Confession
The police bring me in for questioning,
so I won’t be leaving this lockdown alive.
You see, it went this way. The old man came
into my grandfather’s shop, and I ignored him
when he sat on the barrels of mackerel,
the air heavy with cheese and salt.
“You’re too young to remember,
but I going tell you about a Jamaica
that never existed, yet I was there.
A place where man and man lived
side by side, yet hated each other;
where you could poke seeds
in the ground and in two-twos,
there would be trees with the sweetest fruit,
yet people were hungry; a place of fresh water
streams, springs bubbling out of the ever
giving earth, yet people were thirsty;
a time and a place of pastries and puddings
and every earthly delight, yet people
had no joy.” That’s when I told him to stop,
but he wouldn’t. "All who can’t hear must feel,”
is what my father always said.
“Why you torturing me with these fantasies?”
“Because you must know.”
That’s when I hit the bugger. I beat him.
I beat him and I beat him until he was cold,
so he wouldn’t tell anymore lies. And on my life,
Officer, every word I tell you is true.
I didn't want to weigh the blog down with any more information, so added a photostream of the Caribbean authors who will be appearing at this year's Miami Book Fair International on my old trusty website with the new and improved book store .Enjoy!
6 comments:
I laughed my head off with joy. It's a brilliant rendition, and procured me the same contentment as the one I get reading good Frost. Sort of, conversational and funny and tragic all at once. And local, on top of it. A converfuntraloc piece. Good job.
This was a good story. I really like how it starts off and the reaction to the babbling old man was not expected.
I wish that I could make it down to the book fair. That's my kind of leisure time. Plus, I would shake hands with Mr. Philp. :)
Excellent poem!!!
Rethabile,
Thanks for the compliment. I guess those days of teaching "Home Burial" paid off.
Stephen,
everything will happen in due course. Sooner or later, you will come down here or I will make it do DC.
So Jah Seh
Professor Zero,
Give thanks!
Blessings, my brothers
I was precisely thinking of "Home Burial."
I enjoy reading this poem. It's dramaric lyric, right? I'm just a teenager who starts reading world literature. But i still wonder if the old man relates to the narrator or not. The narrator's origin is Jamaican, right? But he becomes like a mimic man. So he doesn't want to hear the story from the old man. is that called "diaspora"?
Thank you in advance for who answer my questions. :)
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