FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN

 

                                                "Here. On earth…epitaph to lost radiances
                                                  lost fables, lost cities..."
                                                         - Wilson Harris, Companions of The Day
                                                                          And Night (1975)

               Like ocean liners they cruise thoughts turn; children
               love touching the grand trunk curl; we had to import
               them after the fireworks dealer packed up – ground
               rule summits not worth night lighting; + grain toss
               who yard pecking care?

               Stepping off the Curiosity . labour recognizes
               seam lace ties | principals of proportion
               shake our golden^apple tree . Time up! unhook
               that native content.

               Virgo for spirit^ketch . you should think twice
               before trying anything godspeedy here | the bateau
               ride maybe . over our diamond falls; steaming
               mists epiphany^like below . rocks of compassion.

               Bees buzzing over caste our elephants ignore 
               contrails, the entrails from continents of origin;
               they learn about room visibility, how to grow old
               together standing.

                                              \ Sons ‘n’ daughters parent
               text perfecting, hind sightless though it seems,
               can’t wait for Earth renewal day | sun up
               sans wedding garlands, mud bath by the river
               calves at spray play . Ah, Heaven.

                                                                      – W.W.

 

             

             

   

 

               PATIENCE

               There is no blooming text you cannot 
                  outgrow.  So last Summer’s flowering
               masterpiece seems this Fall’s uttered rot
                  or, at best, dry leaves for composting
               throughout Winter-months that heed no seed.
                  But don’t throw out those pages yet.  Wait:
               no book’s so bad that it doesn’t need
                  time to slide into its fairest fate
               of being, clearer than before, seen
               for, not what you thought it should have been
                  but, what its essence was and still is:
                  balanced like Earth-tree imbalances.

               ……………………………………
                                       ………………………                                                                                                                                
                (from “Readiness”, by Brian Chan, 2013)           

                         

 

          
       But how out of character for Mona too, to follow
       Stew to Loffdoff:  that might have involved her shedding her rôle
       As an ambitious and respectable career-woman.
       Hadn’t that been her one ambition – to have a career,
       In anything?

                         Advertising just happened to be her
       New country’s promise of promises, of getting away
       From the boring loud repression of her birth-family:
       Her Italian-Argentinan mother, Lebanese-
       Japanese-Brazilian father, two older sisters and
       A younger brother whom she had failed to teach the tango.

                                                                 *

          Gauging, through Halabi’s jokes, that Radica had remained 
       In town after Stew winged off to his Colorado rock
      (In whose contemplation-shadow i believe he still breathes),
       But that he, Halabi, didn’t know her (latest) address
      (Though he believed she had become ‘involve with some other
       Crazy artist’) – i returned the next day (which was to be
       My last in that sad but ‘thriving’ little-kitty city)
       To the art-show at the museum-gallery, hoping
       To run into Radica there;   perhaps she was now linked
       To the artist whose works were on display.

          There were only two or three viewers in the gallery
       At 1-ish in the afternoon (of a routine workday,
       After all, having to work’s the best alibi for not
       Attending to anything but your corner of the Club
       Of hallowed Hard Work;   hardworking artists, beware:  unwork!)

         (from “fatima solagua arterra’s nudes” by Brian Chan)

  

 

               
  

          Near our river banks crab legs stay tucked, knowing                     
          at any moment meat cravings could erupt | catchers
          take nice back naps in hammocks, not worried
          about the sneaky caiman snap dash . hunt for bone
          authentication.

          Meantime new platforms tying birth to ends off
          load crane claws . that tear down old aqueducts
          known to standpipe wives | the plug squirt leave
          dome pots for emptying they spare.

                No excuse to idle . fear nightmares might         
          regroup the days we last felt taken – sun controls
          lip limits Omigod! washing no name fabric
          brands again | that Where are we? faux readiness.

                                                 +   

          Cream cheese on toast, chew^savour . How?  essential 
          these up front steps from flood ‘n’ vermin | get away
          with shade slits . blood droplets in the air.           

          Still all too sub sub ? like on plantation nights; our 
          House crapauds grin ~ Go! road build panorama,
          trade deals on display ~ Qatari camel humps
          fat bouncing Aie aie aie.

                Soon helicopter blades will swish Piss off! 
          time to show our island moves . mean business;
          like rain making . on planet Mars like . seed
          crystal pumps in motion | for souls at sea
          haven holds 3-2-1 gasp lasting.

                                                       – W.W.

 

           

           

 

             ORSON'S OASIS

             Is that my own words surprise me evidence   
                of Recognition’s ubiquity,
             or of a ‘comprehensive understanding’
                beneath a patent stupidity
             that knows no star of speech but ‘the universe
                in a grain of sand’ in the desert
             of a blank page which the parched crab of my hand
                gropes across toward some oasis
             of meaning perhaps only one more mirage
                desperate but no less essential
             to breath than are rainclouds to dry tongues and wells?

             …………………………………………..

              (from “Readiness”, by Brian Chan, 2013)

 

 

                       

           
        Especially if stock folds short . for long it can't
        remain devalued | after the first Behold! bare
        wanting whispers whip around about tire rotation.
                                                                   See why even
        bell ringers consider rope extensions ? at 9.99 no
        swing miss.                                         

        For all the rotten luck The best I could! why curse
        the Maker?  If it’s any consolation look at the baby . all
        forgiven once those eyes look back.

                                             *

           "Two years fighting the City Council to keep the stray  
               animals he provided a sanctuary for, Ahmad remembered
               traversing the streets at ‘ungodly hours’ picking up animals
               in his van; feeding those he could not accommodate… He
               would also remove and bury the remains of carcasses left
               on the highway…  After he was hijacked and his vehicle
               stolen, he stopped his practice.”  
                                                                   ~ Trinidad Guardian, 2001   
          Check for updates, roam fresh charges.

                                             *  

          Done . with Miguel St. poor sighs ‘n’ style . valleys
          wider so What happening here?   Bhachu car knocking
          people left^right under; Leela, Laura leavening down –  
          at the lowest tide they’d fake delight, bend at fires
          sea deep.

          Days . when troubled head repair hands knew
          what cloths wrapped well | not far from yard child
          mothers vacuum . cycles shadow promise room
          full ease; perfect wonder what it is, you understand.

                                                            – W.W.

           

             

         

 

            YOUR THING-SILENCE

            And the least scrawny things about you
            your Chinee calves, but they weren’t half as big
            as your brother’s bigger than your father’s.
            Maybe your father wasn’t his father.
            Your father’s nose was big too, not as straight
            as your mother’s, and she was far ‘fairer’
            than her Chinee man brown like tea without
            enough milk: he didn’t ‘draw good’:  born so!

            The Buddha had thirty-odd large tattoos
            and eighty minor marks: he was different.
            But everyone in your world had been made
            the same oddity, each a different shape

             ……………………………………

            (from “Readiness” by Brian Chan, 2013)

 

       
    
           I said:  – Didn't you say he was off to become a monk
           Or something?   Halabi puffed:  -That stopped him not from getting
           The lady swelled with child!    I could hardly believe my ears
          (Though they’re more reliable than my other body-parts).
            Stew?    The Condommaster?   (That’s what he often called himself
            During group-therapy sessions for Reluctant Lovers.)

           - So he just dumped her?  Here?    I was surprised at my own scorn.
            Halabi chuckled:  – Why not?  She should board jet-plane with him
            And maybe, who know, captain give them crash-divorce up there?
            Halabi’s too fast laughter now at his own bad-tasting joke
            Only increased my disappointment in Stew’s behaviour.

                                                        *

            – Then you mean Stew and this girl were – are still – married?  i said.
            Aware that the server standing behind the cash-counter
            Was watching us.    Halabi smiled smugly:  – We really not
            Should call her girl, no, she lookèd more like older sister,
            Except for ripen belly and hugs and kisses frequent
            Before and after and during applicating paint
            Which she help Stew preparate.   Sometimes i say her:  Mona,
            You not need for to take break?  Sit down!  Relax for goodsake!

             Halabi was shaking his head at the ways of the young.
             I became aware that my dropped jaw wouldn’t let me speak:
             No, not the Mona, not la Radica whom Stew had loved
             To excoriate in his gripes to me about her style.
             Just how had they managed to bridge the gap between two rungs
             Of that snobbish ladder no-one likes to admit exists?

               (from “fatima solagua arterra’s nudes” by Brian Chan)

      

       

                
                             \ Under the samaan tree hand wash hands
            wring . time sweats hard; the touch bottomed ministries
            line feeding : glass^wrap dreamsicles on the way Allez
            Allez.

                                     On shifts of temper labour sticks;                        
            breakers point . off shore sheep^wolf interiors split
            stitch.
                                             These people, honestly steuups
            Dimwattie ! so obvious snakes in the cane Strip the field.

                                                 *

                             Heritage in case kept . about infidelities    
            so many swerved | the more of knees they understood
            the sag^hoist feel to haul; caps have not one clue. 
                                                                          Yes, naturally 
            one hyperlocal bamboo | code : shootByplay. 

                                                  *

                                                  / Harsher than suns familiar,
            our food plants placed at risk . you must be in lizard
            pause not to notice; flick that tongue thing.

                                 Oil to burn in the pan ? still can’t
            tell what stakes brown well . try the champurrado
            if you’re anywhere near their accordion contracts.

        +  Since absolutely! Made in Heaven we trust > way 
            way up there in the billions spent stars host
            Arrival Day . beacon Sorry for the delay.  We should
            probably get going, yes?
                                                            – W.W.

 

                 

               
                                              [ for John + Zul + the 70s ]

 

 

           

               TO A GELDING PROUD TO BRAY LIKE A GILDED MULE

               But gold and pearls and jade sing one another’s song,
               crystal and amber know each other as one gem
               though each knows itself a certain facet of light,
               each allowing the other of itself to be
               itself and its otherness as mirror echoes.
               Yes, I am a poor primitive, and the proud brute
               is you, petty pretender spouting accustomed
               shibboleths of your birth-tribe as Earth’s final gold.

                 ……………………………………

                (from “Readiness” by Brian Chan, 2013)

            

 

 

              
           Evening up hill^holders fade . near end claiming
           what's left to disclose ? valency low, secrets
           breast^cup secure | pain ‘n’ pampalam at peace . park
           pigeon feeding.
                                                Which doesn’t stop our Admin
           sage wood masquerade . despite bad dreams
           that snap paunch heads awake | spouse sheet^tug
           turning.

           To be chopped 12 times . thigh ‘n’ breast . one 
           for each position^wish denied | those foreday
           dip plantation^like quick eaters ! always the same
           damhungeringthing . Ow, clenching.

                                          +

                                         In band aid chapters signal          
           when to feel love^done – mid years fact fat
           facing . the belly work submits. Some day blinds
           doubled could tap tap . belief again | Hi, neighbor.

                                           ⁜

                                       / Meanwhile found talents flare
           to impress . good show! off star^shell platforms.

                               Think for one evening they might dress
           receive old ketch^fire dragons ? our Wilson H. or
           VS. N.

                      / Earthware done page them fellas . whose
           house or palace cursors blink . for islands or
           the world . links unique frozen | memory once
           our beginnings left this way.

                                                                  – W.W.

           

             

                          EDUCATION     

                                The student ready finds his teacher
                              and the first thing he learns is not
                          to share his eurekas with other
                   students whose readinesses are not his.
                         They have their own recognition-paths
                               whose paving-stones are not his words
                          about his : lesson of Babylon,
                    camp ground-school of essential loneliness,
                           limbo of immutual silences.
                                Past its loud labels he must sing
                          the Lord’s song, with no-one listening
                    but babes not yet born to no-or-yes lies.

                      (from “Readiness” by Brian Chan, 2013)

 

 

 

             
               What good was my being in awe of Galenza's chosen
             Sharp turn, whether brave or foolhardy, into a new mode
             Of existence, if i couldn’t translate my dream of him
             (We’re all turning up in one another’s dreams night and day)
             Into a conscious shift of my own heart and mind and soul?
             Was i to stay beyond the scrim and scenes of visibly
             Dramatic changes?

                You might well wonder how it was i could keep breathing in 
             Such a blank prospect.    By not becoming attached to it.
             It wasn’t the fate of having been born the dull outcome
             Of a ‘lazy fuck’ (as Carlos had his ‘Don Juan’ tag him)
             Which both sustained and alarmed me, but the unlaziness
             With which my heart mind soul and spirit (those invisibles)
             Accepted it, savoured it as one more lapse of nature.

                                                 *   

                All that should give an idea of the swirlings of my mind 
             As Halabi kept on talking about Stew’s work on his
             Restaurant’s walls, work which Stew had called Eve’s First Bite,
             Though the feminine principle seemed divorced from the thing.

              When i mentioned this divide, Halabi said,   It may not 
            Show in painting, but Stewart surely had help from this girl.
            Nice, i said, glancing at the waitress; and Halabi laughed:
            No, no I mean his girl.      My jaw dropped:  i could see Stew spray-
            Painting shapes for money, but not with some girlfriend.
 

                (from “fatima solagua arterra’s nudes” by Brian Chan)

 

 

             
         Bound to be floaters warning all . at any ephemeral
         port Mode Safe ! years after the corona confirm > start
         cough release course strings.
                                                                  Just saying
         no, well, mouse or mat one can only hope | pursued
         caught taken . over by old age Aarrh!

         Scrub^worn the face that's part child^nation raising;
         some hands won’t clasp in home pure play, désolé
         cher Papa passed; dredge boom hard to deceive.

         That amber skirt alert ! long as it’s sourcing money 
         beehive cell workers stay on cue . you wax
         the moon Hey, look at me!

                                             +

         \  Morning tongue swab . after the peacock spread
         even hanging plants gag in disbelief ! for now
         recall how patch^eye riders drive scar issues
         into corbeaux plan.

               Still, why fault if distant partners stay ? take
         twitchy^pigeon shots at trust again | firm stand
         with rum ‘n’ horn at war, faux^self addiction.

                  \ Carrion in tubes ‘n’ seaweed tangled, nose
         run from cat fish^head accounts – who won’t choke
         back for buried gold suck up ? latch on the Soucouyant
         sar’silky line Good evening, handsome.

                                                                           - W.W.

                                        

       

          

                        

 

           ALL THE WAY                

                  A man sometimes goes out and sometimes stays home. 
           Sometimes the mind speaks, most times the mouth stays shut,
           trying not to scar with false feelings the soul
           which ain’t a Hollywood-gestural product.
           The Way’s nobleness is not a thing but is
           revealed by our letting the Way reveal us
           like the Moon emerging from the Earth’s shadow.

           ……………………………………………

            (from “Readiness” by Brian Chan, 2013)

 

 

 

                                                                               
                                                           "…the necessity to descend into hell in naked
                                                                  dress if one were to preserve heaven."
                                                                  – Wilson Harris, Companions of the Day
                                                                                             and Night

          
              Blue enamel dome . over run down pedals pound till
              wheels on rims send memos : tricks stirring in the home
              port bricks ! brain weed sargassum^like could back
              up.
                                                    Flailing, whose arms
              revive . saved by Mandarin ? markers like breast
              splash strokes in sea roped lanes | See?   high there
              off the wall consumer piping . braid^frighten so.

                                                            Free ways to feel
              providentially happy in any climate depend : breath
              short cut; how sucked in personation chests swell
              separate equal | brokers having fun with pawns.

                                                 +

              Up on planets new salt^spitting Arawaks show
              sign in : reStart rung Here | feathers ponder
              where to stall with grace . a bowl of soup J'ouvert;
              Hey!  roll before the po-po last^straw poking.

                    Risk transfer . @Myriam or Marie, ovenablers 
              gloved to settle Ibis^heart rate, cache ocean
              trace; jazz^like inventing therms.
           
                          Le désir à l’alliance leans in . spontanéité
              ship tight; gaze reset rites | come morning, one
              two land lines usually illumine themselves ~ Go
              for J. Desvarieux + vodoun perplexity.

                                                                       – W.W.

 

             

 

           BUD MOLSON'S WHITE DUNCE CAP

           Mountains are unmoved by whirlwinds, boulders by torrents,
           but both mountain and boulder await their next earthquake,
           And when your car lands in a ditch, Molson pulls you out,

           but when his mind’s proudest of its rut, he fucks you off, 
           and, if you ask him, we should line up all the homos
           and other rapists, all the murderers thieves and crooks
           (except hisBoys in the Senate) and shoot ‘em to hell

           where they belong, Jesus, it’s a neverending job,
           even where we live, the Best of All Possible Worlds,
           God's country

           …………………………………………………

              (from “Readiness” by Brian Chan, 2013)