I just received my copy of Ian McDonald's collection of selected poems, which is available through Amazon.com for $9.60.
This collection of McDonald's poems (as per the book's blurb) is selected by Edward Baugh--Emeritus Professor of English at the University of the West Indies, Mona--and published in honor of McDonald's seventy-fifth birthday. It is the first time poems from McDonald's four collections have been set in chronological order.
[Quick story: I heard McDonald read from the collection twice during Carifesta--once at the Umana Yana, and the second time under a dirty tent in Thomas Lands. That day under the dirty tent, while most people were hot and complaining, McDonald (dressed sharply in shirt and trousers) was cooler than a cucumber as he read.]
From time to time (as I do with Martin Carter's poems) I will feature poems from McDonald's collection, although the honor of reviewing the collection will not be mine. That will be the honor of a friend of mine who happens to be a brilliant writer and literary critic. When his review is completed, I will link to it. Meanwhile, here are two of the poems from the 1950s-1960s period. Baugh describes McDonald's poems from that period as follows:
"These poems [celebrate] the single-minded strength of personality of ordinary folk--calypsonian, fisherman, stick-fighter--their pride and pleasure in doing well what they did, whether at work or at play."
The following poems aptly illustrate some of that celebration of the "ordinary." Enjoy!
Rumshop Girl Walked the burnt red roads, looping the green hills Like red ropes around nine green tons of cane. Thirsty hours on the road under the honey sun. Came up to a rumshop on the bright-stoned way. Ordered hard yellow cheese, thick slices of earth brown bread, Four tall beers dewed with cool keeping. Life was good. Kicked my boots off under the counter. It was a joy when the big girl came With dancing step, full of sweet eyes, Black face full of dark shining, breast stuffing her blouse. It was marvellous how she leaned them on the counter Like fat young pullets, how her thighs bounced. She clapped down the plate with a sideways look And poured the cold beers for me with a lazy smile. While I gulped the beer, cold as creeks, She stood arms akimbo, making her dark sweet-eyes. Good to be hungry and eat that cheese, that soft bread. Good to be thirsty and drink the cold-dewed beer in a gulp. Good to be a man and see the girl, arms akimbo, make her eyes sweet for me. The sun floods the red road outside; Smell of warmed flowers, song of corn-birds, dream in the air. What joy to live! Far, far away is death. Suddenly the girl laughs. I laugh also, we do not speak. Decorated for a Kiss I come to her house for love with a basket of red petals. Man-friend tell me what a fool to go to the girl: Come, man, come fish shark, strong white shark, At midnight, come fish, golden snapper along the warm
black rocks.
But I decide my mind and come to her for love. Her dress is patterned with blue dragonflies. She has put a red bead in each ear. Green lizards run in her eyes. Her body has the scent of sun-dried khus-khus grass— The sweet fibres she has put between the linen since midday.
She has washed her mouth with milk,
She has rubbed her lips with bay leaves, Made her limbs clean with water from a green calabash. Now she offers me a few plums and palm-wine from a gourd of scarlet leather. [Upcoming posts: --My review of Denise Harris' Web of Secrets. --I briefly revisit Wild Maami. --Whaddya gonna get 'em for Christmas? Why, books of course!... My book recommendations for Christmas gifts.]
