FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN

 

                              

                                      "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)

    

 

 

                
            Her prayers after sex-nightmares helped her forget
            Or rather not recall too well the details
            Of the rage she’d felt at losing all control
            Over the way she’d wanted to share her flesh
            – Not with them animals dress-up people-ish,
            As she, while still a child, once described pictures
            Of the characters in Beatrix Potter’s
            Terror-tales of power + powerlessness
            Designed, she later felt, to make children wise
            To the ways of the world as Final Version
            Of Nature cruel for both beast + person :
            Was there a clear distinction between the two?

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

 

 

               
   

            First time buyer, divert ! the link with saviors
            claiming Estate reSurrect ensured; the forest pact
            with Tractors, clause for Trunk snap proceeds.
                                                                          Tree canopy
            removed Come, come! au Ciel log in . earn from Him
            clear.

            Sump pipes on islands sidetrip bad flow energy.
            School over Gang up . In the Castle of your Sins
            find Love | iCloud sent.

            The sound of fries fat sizzling ~ not the baker
            of wedding cake ~ tips lips off.
                                                               After the funeral
            going through her husband’s things What’s this
            a condom doing? in his office boot | mourning
            stopped.    

                                                *    

            Nor those who stop For Patria at nothing . Turn
            run the other way ! they hacked the necks off
            neighbors singing | blood bond^like stand ground
            pressures . zinc roofs mon Dieu rip away.

            Blades falling off old windmills ! unheard of
            here, they’d swear like Dutch glaze makers; 
            daughters dimpled with devotion, womb space
            saved . For new Vermeers.

                                                             – W.W.

 

         

       

          

 

           YUH RAP SO (1.6)

           The Cons -fessional + -quistador were twins,
           One a version of the Inquisition’s stink,
           The other an embodiment of the gene
           Of colonising fascism, power gone
           Sour but feeling sweet as power over
           An invented Other: the bad half-brother;
           The unfuckable sister or fucking bitch
           To be locked to her cage of your moral rage;
           Your neighbour whose garden has outgrown the fence
           That keeps you good neighbours; your own innocence
           Perverting itself into wars of jealous spite.

               (from “Raponani” by Brian Chan, 2023)

 

               
           Our road kills pass nowhere close to Happening
           Now flash flood | or shelter chattel you could hire
           along with goat ‘n’ children fleeing army
           startover fire . rear ranking so.

           Blood finding out ‘n’ down the mouth What if
           the satisfaction felt right? of a motionless caiman
           caught the sweep of the City Market clock; hands
           stopped in culture shock.
                                                       Nothing our Walcott
           paint tubes couldn’t fix . his billowy sea grape
           news : Crusoe mending net, fish oil tomorrow
           haul yuh cuirass.

                            \ Waterfall . river . creek ~ clueless
           how romance consumes we shadow faith in
           fashion follow ~ ocean found | native ties
           like for jaguar, pirate stained teeth left.

                                           *

           Seriously, how to shop^keep these shores ? old
           harbour planks, crab crossing crowd; plantation
           fat pipe need; nakedness with On ‘n’ off leaf.

           Dog heat + dog bowl + poodle pompom – only
           in the coin^count chamber | under the troolie
           folding roof Where's your main breaker?
           mormon callers ask.
                                                    \ iCard hard, pick
           axe all you want; flesh ‘n’ spirit rent make
           room for whole coarse graining | Hey, hey
           wait! nah . breathe the blue . chill drink
           nah.
                                                      – W.W.

                                            

                

          

        

             YUH RAP SO (1.5)

             Not freedom of choice but unfree perverse will,
             Dilys decided, after months of research
             Into Trauma, is what triggers hell on Earth
             Or Naraka’s stoic sense that all life is
             Hell’s hot winter . set, writ, no why, no because,
             Just an inescapable meaningless trap
             Like the brand-new university, perhaps,
             Where she was pursuing Liberal Studies
             & Ant–apology (Understanding Us
             As Others – them–ants)

             (from “Raponani” by Brian Chan, 2023)

                                                

 

                
            When Dilys was conscious of the crude cartoon-
            like figure that kept rearing its head in her
            Mind’s secret caverns for punishing torture
            – A dark blind Cyclops draining her sex’s eye
            Of its power that might help his start to see –  
            She realized that she had to pity and
            Forgive all of Nature’s pain or else be damned
            For being blind herself: to her Lord’s simplest
            But hardest-to-live defense of all sinners
            Who know not what they do + so will do it.

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

 

 

                                  
                                                               
                                                          "A log must learn to bleed, to fly,
                                                          to be an animal. Hare of God"
                                                     – Wilson Harris, Companions of The Day
                                                                                and Night" (1975)

               The worlds we build get wiped at the end
           sewered by movers hot for results . stressing
           lamb to saddle | violin fingers unwrap the lunch
           break of physicists.
                              “Lady juggling chainsaws, please!
           Not here, now.”

           Long as it climbs unnoticed on the trellis 
           sperm sleep normal | concern in the pouch
           Dept . accounts tadpole^like not adding back
           up.

           Air wells are not for body disposal, this young         
           widow reminds all . with child wake night
           gap tending | what bed ‘n’ breakfast code
           this . left to scan ? knife spread spoon lift
           off.

                                          +

           Post offices are shuttering; grandsons prefer
           the fast car crash on screen . scream Loser!
           thumb pressure low. Yes, Go! again.

                                            / News spot . content
           high like kite ! about nous grain slow seedling;
           iMobile, blood will hose blood . thin veins
           for bounty.
                                 / Chip ‘cross the road ~ wheels
           brake^hiss midriff glancing; wait ‘til the ocean
           signals pilot sound track lighting | balans
           Balancer! what living takes.
                                                             – W.W.

 

              

              

          
              YUH RAP SO (1.3)

              Dilys used to admire that woman’s bitter
              Brass balls crying out for you to forgive her
              The very trespasses she badly flaunted:
              In her, Dilys recognized one more dogged
              Staunch Catholic + – resolved to be not that
              Holy, that haunted – determined to devote
              Her life to that Lord who at least loved his whores
              Despite + because of that fire in their wire
             (The Gospel according to Calypso Rose)
              Which every nun (Dilys had met Diderot’s)
              Worth her salt needs still to stroke now + again

               (from “Raponani” by Brian Chan, 2023)