Henneman is an accomplished writer, journalist, poet, political analyst, and radio talk show host and is active in social, educational, and political change in the Virgin Islands. She received a bachelor's degree in English and secondary education from the University of the Virgin Islands and a master's degree from the University of Connecticut. A former master teacher and educational consultant, Henneman is listed in Who 's Who, as well as Who s Who in American Education, Who's Who Among American Teachers, and Outstanding Young Women ofAmerica. In 1994, she was selected as 'Woman of theYear" by the St. Thomas/St. John Business and Professional Women's Club. PAN-AFRICANISM I embrace Mother Africa in my heart For she defines my breath oflife. I inhale Mother Africa into my essence For she sets my soul aglow with her kundalini fire. I raise up Mother Africa For in her elevation, I grow taller, stronger. I cry out for Mother Africa For her pain is my pain- part and whole. I die for Mother Africa For her life is my life Her day is my day And her beginnings are my beginnings. And her end is my end. 259 The Contemporary Period: 1976- 1995 Carol Henneman FORZORA I has de soul ah Janie Iovin' Teacake in de bosom ah de 'glades. I has de fee lin ' ah Zora who made Janie as 'hole as could be in de vision ah de worl'. I has de understandin' ah Zora as she mol' new worl ', order ah tings she 'maginin in de night ah she min'. I has de spirit ah Zora as she fashion de words in she to bring forward in de light ah de eyes to see. I has de courage ah Zora to look at she insides in every cubbyhole to see if she could find haself in de. I has de heart ah Zora to stand against all ah dem because she know wha she writin' is true. 260 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Margery Tonks Margery Tonks (1917-) Tonks was born in Rhode Island but has lived on St. Croix since 1969 and remains a vibrant community activist there. She has a bachelor's degree from Smith College, an M.A.T. in foreign languages from Boston University, and a certificate in a Cours de Civilisation from the University of Paris. Her poetry has appeared in Caribbean Impressions and in the Collage series. LAYERS We are not onions to be peeled until the inner core, the essence, is laid bare. Layered from outer facade of appearances through behavioral attitudinal thoughtful covers. Innermost seldom reached the center, the perfect self, awaits discovery when we dare to look inside without fear that the core might be rotten. 261 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Trevor Parris Trevor Parris (1943-) Parris is an associate professor of English at the University of the Virgin Islands. He studied English at the University of the West Indies, the University of Toronto, and the University of Hull, England. He has contributed poems to magazines and newspapers in the West Indies and elsewhere and has published a novel, Got a Bite: A Story for Children, set in the Virgin Islands. Dr. Parris has participated in many poetry readings in Barbados, Jamaica, and the Virgin Islands. He is interested in drama and has been involved in amateur productions. THE TWINS THE winds blew and the waters came and safety was all that mattered All were afraid and called His name. MAN, chain the wind! Strive to claim to make whole again things scattered The winds blew and the waters came. HE stoned his house and did not blame himself that this straw was scattered ALL were afraid and called His name. DAVID'S cannons roared, made islands lame steel on steel and concrete battered THE winds blew and the waters came. FREDERICK'S temper flared, flashed the same fury: wise and foolish chattered ALL were afraid and called His name. MAN, catch the wind; strive to reclaim the sea from the sand left scattered! The wind blew and the waters came. ALL were afraid to call His name. 262 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Trevor Parris EASTER POEM As I taste the swish of the sea falling from the crest of the rock. As I smell the wash of the spray faltering to rest on its undying breast. As I hear it suspended caught up to be scooped to rock from the trough strong to rise in living white to the height of the crest. As I feel its fingers outreaching falling faltering from the rock dissipated. May this Friday which we call Good be washed by the wave ofthe blood of the Cross; May this salt communion of tears which I seek to suppress but which rise to fall from my eyes to my breast be caught undying when I fall and be scooped to that rock from the slough of my living sin and the wave of hope from within Rise continuously-and Rock of Ages cleave for me. 263 The Contemporary Period: 1976- 1995 Trevor Parris PEGASUS 249 FROM the foot ofthe tree the snake coils: blue mountains shimmer in the distance peaked by darkening sheets of cloud; fringed by skirts of whiter smoke above rugged fingers climbing from below. FROM the foot ofthe tree the snake coils: glass shatters in the distance, exploding in an echo of clattering sound the whiplash of chaos snaps across my mind cutting tranquility deep into the flesh: through flesh that is putrid and turning sour flesh of my flesh that rots the spirit the spirit that submits to flesh: to dust-dust to dust, ashes to ashes Requiescat in pace. Amen. Around the waist of the tree the snake coils. YOU touch me and your hands are cold. You cup my chin in the palm of your hand and raise my mouth to your chilly lips which shudder to revive me and raise me from the dust from which I came. But can love ride roughshod over this wide battlefield of flesh that is devouring itself? Save the Blue Mountains that shimmer in the distance? Around the arms of the tree the snake twists At the crack of dawn men fall collapsing prostrate in a heap; hate snaps like a twig breaking the silence of dawn, and at dusk even the lion's paw cannot raise them like Lazarus from the dead. Magnum magnanimous explodes in my ears bursting my drums that time the beat of war. ''Ten thousand warriors" collapsing falling devastating rapmg 264 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Trevor Parris the flesh ofthe land: flesh of my flesh that rots the spirit of a people. And the snake embraces the breast of the tree with boisterous sinews blue mountains no longer shimmer in the distance the sea of clouds billows above from stem to stern the fingers are now claws savaging upward from below: the peaks are dark, as white as sin; the earth explodes in darkness and Jamaica waits. The snake warmed by the blood of the lamb and sucking the blood of resurrection from the breast of hate breeds fat and cannot see love hovering to choke him to choke him to death. And time hovers above the mountain like a bird. time waits. Around the neck of the tree the snake coils: arches a venomous head; threatens a venomous tongue. Our eyes lock in deadly expectation. We wait And time hovers above us like a bird; Waiting on love to devour hate: to kill the snake that twines the tree that bears the fruit that blossoms in the garden that Jack built. 265 The Contemporary Period: 1976- 1995 Dana Samuel Orie Dana Samuel Orie (1949 -1995) Born on St. Thomas, Orie graduated from All Saints Cathedral School in 1966. He studied journalism at UVI and the University of Connecticut and later studied fine arts at George Washington University and the University of the District of Columbia. He was at various times a radio journalist, a television talk show host, a congressional aide, a V.I. legislative aide, a calypsonian ('The Mighty Pen"), a book review editor, and a newspaper columnist. His collection of V.l Daily News columns, People ofPassion, was published in 1983. In 1994, Orie read his poem 'Triolet" at the inauguration of Governor Roy L. Schneider. TRIOLET: Virgins Three I Change comes sometimes in odd numbers A sea change can surge within one One phoenix escapes the embers Change comes sometimes in odd numbers Thousands can rise up from slumbers A rainbow needs light from one sun Change comes sometimes in odd numbers A sea change can surge within one She does not know she's at gunpoint Carib maiden of ochre hue As she blithely kneels to anoint Her virgin soul in waters blue St. John mountains tall and verdant Echo distant musket thunder An angel fish luxuriant Trembles, sensing plague and plunder The Carib maiden plucks a star From white sand shifting at her feet She puts it back-She spots a gar! She runs ashore, a laugh quite sweet She's unaware of pestilence Deep in the guts of galleons She knows not of the virulence In bellies, brains, blood and big guns 266 Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Dana Samuel Orie Some ancient spirits touch her back To let her know that life will change That soon her grace will be attacked Her cocoon will be rearranged She wades to calm and pool-kissed rocks And carves some petroglyphs so fair That swirl in whirlpools like her locks That say, forever, "I am here" II Another maiden knows guns well In Frederiksted, in sweet cane field Her mother-born in chains-chattel Like caterpillar, unrevealed Three decades passed since Mas' Peter Quadrilled a trois between the Crown And charms in arms of mulatta Emancipating black and brown Yet "Freedom" was a fantasy African maidens still were slaves Laborers in hypocrisy In sweat, in sugar, born in graves Change comes sometimes in odd numbers A sea change can surge within one One phoenix escapes the embers Change comes sometimes in odd numbers Thousands can rise up from slumbers A rainbow needs light from one sun Change comes sometimes in odd numbers A sea change can surge within one The African maiden, asleep Dreams open savannahs and skies An ancient spirit, strong and deep Awakens the rnaiden-"Arise." 267 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Dana Samuel Orie Arms akimbo, Aunt Mary stands Over maiden who starts to ask ... But Queen Mary extends her hands To calm her fears and state her task "Doan ask meh nutten 't' all," she says "Jus' geh meh match an' oil, meh dear" Maiden risen to her task, prays Fire bum' free, "I too am here" III He knows switchblades, guns and bullets He avoids drugs and viruses Friends have bled life out their gullets St. Thomas: no more oasis A virgin teen-anamoly? Young brown brother's blessed with a mind Which figured out since he was three Wealth, health and peace are his to find He's proud of his rich heritage His mixture of cultures and blood Flows free of rancor, racial rage A mixture thick as town gut mud His father, a seafaring man From Virgin Gorda, B.V.I. Mommy, born here, looks pure German His sisters dark skin: moonless sky His one granny comes from St. Barts Grampa's from Santo Domingo The whole world nurtures all their hearts From Phoenix to San Fernando Young man opens his lucid eyes Checks to see if the coast is clear A million butterflies arise He says, "We can fly-We are here" 268 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Dana Samuel Orie Change comes sometimes in odd numbers A sea change can surge within one One phoenix escapes the embers Change comes sometimes in odd numbers Thousands can rise up from slumbers A rainbow needs light from one sun Change comes sometimes in odd numbers A sea change can surge within one FOUR POEMS FOR A ST. THOMIAN LADY I On this island In her garden, palm trees point she grows bougainvillaea and to skies hibiscus. They are hers to pick and wear Some bend in a gale Some snap They are her children in gentle breezes We are all her children II Like flowers, she eases Bougainvillaea us onto air attaches itself towards future to silver strands generations touched lightly by blue, clean light III A gust of trade A hibiscus grew there wind yesterday, blows a rumpled its pistil a weapon green dollar proclaiming survival: down Main Street. a celebratory dance, It flutters over an elegant shake-up Western Cemetery to the airport, Each bit of pollen where a silvery beats a drumhead flying machine of wind will lift it, stretched tightly over a greedily, St. Thomian matriarch' s to northern vaults memory 269 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Dana Samuel Orie Meanwhile, an island Some absorb it and grow mother boils bushtea Some abuse it to cure her Godchild's and bum cold: "Nightdew and the draf will red, red kill yo'." The sun not as kindly as IV the lady whose times In Charlotte Amalie of day or evening people point to the sun are always preceded by "good." A SONG THAT RINMES (For my father, Lionel, who insisted that "poems supposed to rhyme") A gloomy day when times were hard I sat crying in my Dad's yard A gypsy moth danced by on air delicately, without a fear that he'd ever stop fluttering I heard him gently uttering: "Don't cry too long, just dry your eyes Please sing a song and harmonize a reverent hymn sung over chimes and calypsos of earlier times" As suave as Astaire 's old soft shoe the gypsy twirled and two-stepped, too: ''Boy, try to sing; caress the words Spread a wing like hummingbirds" A lizard sensed something might fail He turned around: had lost his tail! "Meh son," he laughed, "don't bawl for me My complexion's not Jealousy The good Lord made it green, you see, so I could blend in with a tree I will grow whole," and thus shall love take wing to blossoms far above 270 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Dana Samuel Orie CONDOMINIUM: A Calypso in Progress Be careful ... out in the streets Be cautious .. . when you taste sweets They might turn sour Be faithful ... Your life you 'II save Be safe if ... you can't behave Take a cold shower Don't be jumping from bed to bed If it raining, protect your head with a cover So many young lives being wasted So many strong people dropping dead by the hour Chorus: Invest in a condominium Destruction is what you are running from Go buy you a condominium Protection is where you are coming from Stay up in your condominium Especially when your head full of rum You safe in your condominium Even if a flood water come There goes ... Mr. Hetero Throw'n' blows ... at a Homo After he died Here comes ... Bisexual Lustin' low ... so casual He'n got no pride If yo' think yo' immune to death So yo' grab bin all yo' could get Sure suicide If yo' test positive and then Pass it on to unborn children Pure genocide Invest in a condominium Destruction is what you are running from Go buy you a condominium Protection is where you are coming from Stay up in your condominium Especially when your head full of rum You safe in your condominium Even if a flood water come 271 The Contemporary Period: 1976 - 1995 Dana Samuel Orie BELLE (In loving memory of Aunta) I listen to the quiet hustle-bustle of mourning among a gathering of saddened waltzers held at denying distance, wanting. Bells peal atop a church in a steeple. It is not a knell I am hearing, but a delicate Angelus announcing matins. I see bright, shiny ornaments dangling gently from her earlobes, lolling on her shoulders, never a burden. I see a bedewed hibiscus ever-confidently ringing clear the elegant arrival of light above Charlotte Amalia's tympany; the royal poinciana rustling through dawn's silence, its muted resonances. Lovely, the tinkle of Antillean pearls as she gracefully accepts an invitation to dance in spangled firmaments. Chimes attendant to her entrance (for so long accompaniment to her presence) ring beneficent and eternal in our memories. 272 £LZ Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index -A- "A Beach in the Shape ofa Heart" 000000································ 82 A gloomy day when times were hard 00 00 00 000000000000 00 00 00 00 00 00 00.270 A hummingbird hovers by the window, 00000000000000000000000000000179 "A Man for the People " 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 190 A New World lay before the eyes 0000000000oooooo00oo00oooooooooooooooooo46 A raindrop in your pond 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 230 "A Saxophone Speaks" ...... oooooooooo············•oooooo 145 A shrieking seagull catapults 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00. 239 "A Slave" oooooooo····oo···················oo·····ooooooooOOoooooooo············oo· 177 "A Song That Rhymes" 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 270 "A Virgin Islander's Letter to Uncle Sam" 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 68 A whispered call from door to door, 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 51 A writer's pen ooooooooooooooooooo·······oo·oo·oo·ooooooooooooooooooo············· 203 Across the hills of Cameroon ...... 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00.00 00 ...... 50 Africa fostered me ... 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00. 50 "Africa Whence I Came" 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 50 "Ah Doan Want No Kalaloo" ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOooOOooooOOoooo 70 Ah saw ajumbee back in May 0000oooooooo0000000000000000000000000000000125 "Always for You" ...... oo.ooooo•oo···oo··········ooooooooooooooooooo•oo····oo···· 55 Am captured by a voice 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00. 108 "American Paradise (but for whom?)" OOOOOOOOOOOOooooOOOOooooOOooOO 124 "American Virgin Islander" OOooooooooooooooooOOooooOOOOoooooooooooo ...... 72 "And Miles . . . " 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 .. 00. 189 And music played I While streaming faces 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 000000000000 52 And the sun strikes on the dead 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000 128 Anduze, Aubrey ...... 00 00 ...... 00 ...... 00 ...... 00 00 ...... 00 80 "Anger Grows" ...... 00.000 ...... 00 0000 ...... 000 0000000 206 "April Carnival, St. Thomas" 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 97 As foreday morning edges into light ...... 00 00 00 00 00 ...... 00 00 00. 00 ... 211 As I pause to meditate on the deep significance of Decoration Day ... 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 .. 00 .... 00 00 00 00 00 00 .. 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00. 90 As I taste the swish of the sea 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 263 As long as courage walks beside the dreamer 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00. 85 "Ask Mr. Jackson" 0000000000000000000000 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 ooooooooOOooOOOOoo 33 "At Magens Bay" 00 00 00 00 .. 00 00 00 00 .. 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 54 "Atavistic" . 00 00 00 00 ...... 00.00 ..... 00 ..... 00 00 00 00 .. 00 ...... 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 00 49 "Authority" ooooooooo···················oooooooooooooo··········•oooooooooooooooo .. 130 -B- Baby baobabs' leaves yellow, oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo00ooool69 274 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index Bad pronunciation has cause me strife ...... 40 "Bamboula Dance" ...... 49 "Bamboula Echoes" ...... 59 "Bananaquit" ...... 235 Be careful ... out in the streets ...... 271 "Beacons" ...... 85 "Belle" ...... 272 Beneath this silence ...... 15 7 Bennerson, Vivian ...... 217 Black I dream explosions ...... 146 Black man bent under ...... 253 "Blood, Sweat, and Tears" ...... 76 Blue sky above, canefields beneath, ...... 56 Brown woman I in pink dress ...... 143 burst into life Thursday the unhuman night ...... 97 -C- Callwood, Barbara ...... 221 Campbell, Marty ...... 168 Can I in pride mock sad buffoons ...... 49 "Cariso Woman" ...... 26 Change comes sometimes in odd numbers ...... 266 Change meh son change ...... 136 "Change" ...... 136 "Charcoal" ...... 253 Chingilicky, tingilicky, listen to the steel ...... 218 "Christmas Winds" ...... 215 Cibuquiera, Cibuquiera ...... 212 Claxton, Ira ...... l 7 4 "Clear de Road" ...... 31 Clear de road, ah 'yo clear de road ...... 31 Clendinen, Monique ...... 153 "Coal Carriers" (Jarvis) ...... 51 "Coal Carriers" (Creque) ...... 64 Collected in one little nook ...... 75 "Color" ...... 59 Combs, Tram ...... 96 Come all ye faithful I Disillusioned peoples ...... 129 Come near and note the tropic dancer sway ...... 60 Come one, come all, I Come big and small- ...... 75 Come, rain, come ...... 250 275 Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index "Concretely Celebrating the Quincentennial" ...... 199 "Condominium: A Calypso in Progress" ...... 271 "Contrast" ...... 78 Cooper, Vincent ...... 184 Copemann, Dimitri L...... 144 "Coves" ...... 153 Creque, Cyril ...... 57 -D- Daniel, Albert E ...... 90 Dark comes cool as creek water ...... 233 Darklight, Senya ...... 171 "Daughters o.fSheba" ...... 227 "Daydreams on a Subway Train" ...... 252 "De Roostah What Tink E Mek De Sun Rise" ...... 168 Deal, Michelle ...... 181 Dear Sah: Ah writin yo dese heah two line, ...... 69 Death is a bitch ...... 176 "Death Is A Bitch" ...... 176 "Deathless " ...... 86 "Deciduous Diaspora. November" ...... 169 Deep I in the flithering dark ...... 104 DeFreitas, Enide M. E ...... 176 "Dem Roach Dat Used to Eat Brass Cannon " ...... 71 "Dey Music Gawn" ...... 222 Do you know how a person reacts to his love? ...... 81 "Don 't Stop We" ...... 34 Don't tum I your back on her ...... 113 "Dorothea Lange" ...... 178 Draw me a hibiscus, sweet darling, ...... 252 "Dream O.f Africa" ...... 55 "Drumbeat" ...... 155 Drummer drops dead...... 185 -£- Each visitor returning from home ...... 245 Early I rise I to catch morning's quietness ...... 114 "Easter Poem" ...... 263 From "Elegy For Val" ...... 195 Emanuel, Cornelius ...... 99 276 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index "Epiphany Mas " ...... 215 Esannason, June ...... 119 "Especiallyfor You" ...... 132 "Even If the Sea Chafes ...... 113 Everywhere yo go they talk about guns I Pow Ah! ...... 3 8 "Excavating Virgin Islands Poetry" (essay) ...... I -F- "Face" ...... 170 Fagan, Patricia ...... 251 Ferdinand, Samuel ...... 35 Figueredo, Alfredo ...... 234 "Findings ...... 129 Fingers mine caress my notes ...... 217 "First Cry" ...... 144 Five decades now have passed us since the Dane, ...... 99 "Fo 'day Man in · ·'·' ...... 114 "For Carlton Barrett'' ...... 185 "For Our Late Song-Bird, Erica B. Lee" ...... 90 "For Really?" ...... 40 "For Richard Long'·' ...... 188 "For Zora '' ...... 260 "Forgotten ··· ...... 183 "Four Poems for a St. Thomian Lady" ...... 269 "Friendship" ...... 163 "From a Mountain Ridge in St. John" ...... 63 From the foot of the tree the snake coils: ...... 264 From "When The Waters Of The Waters ...... 207 -G- Gershator, David ...... 192 Gershator, Phillis ...... 199 Get offthe hills ...... 130 Giel, you say Ah shouldn't eat ...... 70 Gimenez, J.P ...... 65 "Goat Song·· ...... 191 "Golden Grove Campus·· ...... 234 Gomez, Isidro A., Jr ...... 124 Goodmamin' I I am your looking-glass ...... 158 Graham, Corrin ...... 177 "Gray Skies·· ...... I 07 277 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index -H- Hard and beautiful! ...... 60 "Harlem Comedy" ...... 51 Harold, Gary ...... 231 Hatchette, Wilfred I...... 75 Have you ever seen a flower explode? ...... 156 He comes to class I his eyes flashing like the behind ...... 204 He dives I on his own reflection ...... 164 He had a glittering tongue ...... 64 He spoke words I Warm as a tropic smile ...... 118 He was manacled by her fingers ...... 255 "Heirs" ...... 240 Henneman, Carol ...... 259 Highfield, Arnold ...... 211 Hill, Valdemar, Sr...... 54 "His Ways" ...... 204 Hodge-Hendrickson, Bertica ...... 126 Homme Noir ...... 229 "Homme Noir" ...... 229 How sad it is Virgin Islanders, ...... 166 How tings change in dis land o' mine, ...... 72 "How Tings Change" ...... 72 "Hummingbird" ...... 163 "Hunger Aims the Pelican" ...... 164 "Hurricane Hugo" ...... 186 "Hurricane" ...... 232 -/- "]Ain't Singing That" ...... 35 I am I the I silent I spirit, ...... 139 I am walking I on sea rocks; ...... 120 I came back ...... 129 I close my eyes ...... I 07 I danced that thing, I 'Till I had no shoes, ...... 67 I decide to stop sing bout message, ...... 35 I dreamed you, San Francisco, as I lay ill ...... 98 I embrace Mother Africa in my heart ...... 259 I give you a dream, ...... 190 I has de soul ah Janie Iovin' Teacake ...... 260 I have no use I for what grows down ...... 194 278 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index I have not known a gladder hue ...... 59 I heah dey got big controversy ...... l 03 I know no brighter airs Depression craves ...... 63 I listen to the quiet hustle-bustle of mourning ...... 272 I look into the red of the setting sun ...... 127 I rather walk and drink rum whole night ...... 33 I sat and looked upon a lovely scene ...... 56 I see again the pelicans above ...... 54 I useta think revolutionaries ...... 258 I walk through the fields of oblivion, ...... 230 I walked a little way with joy, ...... 85 I want to run I But there's nowhere to go ...... 135 I, whose dark ancestors played ...... 49 ''I'm Telling You" ...... 114 I've come I in I away I from ...... 140 I've tried to explain how you make me feel...... 177 lble, Louis, Jr ...... 38 "if I ... " ...... 154 Ifl were a young African woman, ...... 154 image cloud festival ...... 96 "Images " ...... 109 In a silent way I We make our marks ...... 145 "In a Silent Way" ...... 145 In December near Christmas in 1992 ...... 34 In June, the flame tree peaks; ...... 209 "In My Grandmother's Eyes" ...... 227 In my grandmother's eyes, ...... 227 In that jungled hill ...... Ill In the embrace of your warmth ...... 132 In the silence ofthe night, ...... 155 Intense visual images I Fill in the voids ...... l 09 Is this St. Croix ...... 249 "Is This St. Croix?" ...... 249 "Island Fever: Sunday's Song" ...... 251 "Island Roots" ...... 194 Island voices I dancing and steel band music ...... 114 "Islands" ...... 231 It was fall. I The dry leaves ...... 246 "It Was Just Yesterday" ...... 226 It wavers, but will not delay, ...... 235 279 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index -J- James, Lenny ...... 165 Jarvis, Jose Antonio ...... 49 "Joe Louis Leads the Way" ...... 75 Jones-Hendrickson, S.B ...... 203 "Jou 'vert Morning Bacchanal" ...... 242 "Journey to Kilima-Njaro" ...... 171 "Jubilee Hall" ...... 52 July dies with me ...... 106 "July Thirty-First" ...... 106 "Jumbee Jubilee" ...... 125 Just like an evening star whose brilliancy ...... 83 -K- Kamau, J...... 223 Keep your fogs and snows, ...... 66 Kimwatsi, J ...... 135 Knowles, Roberta (essay) ...... 149 Krigger, Marilyn F. (essay) ...... 43 -L- "La Bega Carousel" ...... 33 Larsen, Jean ...... 106 Lastjou'vert morning I festival kicking kinetic ...... 242 "Last Night" ...... 79 "Layers" ...... 261 Lazy ... quiet ... a bluesy new day ...... 144 "Lazzy Barry" ...... 32 Lee, Erica Beatrice ...... 85 "Legacy" ...... 230 Lenhardt ...... 165 "Life 's Lesson" ...... 85 "Lignum-Vitae" ...... 60 Lisowski, Joseph ...... 190 Living as I have, long enough to watch ...... 210 "Llamada" ...... 108 Love me at noontide ...... 52 Love the taste of you ...... I 09 "Love" (Larsen) ...... I 09 "Love" (Jarvis) ...... 52 280 Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index "Loving Blindness" ...... 81 Loving, Winifred Oyoko ...... 115 -M- "MaMassa" ...... 142 Mackay, Amy ...... 178 "Mahogany Birds" ...... 133 "Marooned" ...... 143 "Masquerade Frenzy" ...... 61 "Massa Day Done Dead" ...... 148 Massah day done dead ...... 148 McCiuster, Dennis ...... 257 "Me Ain't Wukkin on Christmas Day" ...... 103 "Memories ofTransfer Day" ...... 57 Mills, Wanda ...... 227 "Mistah Editah '' ...... 69 Moddie is what everybody calls her; ...... 223 "Moddie " ...... 223 "Morning Garden Princesse " ...... 211 "Mountain High" ...... 118 Muhammad, Tahira ...... 254 "My Birthplace " ...... 110 My friend, let not your face betray your grief, ...... 84 My island green, I Is an isle of dreams, ...... 74 "My Island Home" ...... 74 My islands were once Virgins ...... 112 "My Revolutionary Granddaddy" ...... 258 My shadow flashed ...... 78 "My Virgin Isle" ...... 66 -N- Nagu Shaku! ...... 174 "Nagu Shaku" ...... 174 "Native Woman" ...... 119 net I drained of ocean I glistens ...... 164 "Never Dying Time" ...... 131 "New Clothes, New Mind" ...... 141 "New Light" ...... 127 "Nigger'' ...... 230 "Night in the Country" ...... 254 281 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index "Night Song ofa Saint Croix Laborer" ...... 63 "Noontide, Fort Christian" ...... 239 Not always I When a cry is heard ...... 79 Not even always round, ...... 210 Now dere's all kin ah roostah, worl roun ...... 168 Now that the breath of late November chills, ...... 57 Now this is a story that's been told to me ...... 82 "Nowa-Daze" ...... 220 "Nubian Rider" ...... 248 Nugent, Winston ...... 148 -0- 0h, gel, ask Mr. Jackson, gel, a which part he get he leamin' 33 Oh, Lazzy Barry, man I got something for tell you ...... 32 "Oh, Still My Heart" ...... 87 Old beats new I Like de old avocado tree ...... 250 "Old Beats New" ...... 250 Old Dannebrog sadly descends, ...... 57 Old market women I claim ...... 195 Older now and with a trace of blue ...... 215 "On Crown Mountain" ...... 56 On Santa Cruz Bartramia came ...... 87 On St. Thomas mountains ...... 191 On the edge ofthe edge ...... 108 On the islands they're mixing concrete ...... 199 "On the Road to Frederiksted" ...... 203 On this island I palm trees point I to skies ...... 269 One for Mao I Coping on wheels ...... 182 "One for Mao" ...... 182 Orie, Dana Samuel ...... 266 Out from the darkest, deepest ...... 145 -P- Paiewonsky, Isidor ...... 162 "Palaver with Papa God" ...... 137 "Pan-Africanism ...... 259 Parris, Trevor ...... 262 Peets, Judith ...... 131 "Pegasus 249" ...... 264 Penh a, Mao ...... 182 "Penman " ...... 184 282 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index Penman, dip your quill into the ink of truth: ...... 184 Play mas, in carnival ...... 215 "Playgrounds " ...... 221 "Poem., ...... 129 "Pon Top Bluebeard Castle Hill " ...... 111 Pond Bush dead and I, its son, is dying ...... 236 "Pond Bush " ...... 236 Pop I Pop I Little bells I Yell ow bells ...... 126 "Post-Hugo Madness" ...... 246 "Pow Ah! (Power) " ...... 38 Promises then flavored ice-bribes ...... 221 Pullin' cane off de Bethlehem bagoon ...... 220 -Q- "Queen Mary " ...... 32 Queen Mary, oh where you gon' go bum? ...... 32 Quetel, Linda Lynn ...... 230 -R- Rain falls upon the outer foliage of a tree ...... 163 "Reflections on Semicentennial" ...... 99 Relic from a bygone age ...... 165 "Remember When " ...... 115 "Remnants " ...... 102 richards, e.g ...... 157 Richards, Edward ...... 78 Richards, Marie ...... 31 Ride man, ride your donkey ...... 248 Roach, Tregenza ...... 255 Rodriguez, Jaime Luis ...... 207 Romeo-Mark, Althea ...... 137 Ross, Raymond (essay) ...... 91 "Ruined Rostrum " ...... 64 -s- Sackey, Helen K ...... 218 Sac key, RaeI Leander ...... 220 "St. Croix 11 " ...... 209 St. James, Raymond ...... 225 Sam isn't green, really, I He is just dark ...... 14 7 Sand and salty memories ...... 231 283 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index Say what task begins ...... 175 "Say What Task" ...... 175 "Schomburg Collection" ...... 75 Schrader, Richard, Sr...... 248 "Scratchy Band Dance" ...... 218 Sea man I ...... 110 "Sea Songs" ...... 96 Seaman, George A ...... 87 "Searching" ...... 107 September 198 9 I Africa's coast unleashed ...... 186 "September in St. Thomas" ...... 98 "Service" ...... 79 "707 Blues" ...... 108 "Shu Shu Moko Jumbi" ...... 139 Shut I within myself ...... 183 Since change of flags one fourth ...... 58 sky I is full I of a boy falling ...... 162 "Sky Diver" ...... 162 "Slavery Days" ...... 46 Slender pillars, crowned ...... 234 Smelling the baking of sweetbread...... 226 So many of my sisters and brothers ...... 171 So you're afraid ...... 200 Sobre montura en vaivenes Ia espuma marina ...... 207 Somewhere there's orange juice and toast ...... 232 "Sonnet I" ...... 83 "Sonnet VI" ...... 84 "Sonnet VIII" ...... 84 "Soul Music" ...... 173 "Soul ofWounded Knee" ...... 147 Spring fades into uncomfortable summer; ...... 84 Stiles, Guy ...... 209 "Stonehenge" ...... 234 "Strand Street, Frederiksted After Dark" ...... 241 "Sukanah" ...... 140 "Sun ofSt. Thomas" ...... 128 Sunday opens slowly ...... 251 "Sunday" ...... 179 "Sunset in St. Thomas" ...... 102 "Sunsets Poems" ...... 96 "Survival" ...... 200 284 Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index "Sweet Rain" ...... 250 Sweet refuge from a wife's sharp, nagging tongue, ...... 100 Sylvester, Mark ...... 183 -T- Taino tradewinds ...... 192 Talkin 'bout dat, you jus' bring to meh mind, ...... 71 "Talking 'Bout Xmas in de Virgin Islands" ...... 73 Tamarind ...... 246 Ten Sleepless Knights ...... 34 "Terra Incognita I Taino Incognito" ...... 192 "Thatch Cay" ...... 120 the I mongoose has I an African heritage ...... 148 "The Bamboula Drum" ...... 65 "The Blooming" ...... 209 "The Catch" ...... 164 The Contemporary Period: 1976-1995 ...... 149 "The Dark" ...... 233 "The Death We Have Become" ...... 166 "The Downtown Senate" ...... I 00 The Forerunners: 1917-1954 ...... 43 "The Eroticism ofImperialism" ...... 112 "The Fowl Keeper" ...... 255 "The Guineaman" ...... 212 "The Ha((Breed" ...... 165 "The Hurricane" ...... 61 "The Kill" ...... 104 "The Last Carib" ...... 80 The Lion roamed from jungle home, ...... 76 ''The Looking-Glass" ...... 158 The Middle Period: 1955-1975 ...... 91 "The Mongoose" ...... 148 The morning after the ...... 209 the ocean's flowers I burn cold with sun ...... 96 The Oral Tradition ofQue/be and Calypso ...... 26 "The Oranges from Santo Domingo" ...... 210 The park lights color all dresses ...... 241 The pied piper plays: ...... 189 The plantain in the pot ...... 13 7 "The Projects" ...... 146 "The Returns" ...... 245 285 Yellow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology ofVirgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index "The Slave Thought" ...... 135 "The Steel Pan" ...... 217 The sun sets I golden above the horizon ...... 254 The sun's first ray I Leaps o'er the bay ...... 65 The sweltering heat that swoons the busy brain, ...... 61 The tail end offour brothers, ...... 121 "The Throb ofDrums" ...... 50 The trees do not punch ...... 170 "The Twins" ...... 262 "The Wanderers" ...... 159 The water caresses the shore ...... 181 "The Way You Put Me Down" ...... 120 The winds blew and the waters came ...... 262 Their watch is the skyline which touches the sea, ...... 64 There are coves and enclaves ...... 153 There's a rhythmical sway, ...... 65 There's an innate pride...... 72 These tangled slopes are hardy men and tall, ...... 63 They are I The regal princesses ...... 227 They are jigging up their face masks to some gay ...... 61 They lived in peace and quietness ...... 80 This gentle sunset, with its tender tones ...... 102 This I say before the rocks are set: ...... 234 "This Silence" ...... 157 "Those Hot Cha-Cha Blues" ...... 67 Three tiny wards, born in the Antilles ...... 58 Tiwoni, Habib ...... 110 "To Sari, After Almost Twenty Years" ...... 210 Today I look on you with clearer vision ...... 86 Today when Rastas, seeds of my seed, ...... 240 Today, I turned the pages of your life...... 178 Todman, Gerwyn ...... 46 Tonks, Margery ...... 261 "Tourists" ...... 53 Towering condominiums; Restricted beaches; ...... 124 "Transformed" ...... 56 "Triolet: Virgins Three" ...... 266 "Tropic Dance" ...... 60 "Tropic Heat'' ...... 191 "Tropical Dawn" ...... 65 "Trouble" ...... 101 286 Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index "Twins" ...... 183 Two children, a roofless house, and anger grows ...... 206 Two pebbles I dropped I plop! plop! ...... 183 Two-timing men, she made her way ...... 51 -u- Uncle: I'm writing you these lines today, ...... 68 "Untitled" ...... 156 - V- -w- Waiting rooms I in poor peoples' hospitals ...... 257 "Waiting Rooms" ...... 257 We are all flutes through us ...... 173 We are not onions I to be peeled ...... 261 We did not meet beside some moonlit brook ...... 54 "We Laud the Living Hour" ...... 58 We met by the great river, ...... 88 We sat together I With Maya Angelou ...... 188 West Indian woman- I you gave me the strength ...... 225 "West Indian Woman" ...... 225 Wha you sayin 'bout Chrismus, man? ...... 73 What's de new name for roaches ...... 133 Watson, Leona Brady ...... 26 When he leave I He only take ah few ting: ...... 222 When I leave work today, ...... 141 When the boats come in ...... 53 When the genips are drenched in blossoms of white ...... 55 When the slamming guitars twang to the shrieking ...... 59 From "When the Waters of the Waters" ...... 207 While walking down the quiet streets ...... I 0 I whirls I like I a wound up toy ...... 163 Whirls, swirls of wind rush by ...... I 07 White, Clement ...... 125 Who knows- I within these phantomed walls ...... I 02 Williams, Marvin E ...... I, 236 Wilson, Willie ...... 120 With eyes closed, ...... 55 "With Mingled Feelings···· ...... 58 287 Yell ow Cedars Blooming: An Anthology of Virgin Islands Poetry Author I Title I First Line Index "Woman Wants to Destroy Aloneness" ...... 181 Words come slow, their syllables ...... 191 "Words For My Mother" ...... 121 Work, work, work my son ...... 131 -X- - Y- "Yellow Cedar in Bloom" ...... 57 "Yellow Cedar" ...... 126 Yes I we too have wandered ...... 159 Yesterday I Closed like a cover: ...... 79 "Yo NoSe " ...... 88 you said last nite at the table somethin' 'bout ...... 115 You could see I that she had had her share ...... 142 You say you own the ocean, ...... 120 "You" ...... 54 You're sweeter than guavaberry ...... 119 -z- 288