FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN

             

                                                        “From things unseen
                                                         to things forever watched 
                                                        From hidden stone
                                                       to naked delicate heart”
                                                      – Martin Carter . Returning, 1953

            Heart questions go search bowl in hand
            stretched out of print ‘n’ hunger | habits like veil
            naturalize the panic women front parts feed.

            Offline heaven ‘n’ hell room knobs connecting ~
            at the bar toes tip the floor ~ pure mind tight
            panting swizzle sticks ~ bottom raise or punish. 

                                               +

            Start up their Country line dance . guess who 
            single step’in ! cyan take that likkipan surge
            en masse | fireflies from shift > make wish
            on file? Gwan suh! yu ‘n’ yuh VSN.

            Domain in mud . for crab catch shirtless    
            down limb spread ! See how, pride in limbo
            bamboo shoot grip any slide^lock message.

                                              +

           My shark nose wakes up to ripples . wine or
           blood or vinegar trail scent; end grain sleep^
           like in snow globe shaken.
                                                     Yes, four five
           early morning ! Wait, your ocean cross too?

          ‘Like! no don’t come^wedge by me’ cavity    
           curtain call ? pleats to horn | more power
           to quivering tonals heard > their red
           of blood rush much like ours.

                                                            – W.W.

 

 

       

 

 

            YUH RAP SO (5.4)

            Webs create spiders as much as spiders webs:
            Judd spinning, obeying his survivalist
            Nature, became his own despised colonist
            Finding himself lost at the core of his own
            Avid projection of his blind assumptions
            Of what needed to be trapped (while he stayed not):
            He became stunned to feel his web spun about
            Wings he, spider, had sprouted while defying
            Dust-unto-dust gravity: he was waking,
            From a dream of Freda’s otherness, to his
            Web as map of his own face, of pain as price:

            How cheap Judd’s conquistador spider now felt          
            For having trapped his dorado in that web:
            Or had he reached through her crack for gold hidden
            Only to feel his greed stung by scorpions?

              (from “Raponani”, by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

       
        
            On one stair below mine a sorry figure    
            is crouched with his head down and knees together^
            in an age of hurried clickety-clickers
            he’s a dodosaur of harried handwriting –
            his whole frame quivering from its jerky thrusts^
            out of many selves he’s mocking up a one –
            a quick angel seduced by Matter’s slowness
            whose rhythms he magnifies to scrutinise
            by the scribbling of his left hand connected
            by the two rods of his arm to his shoulder
            that’s also determined to collaborate
            with its owner’s tight obsession to release
            himself of the burden – some of it at least –
            of the lava of awareness bubbling up
            inside him before his volcano erupts^

                     (from “Limboa”, a sentimental anthem,
                                       by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

 

                                                           

                                              
                                                   “Orbiting, the sun itself has a sun 
                                               as the moon an earth, a man a mind.
                                             And life is not a matter of a mother only.”   
                                             - Martin Carter, The Great Dark (1973)

                   
            All those years good parts of him kept
            shackled till . leaning in full cleavage opens
            over his dull brain | a tiger child pokes its head
            out . proGod fearers call in law ‘n’ fodder.

                 \ Hours angle fast while bowl gold fishing.    
            On our island dog food for dogs expensive so
            groomers make do with corner calls (+ haul
            yuh bottom scraping).

                                              *

            Bass line booked contracts swell @horn
            alert Now Boarding | apps clipped@hip
            set to dub the world; wipe plates together.

               \ Embedded tales – suiciders in saffron last
            wrap, the Resurrection – beep longer than forest
            birds in the flight plans of Office obstinates.

                                              *                                         

            Dome safe . what issues wriggle in the air, yeast^   
            like for whose infection ? whose crows for hire
            dive^strip orders waiting.

               \ For history ignored costs mount @portals                
            forward webbing. See what happens ? in heat
            itch annals twerk head scratch . @fowl^
            coop stern wings flutter, gripping.
                                                                 – W.W.

 

         

                  YUH RAP SO (5.2)

                  The impersonal perfume of the hollow 
                  At the centre of all personhood was now
                  What at first wafted then zigzagged like a bolt
                  Through his veins + into his core + he felt
                  No real shock, only disappointment that he,
                  A prince of detachment, he of all people
                  But of none of their superstitious tribes, should
                  Automatically gasp a cry to God
                  For a stay of execution – for it was
                  All a knot of murderers + murderees,
                  The sadomasochistic contract of breath:

                  The trees nodded, but to their parrots’ bald yes
                  Was added what already flowed through their veins
                  A banal no to affirm the innocence
                  Of all tenants of the jungle’s simple nest

                  (from “Raponani”, by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

 

                 
             From under Empire^mildew flats our mountain
             crabs emerge, stretch graspy airs ~ paused
             till the moon gets the angle right for fables.

             Like juveniles they move out^in till the catcher  
             looms; stick pins, numbers click. One more
             lock on the treasury. Eat growth, no mercy.

                                                  ^

             Clustered on slim branches orange berries unzip
             flowers open for the broad daylight of the world.
             Fruit from fameless trees fall . birds ‘n’ bees
             follow odours take the floor.

             Heavy rain, the moon just right, mulch
             of fruit not cherished | the crab ‘n’ catcher hunger
             trade . mates@midnight change side ways.

                                                  ^                                   

             Give thanks to the forest, pray the cell’phane    
             chain saw keep away, spare our quilts | out^  
             wit wild beast perfume, bois^men at bag ‘n’ play.

             From identity hold to steaming pot blue backs
             like aliens on the plate . legs snapped fork^
             lift configuring ! Nature’s dish winners.

          * A scuttling deficiency?  Gethatalligatorouttahere :
             pirate gut ! wanting more than we take.

                                                                   – W.W.

 

 

         

 

 

             YUH RAP SO (5.1)

            So the book begat Khan who begat pictures
               & forged fables for funeral-services,
            Prayers that stood up well beside St. Francis’s
            Although Indian Inky Khan was no Christian
            Propheteer (he locked Jesus to the Qur’an)
            & felt no need to follow even The One
            Nor believe any stuff he scribbled down
            To console (for a few dollars) crying clowns
           (The way his father sold rum to the heathen
            Niggers stchupit enough to spend to have fun)
            Showing up to confirm life’s circus of games:

            Inky who thought, nay knew he was beyond themes      
            Of morality + such (mortality
            Was a different money sprouting matter he
            Willingly paid lip service to

            (from “Raponani”, by Brian Chan, 2023)
                                                

 

               
           No less international the scribbler – done 
           with proffering me^masks – looks back down to his
           busyness of masking himself against tides
           of erosion by small talk or his being
           no longer tactile though his shoulders are hunched
           as if to re-stretch the fitting of his flesh
           over their bones still bearing too much weight – that
           of the world and of worrying about it – 
           that club which – even after he has refused
           to renew his membership of it – he means
           to keep as part of his bothering-business
           of trying and failing to unclock the club
           from time’s insecurities of measurements
           and labels – glasshouses and cages

                (from “Limboa”, a sentimental anthem
                           by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

 

                                                        
                                                           
                                                      "Sandra, where are you tonight
                                                I wonder." - Mighty Sparrow (1967)

                  
              Not sure which pet to feed in your portfolio,
              rhino . sloth . tapir?  Feathers on validation edge
              grab any floating cap whenever the pluck they can.

              Back garden tender Aunt Fae found half^
              naked; them chop down the bush where the suspect
              disappear | Lagahoo seen, dancehall tracks
              light up ! lady leg wax hours here, yeah.

                                                  + 

              Empire left mangrove^like bench markers so
              rules slide; bulb pumps checkin’ mas’ man’ woman
              dangle | bead^hair straight back to colony run^
              test.

                At blinds of faith Blue Boy firing devil rhyme
              near ash pits round the world hips heave so What
              yuh wearing Wednesday ? taking knee how.

                                                  +

              From trap indoors side exit ? not too obvious
              out source found – heritage chefs exact the purest
              flesh per pound; on cutting boards prep^gather
              coupling cubes. 

              Graves of island heroes watch cows linger
              pass; weeds nibble . sleep . detest the heat | cane
              stock not worth the climb, exhale while Likes
              to crystals grind . Ours, Vijinie xx.
                                                                   – W.W.

             

                    

             

 

 

               YUH RAP SO (5.0)

               Till The Real Thing Comes Along was their anthem,
               Their post-coital theme-song as it fast became,
               Lady Day shrugging her wailing heart away
               Through Amanda’s turntable ever turned on:
               They’d stare at her ceiling, both wondering when
              (Everything become an egg about to hatch
               Or at worst a bomb about to burst) + what
              (After giving in, showing up, getting off
               Lying back + lighting up a floppy spliff, 
               They could think of nothing to say) + how come?
               (Two sphinxes become their own one conundrum)

                (from “Raponani”, by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

                                      

                                “You know is what you doing now?… inviting
                                everybody to stay passive until they find 
                              they dead.”
                                    – Wilson Harris, The Secret Ladder (1963)

                 
             At night mild island tremors – the mosquito net 
             probes, dust icons Moko strides disturb; + back
             to back, the morning bed side turn; his palm
             the constancy presuming.

                                                      The sound of fibres
             verifying while our Diablesse urinates jangle Ctrl
             keys to flesh | not Kaieteur, bladders leak pledge^
             pause options.

                                                      ^

             Wings stitched back again fall off; our harpy checks
             its swerve preferred > midriff flash, latch unattached;
             the thumb dot foreheads dare outgrow.
                                                                         Island lamps
             line slipslop strips, planet flights landing > crapaud
             time lips to kiss, wildest^dream gate open;
             feel holy Marley! alright.

                                                   ^

             Seven to ninety years from here who’ll care ? to
             know you once lived there under sugar tonnage,
             canal faith^resembling fins.

             Paw scratch unwelcome @desire for cold duck
             shuddering cork up Sorry! screws Not in Service
             nipples shield | your secret prayer safe
             with me . Geeta xx                                
                                                                         - W.W.

                  

 

           

 

                 YUH RAP SO (4.9)

                When she was found, as still as an iguana
                (Except her eyes could no longer slowly blink)
                There was no blood around her, nor anything
                Resembling the residue of a struggle.
                But her expression was never less humble,
                Her eyelids unshut + her nostrils + mouth
                Agape as they continued to defy Death:
               – Even if you kill off all we bucks like dis,
               Freda had mumbled to Judd after her first
               Surrender to his conquistadoring spear,
              – We blood gon trail y’tail till de enda Earth:

               Uttered after her blood's cells had given up
               Their pretence of not being nomads

               (from “Raponani”, by Brian Chan, 2023)

  

 

           
      
              From one cage to the next – through whose doors i move
              needing neither to open them nor to slam
              them behind me with bogus finality
              in sentimental gesture to the idea
              of being done with at least one frustration
              to freedom – one more bedroom or house or car
              or café or office or toilet where stains
              from the spills of habitual performance
              are mixed up with the deliberate markings
              of desperate loneliness’s need to leave
              evidence of its once having been – leave proof
              once and again and again that life once knew
              itself this grooving way of dodging time’s grooves
              though it speaks of itself as already past

               (from “Limboa”, a sentimental anthem, 
                          by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

              

               
 
            In their morning papers they honor articles 
            about our mango in backyard; not recipe,
            articles ! subscribe ripe forcing so.

                    \ Over there after home invasion owners
            consider buying gun. Be thankful yuh know
            yuh Falls, at brim to screech Yes Lord | no seasons
            to poface lift through, wind chillin’ so.

                                               + 

            Our Minister, all chest ‘n’ wood, conducts affairs
            off the bark of trees. ‘These extensions you run pipe
            line^like from our home > late night dream
            sweet vending, Who takes you?’ gap thighs chafe.                             

                  \ Bhacku new minivan need sobriety ‘n’ space            
            to overtake; implying?  on the verge of dignity 
            best grass chip single file | hair brush^like ‘im
            scrape pass? I told you.

                                              +

            Beard long ago Capt Bocass drop this bell shape
            anchor . @ringtone Prize reward | bathers not bi^
            coastal iron heat into muddah wavelike sheet.

                         \ Eye roll sighs heave crate^lives high + 
            dry @nation ports | Endrush?  gully folk
            know what stars ‘n’ blight them apple kingdom
            sight. Hush, watch nuh. 
                                                          – W.W.

 

         

           

              YUH RAP SO (4.8)

                But Freda Aborigina was also  
              Modern, not only by dint of books borrowed
              From Judd but also as modern as Desire
              Itself whose cutlass ignores every whisper
              Of conscience + caution ghosting its vigour:
              Just as Judd sensing of a silence-Power
              – Vaster than the wisdom out of whose womb he
              Had emerged + still kept emerging with speech –
              Would soon drown under floods of nostalgic need
              For city-wheels of loud Culture, so too would
              Freda’s mind-fruits need to leap off their tribe-tree:

                All intelligence, first + last, will obey
              That perverse gene informing all of Nature
              From cloud to seed: the buried seed splits, eager
              To sprout + keeps shooting up + branching through
              The gnarls of its demanding mind

                (from “Raponani”, by Brian Chan, 2023)

             

         

“Because the soil is unstable. Just pegasse. Looks
rich on top but that’s about all. What do you think
they say when the crops run away?”
– The Whole Armour, Wilson Harris (1962)

Horning, a source of rich fibrous anger, snuffs
raison so . them not^loved break up furniture, fling
outhouse good good clothes; assets ‘til death bite  

                     \ Islanders @foreign marvel how the locals jump
  on the couch in sneakers | snow or rain . jacket dasheen^
 like bright not their crop cover. Shelf top?  up from ground
 provider hit me if my Number call. Okay, I’m going
Officer ! all on the same flight.

                                                 ^    

             Teeth suck, mouth watch raised Mon Dieu! on lip
             stick prayer stub | not once You scared the shit
             out of me! breath shortness all prologuing.

                                                ^

             Back home they notice turns you flipped – them
             orange bottle pills ? no more carilla tea; + that
             December face^scrub glow, from cane plot lines
             rescued; all strip grind in.

\ They’ll ask por Dios if prices curve,
    arms tattoo pacts with fate | + wait! kinship
    latitudes time sensitive ? how come.
    Is true ? you can dip
   switch the heart, host^link Two one decoupling;
   who waits to greet you ? path reset all good.

– W.W

          

        

             YUH RAP SO (4.7)

             That land was Chancing, New Jersey, for Judd Ladd
          – Who had no intention of even trying
             To do what his father + brother would die
             Failing to achieve while feeling they had won
            (Eat To Win was a diet-book in fashion
             & it took pride of place beside the Bible
             & other guides stacked on their TV table):
             Judd had grabbed his chance to leave God’s country but
             Only to extend, not fix, that wanderlust-
             Gene the legacy of post-Edenic men
            (So it’s another story where he went next)

             (from “Raponani”, by Brian Chan, 2023)