NYU Black Renaissance Noire NYU Black Renaissance Noire Vol 17.2: Fall 2017 - Page 46

poetry What Caribbean See! To Derek Walcott. March 21st 2017 primavera Mandalas inside Arabic calligraphy the Marble the mineral we walk upon. The British English tone of some Of the islands Oxygen fluffed with sodium Produced this classic poet, The ocean was his writing desk, Scarcity of land is an elongation of The imagination, The Tainos were transients, immigrants A lifestyle only a little while here Flower and song, before the chlorophyll Of the leaves wither, This Americas as always motion of people, Imitation of oceanic waves, No borders walking make home each beach Mountain yours mine thems us All you’s, What’s happening now Is the always is, earth planet history, Thank God the Africans walked Out of Africa as human beings, To start the churning the sancocho Mixture/Life is this motion. The Caribbean Not multi-cultures But fusion culture, A place where civilizations merge, As in the olive oil That my mother poured upon plantains, In the mixture of calabasa into bacalao, A Taino-Mediterranean conversation. Café which the Arabs love This classical liquid along with the language, Aroma drifts along the sharp blue sea, Reclined in the comfortable rattan rocking chair Reading fragments of the Spanish epoch Of gold. Are we not a bowl of Sancocho with a promise? Cooking still A yautia lila balancing with an Inca sweet Potato which slams into Nigerian ñame. Such Caribbean we shared when Lorca Spoke to Nicolas Guillen and later went to Santiago To see the dancers scribbling upon the Moorish tiles. The Cuban laud gliding through The Son Montuno contrasting jolts of The 3-2 subSaharan folkloric music dance Gong frame pattern: la clave Yet Derek knew that way before Lorca Came Robinson Crusoe lost and in process Discovers all over the unknew world, Thus Caribbean set at origin of English narration Joyce thought as much. Derek woke with the early sun writing Poems as a kid in the amazement Eyes curvature of blue sea bahias Scent of fruits as boy poet peddled his poems On the isle streets, His words like the skins of the tombadora In front of him which he caressed with his Mestizo hands into landscape painted language Montage of layers of civilizations. How clear the horizon from the fragmentation, We are the wounds healing. Colonialism Slavery. Our Arawak memory Africanizes Mofongo plaintain mush, And how so much Caribbean lifted his Mulatto poets face to stare at the world Like the Grand Combo of Puerto Rico Mulatos del sabor. Style exuberante this Carib Milton sang The profound classic, Spelled letter by letter In the monument of his life. An iguana speaks in my dream An egret/Garza white suit Walks a brown figure off the edge Of the Cafribbean sky upward, Adios, Derek y gracias For the silence. The geography of the Caribbean Sky Air/Water Suns at distance From grand landmasses, Yet the whole Amazon floated Towards it and is the morning echo Canoas of our birth. Did the Dinosaurs shrink? Into our iguanas, lizards Earth belongs to no one, As things have just appeared, Seashells assisted by waves arrive To our island rims of sand, As if deserts Were deposited at our edges. Sea conch Agueybana picks up Salitre Salty a sound like what blood Might taste like to weave a force Pushing the air. Announces Areito Our epic poem celebration of tribal history, Log of the navigators from the Orinoco. Aware Derek focused the Arawaken Arieto into his pen, The circle dance, public to private He was caressing the epic of our Caribbean, The mountain sky. Opens history Awaken dance of crabs, Egrets/garzas whose necks are like Question marks/fleeting lizards Captured in slow motion in his measured craft landscape poems, Out of the air the brilliance of The mountains, a road we turn Confront a flamboyant tree Summer spread with red or blue flowers, Madagascar within us, Like the pana which breadfruits so Much in his poems, a transport from The ancient Pacific Samoan/Fiji Islands Poi Dog, starch for which we Mediterranean Olive oil upon. The Mediterranean came here Stationed in the flavor of food Looks and intuitions interlocked, San Juan-Havana old medieval cities Columns of the Arabs Horseshoe doorways leaking Blues of sky, light upon loseta-tiles Patterns of fruits interiors and vegetables By Victor Hernández Cruz