FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN

                                                     

                                                          “…men dreaming and living
                                  and hungering in a room without a light
                                   who could not die since death was far too poor.”
                                   - Martin Carter, Looking At Your Hands (1951)

              
               \ Would show us how to catch ‘n’ clean lung fish;
           explained reports from foreign . how churches
           making room for condos now. Can’t compare, nah
           cyaan complain.
                                         We didn’t sweat his ninety
           year old head band . night dark arms long
           never caught moon hanging . found his way.

                                                  ^

               \ This place . ask why island breeze feel
          like Admin breath policing the air | how jumbies
          walk, fig leaf form . wanting to be tree whole
          dance.
                                  With pheasant eyes + hassar gills
          we’d bicycle . search all ‘bout. The discovery sea
          changed ground tracks < back to Estate overlord
          house bottom . bending blind.

                                                  ^

                       \ How best to millions follow ? on hinge
          post titles flying bad . cows for green | help
          mothers worn . sheet neck to toe mosquito sucks
          control.                   
                               Yo, Carp . frame saw a climate proof
          Ark | or signal an uber spacecraft . like mammoth
          over the island, hover lights flashing . out wide
          everybody staring
                                                       – W.W.

            

        

           

 

            YUH RAP SO (2.7)

            One way or another, Dilys would decide,
            God was the only way to transcend a world
            That was doomed to sink under a swamp of words
            More complacent than the ebb tide’s furbelows
            Dawdling till their moment to surge + swallow
            Every meaningless dead fish + brick + bone
            Stuck in the placid silt-beach of smooth disdain.
            In her heart she knew there was no only-One
            Anything, but One God was the Exception
            That knocked on her mind’s door, entered and remained

                (from “Raponani” by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

 

                                                         ………………………..
             
           To the circus-sawdust of Higher Learning?
           Its promotion of Ambition as something
           To be subscribed to – as to a classy club
           Of competitive gladiators rubbing
           Shoulders shrunk with the shame of quote-unquote thought
           Not too hard to shrug off though their backs + throats
           Were getting play-by-the-rules stabbings + cuts –
              Was not a product scrupulous Dilys thought
           She could lower her values to buy into,
           Although she knew that, as a confirmed Sinner,
           She too was hypocritically caught up
           In a Big Boys’ club – one of the most corrupt:
           ……………

 

         (from “Raponani” . a verse novel by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

              

               Anchors caught open^mouth at the plate could
               attract a skill set o' ji^zhi chop sticks | or palms
               under vests, henna still drying – which a long
               ago Sahib chest would dismiss as ‘perfectly frightful’.

                               \ Can we move now?  yard holding
              sar’wrap sweepers hide . midriff prithi^lucky so
              far eluding packs of village cocks ‘n’ pits.

                                              *

                               \ Conceive : tubes tied, away 'n' gone;
              shore found What then ? huddle separate, find
              a vein . follow billboard balance beaming eyes.

              Here no sirens, missile strikes sigh one ! two           
              say Nuit Nuit, sleep tight | morning knees to prayer
              knocking There, now.

                                              *

                             / Plot boilers of flight risk can’t hush
              our parliament of night crickets | hill climbs
              from the faith in stray controllers need all the air
              we can’t leave.

              For now what wing metaphors persist ? ‘ruction            
              over spirit heating | haze as days thin faster
              into years . blood we host testing.

                                                                    – W.W.

 

                 

               

       

 

             YUH RAP SO (2.5)

             Now he lay back, one arm under his head in
             His couvade-hammock under the shed outside
             His hut – which he still sometimes called his quarters
             In perverse nostalgia for the killing years
             He had wasted in His Majesty’s army
             As a lame apology for a padré
             Or godsbody gofering around death-beds
             To hear regrets + curses from those he blessed,
             Realising how ungenerous he was

               (from “Raponani” by Brian Chan, 2023)

                                        

 

                   

                                                           
                                                 "There is in some weak people, who feel
                                                 their weakness and resent it, a certain
                                                mechanism….” 
                                               – V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas (1961)

                 Agents have a take^breath understanding of flight
             charts . away at border stack point catchers
             need only squeeze the neck, release back raptures 
             on the horizon.

             Good bees gravitate to where they’d make good
             good honey | smart fish angle for channel cross
             like @England hooks . swerve ‘n’ chafe a darling
             thigh name Ludmila.
                                                 [ Oui! float poles snag
             sudden ocean fail, bag passage rights ]

                                                   *

                            \ Book nations prefer if islanders
             play @ genre stations + prize fled^home sweat
             shirt; otherwise for you from limbo is straight
             to repechage.
                                          At heritage sites few queue
             for Empire colon probe; native address hoist up so
             dough kneaders all could see | make you wonder 

                                                   *                              

             Our wild coast?  Extractors after sugar_rice
             left pallets of harbour pain, roots too
             thread loose to surface.                           

             Old problem, new cane device send notice : So 
             neighbor, you get mih text? last night snake
             man was inside yuh hen house ! egg whip
             crack sucker. 
                                                  [ Ah Zuzu, mon salon.
             Alt spark to kindle log light years ]

                                                                  - W.W.

 

            

        
                     

 

              YUH RAP SO (2.4)

              Dr C. was necessarily failing,
              With his mask-strained words, to pinpoint, to nail down
              The precise moment when the outer oddness
              Of his connections first echoed, rhymed with his
              Inner innate strangeness ever whispering
              Its bald namelessness like an unfeathered wing
              Orphaned off some bird that never missed its shred
              Till it tried again to lift off:  So Conrad,
              When questioned by his Canajun Embassy
              Agent – Why do you want to quit your country?
              Answered – To wing like Bob Marley’s dove
               …………………
                                  …………………………………………

                (from “Raponani” by Brian Chan, 2023)

                

 

 

                
            Ladd dismissed such guilt-bound service as sheer shit
            In his attempt to shock the nun out of hers,
            Adding that she was wasting her tears + years
            In letting her still youthful ripe flesh be stung
            By wasps of unnecessary suffering.
            When, to support that argument, he even
            Invoked Time’s wingèd chariot from Heaven,
            Dilys had to bow her head to hide her smile.
            The more the boy talked, the more he stayed a child.
            She felt that his objective analysis
            Of her Dark Night was his way of saving face
            After she had brushed off like a feeble fly
            His brazen-face buzzing about her body.

         (from “Raponani” . a verse novel by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

 

 

                              

                                      "The money was little but regular, the thrill
                                         of plundering delicious. Plunder! The very
                                          sound of the word…"
                                                  V.S. Naipaul, A House For Mr Biswas” (1961)

 

                 Until they grow wary of gift horses, as flower
              gardens ~ August, Agua! ~ shrivel, race trackers
              of fold pattern scratch infection.
                                            Stalled elsewhere, front lobes
              stamp . hoofy to not safe fall behind, watching
              others mount do Roraimas.

                                     / Old tub you, like manatee
              retiring ? new bath routine under our Kaieteur
              planet feed | consider the prostate cost to salmon up
              after those Dai Dai forest links.

                                                     *

             Roadside hang vend ending . life stock pass
             fail standards, plans for arcade stroll in step
             with High Comm wives hot for horticulture.

                   \ The Roundabout?  our smile ‘n’ copy modelers
            casting so ! next : casino, breast cup modification;
            plantation chips on hair root call.  

                                                      *

            Add whisky to any chance cloud banking rain
            days here | idle nihils itch to etch gold
            finger rings; hell fire found, just need dragon
            teeth to grow.

                          \ Service?  yeah man! if your Sunday
            palm read that way | bitch to boss cubicle
            secret keeping tick tocky, though.

                                                         – W.W.

 

                

            

 

                YUH RAP SO (2.2)

                But while Khan felt no need to present at all               
                Any proof of membership of any one
                Tribe that would consider him a member once
                His village-idiocy proved him famous
                Enough to be mascotted as one of Us,
                Ladd on the other foot needed to be seen
                As an author-actor in the local scene
                Of the Earth’s tragedy of abject rejects
                – Whose rights he could defend right unto his death:
                Their rights, or just their plight?  as more locked + set
                Than any text meant to unlock such a fate         
           

                   (from “Raponani” by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

               

 

           Picking a foot path out . trip over living
           room floors now rubble . the mother stops
           only to give her child sip sips of water.

           Try these mushrooms, vendors press. They’ll
           start ripples down plumb lines . past first 
           second born, box steps performing . back to the gene
           pool discourse sperm^pebbles interrupt.

                                         -+-

           \ Love for sons ‘n’ sacrifice, chest in wrap^round
           blast codes to the Peace . @God’s Great
           End maidens clean set teacups Friday. What’s
           left to get? Arrgh.                              

                    Emir bare head swell ! we should resist
           the moonlight ocean dips, divers report . bottom
           raising glass pride rigs, mesh net dripping laugh
           last + Thank You for the Role Pay.

                                         -+-

           \ Hands that cup the butterfly, ice cream
           cone receiving, no longer draw | thumb rules
           make winds winnable, hips click hooray.

                    Hey, Vijinie! that postcard you sent
           The Havana seawall ‘96?  I found + other stuff
           meteor rock^like saved | dias freaking noche
           stars . our best^worst burn in storage . bowls
           Okay.
                                                      – W.W.

    
                          

          

         

      

           YUH RAP SO (2.1)

           Such non-language Inky Khan, a creative
           Also practised: it seemed so self-evident,
           Proving itself the proud product of newsprint
           Which, though he knew its words were more hollow balls,
           Set its authenticity-stamp on them all,
           Thousands of times, as on forged ballots, enough
           To make thousands of readers want to believe
           The validity was real – shit, but their shit,
           Tribe-mind lies as codes into their opposite:
           Creative lies 

           (from “Raponani” by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

 

        
       
           So freakish Dilys would need to imagine
           How the other nuns might view her secret sin
           Of thanklessness to Jesus + his Mother,
           The benefactors of their sacred shelter
           In Earth's vale of tears – not excluding their own
           Sometimes within vespers-chapel, its drapes drawn
           To dim the room + muffle the guard-dogs’ barks:
           Tears: fate, or one ex-Hindu nun’s Naraka:
           Was this really the club Dilys had needed
           To join? or was she as stray-doggy to God
           As she suspected the other nuns thought her?

       (from “Raponani” . a verse novel by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

             

                                    
                                       “…this instinct, this passion for reversible objectivity /
                                            subjectivity at the heart of the world…that wired
                                           each bulb into epitaphs of place ”
                                                        – Wilson Harris,  Companions of the Day
                                                                                   and Night (1975)             

               
                                                                     For this bosom
            who will reach ? stomach churn . mate in out prime
            frame, clan vows to bake | or build a stroke, test
            the rest in peace.

            Scarves help keep heads whole; our heritage
            team is doing everything in its power . repair
            on habits bent like missed you teeth.

            Women in pyjama^dress hiking furious bike all
            the way from Hajistan . hitch distress with Banyan
            tree climbers in our village.
                                                                   Chests set
            in prayer worn braces pump . the make belief
            dome open^close . blast off slip through.

                                              +   

            Astonishment lingers ! our island wine, ecstasies
            impure released @Jouvert mud; you should stop
            by, sample | skip the squirt squirt! servings
            @house plant.
                                                   / The worried look
            up on your face ! oh snap, you’re cramping.
            You need your phone ? can’t do this Not
            your bandwidth for sweat flip.

            Wide World Office cleaners passing through
            Saharan dust to broom . when room sheets shout
            Tuck! corners take care extraordinary.

                                                            – W.W.

 

               

           

            

 

 

           YUH RAP SO (1.9)

           Khan knew his fate was set like a river’s course         
           Leading to a waterfall either a curse
           Or a couldn’t-care-less hauteur of power
           Shrugging itself off, dauntlessly (there’d be more
           Where that came from) – but Ladd needed to belong
           To a presence greater than he, a good son,
           If not to his parents, good son of the soil,
           (Guyana Grew Me, as he would later seal
           His soul’s role, this time around, in the true tale
           Of his upbringing as force-fed prodigal
           Doomed to repay God’s country with faith-forced seeds)

           …………………………
                                                 ………………………….

               (from “Raponani” by Brian Chan, 2023)

                                                      

     

                      
                             "…the strange opposition of a flower on a branch
                              to its dark wooden companion”
                                                   – Wilson Harris, Heartland (1964)

                
            Dread the ringtone^light at four in the morning,
            Octogeners go . barely milking four hours sleep;
            as if time zones respect wake teat^squeeze
            calls.

            Good cause to toss the Hi, it’s Me cell | make
            them drive to your door, ring the bell; warn
            you not to stare naked at the Solar eclipse.

            Back flip to 30?  confirmed to mind sheep
            flank fatty fields . shear mean, piles of grin
            bearings seen | low paid What do you care?

                                          +

                                       \ Registers ping open, camera
            clear ? whose diamond tray looking out wouldn’t
            let her lay in wait shake^sieve.

            On road march watch, iFaith seat belt fastened –
            Moko Js crossing right in front the lights point
            stilts @Noon play . not for giving.

                                              \ Heat regardless, stuck
            in Link ‘n’ Like love traffic stutters @ becoming;
            first face mark @ theft sex death prints fine,
            like brand new car scratch, right.

                                                                – W.W.

                   

       

           

    

                      

           YUH RAP SO (1.8)                  

           But why try boyo to explain visionlight 
           we only see what we already bear – it
           is in the baggage we bring when we are born
           or else we’re only bats in the brightest noon:
           + Birds + monkeys screaming in the trees agreed
           – Not too much, no more than his vision needed –
           Nodding + crying their yes to let him pass
           Into the jaws of his latest yawn, his last,
           Tobacco smoke + all, smoke whose curlicues
           Had failed to entwine themselves into the Girl’s

      (from “Raponani” . a verse novel by Brian Chan, 2023)