The Signifyin' Woman (Charmaine Valere)

Oh behave!

Now I'm here having a good time . . . listening to good music, reading at my own pace, sipping green tea, relaxing, when I get a disturbing email from my friend Annand.  Apparently the folks at Propaganda Press have decided he and Baiganchoka are N-haters.  

The whole thing started some time back it appears (I haven't really been following), but the latest in their rumblings came as a result of this post, and Annand's response (see comments).  Annand sent me (I'm black, by the way, he's...well, baiganchoka) an email with his comment and the progressively nasty comments which ensued, and wondered how it all got to be so ridiculous.  How yuh gon call he N-hater?  He asked a valid question, which deserved an answer such as the following (which I gave to him):  

He [the blogger at Propaganda Press] in reacting as he did to President Jagdeo's gift giving, is coming from a sound place.  He's probably reacting based on what he knows about providing positive images for black females who (even in a place like Guyana with many positive examples of Black women) still need to see their own kind in the form of the perfect little doll, which for many girls is a representation of beauty.  Black girls don't need white dolls to reinforce Eurocentric standards of beauty in their young minds. 

I believe if that had been the response to his initial question, it wouldn't have sunk to the level it did. 

Now, I ain't interrupt my feel-good year end doings to come here and lecture nobody grown pickney, but maybe next year some a we should resolve to be nicer to each other, and especially we bloggers . . . we have opportunities to present legitimate issues and engage in meaningful discussion about those issues.  Leh we do duh next year nuh?

I continue to support Annand and Baiganchoka, as well as Propaganda Press.  Now go kiss and mek up, and don't make me have to stop dis party and come back deh with a wile cane fuh y'all lil behinds.

Carry on. 

Here's to my poet blog friends! And a happy new year to all!

I've said how thankful I am for the friendships I have formed with Nicholas Laughlin, Ruel Johnson, The GMC (# something), Bakannal, and Guyana Gyal.  I now add to that list of blog friends, Nicolette Bethel, and Rethabile Masilo.  They have all been huge inspirations for what I do on this blog, and I wish them, their families, and all who read me, a new year full of love, friendships, writing that inspires, and other bountiful blessings.

I read Poefrica for Rethabile's relatable, awe-inspiring poetry, as well as for his links to other Africa-influenced poems.  Read and enjoy "Thetsane blues," and his sexy latest, "an 8 sitting up."  Read also, from his gathering of writers/poets, Chinua Achebe's "Butterfly," and Wole Soyinka's "Telephone Conversation." 

Rethabile is constantly reworking his poems and shows us on his blog that getting that image just the way he envisions it takes work. I truly admire that since I don't believe that great writing is a god-given talent...it takes constant practice, and often an interested, interactive audience, to get really good at it.  To those of you who consider yourselves writers, and would like to use your blog as a true writer's blog, Poefrica is a wonderful model.  Take a look see.

Nicolette Bethel's blog is another great example of the hard work, constant renewing and updating that inspires good art and the dedicated artist.  In the blur of my one week of Carifesta-ing, I didn't have the pleasure of meeting Nicolette, although thanks to her frequent blog updates, I was able to read about her frustration and her joy as she recounted details of the journeying Bahamian luggage and the performance of her play, The Children's Teeth.  With divine allowance, I plan on meeting up with Nicolette in 2010 (Watch out Nicob, you've been warned!) 

Nicolette is the editor of the newest Caribbean literary journal--Tongues of the Ocean--and I don't only look forward to reading it, but I feel greatly inspired to heed the call and submit something creative.  Just kidding.  Hmmm...

In addition to everything else she does, Nicolette is a poet (though I'm not sure that's the order in which she would place things).  Here's one of her "Lily" poems, "The Seamstress Teaches Lily to Sew (1910)," which I've read and interpreted anew each time I read it--one of the pleasures I seek in reading creative writing of any sort.

Folks, I've had a fun year of blogging and being recognized as a contributor to the Caribbean lit. blog world.  I'm even more excited about next year!  Happy New Year to all!

The best of 2008

This blog is still relatively new, and I have a ways to go to give a true "best of" list of books by Guyanese and other Caribbean writers.  But I do want to celebrate the good writing I have read and written on during the year here at Signifyin' Guyana. 

First, a word or two on the focus of this blog. 

If you clicked on my "About" link, you would see this description of the interests of this blog:

Very basically, in Black American culture signifyin’ is slang used for examining and reinterpreting language in an indirect way. Through repetition and difference, implication and association, combining words and meanings, the signifyer’s goal is usually to create new meanings for old words and ideas. Read Henry Louis Gates, Jr. for more on that. This signifyin’ Guyanese woman who lives in the United States will facilitate a discourse on terms, words, definitions, ideas that concern many of us Guyanese in the Guyanese Diaspora. The goal is to examine them inside out, and possibly reinterpret them. To help achieve this goal of examination and reinterpretation, we will rely on our own significant though unpublished, unpolished opinions, as well as the published (and often polished) opinions of others. Join us as we learn, share, and entertain.

And, after a year of blogging, my clearer statement about Signifyin' Guyana's focus/interests is as follows:

After being disappointed in the scant and scattered information available online on Guyanese writers, I started this blog with the primary goal to give Guyanese writers significant, quality space, and visibility on the web by interpreting their words, and suggesting (in some cases) new ways (in addition to the existing interpretations/critique of their work) of understanding their work. 

That sounds rather serious, but as you've seen, I've had fun doing it in all kinds of ways--from a high-ish brow academic standpoint, to as low-brow and dirty as I could get away with.  The tone I take on with any given book always depends on the book itself.

I have added a secondary focus for this blog, which is to comment on, profile, and review books by other Caribbean writers.  All this gives me a very full plate, which I plan on feasting on next year, and I hope you'll feast along with me.

Now on to my list of the best I've read this year.

 

BEST BOOKS

Best Novel:

The Hangman's Game, Karen King-Aribisala.

Best Short Story Collection:

Four Taxis Facing North, Elizabeth Walcott-Hackshaw. 

Best Collection of Poetry:

I Hear Guyana Cry, Balwant Bhagwandin

 

BEST INDIVIDUAL WORKS

Best Short Stories:

"April," Ruel Johnson (From Ariadne and other Stories).

"The Aviary," Ruel Johnson (From Fictions).

"Still Life: Bougainvilla and Body Parts," Mark McWatt (From Suspended Sentences: Fictions of Atonement).

Best Poems:

"The Angels Warn," Balwant Bhagwandin (from I Hear Guyana Cry).

"How We Became the Pirates," Kei Miller (from There is an Anger that Moves).

_______________

And, here's an early list of some of the books and Guyanese writers I plan on featuring and reviewing next year:

1. Janjhat, Rooplall Monar. 

2. Pauline Melville.

3. Bethany Bettany, Fred D'Aguiar.

4. The Godmother and Other Stories, Jan Lowe Shinebourne.

5. Assassination Cry of a Failed Revolution, William Gregory Smith and Anne R. Wagner.

6.  Edgar Mittelholzer.

[Books by and /or about other Caribbean writers to be announced]

Yours truly is lit up like a Christmas tree

...and I haven't even had a sip of my husband's cocquito yet.  I'm just in a sweeter mood...family's here from out of state, kids are excited, a thick piece of my mom's black cake is in my kitchen, and I don't have a single paper to grade.  Happy times indeed!  I wish all of you and yours much of the same--A very merry Christmas! (Happy Holidays to those of you who don't celebrate Christmas.) 

And, for those who aren't yet in the mood, take a moment to read Janine Mendes-Franco's festive post on Christmas in the Caribbean, here at Global Voices.  This should do the trick.  Enjoy! 

A love story from Cummings Lodge: Roopnandan Singh's Wild Maami

Well, well, well.  What do you know.  Turns out Wild Maami ain't so bad after all.  It's a diamond in the rough.  If you ignore the pretentious "literary" babble in the opening paragraph, and more of the same occasional clumsy analogy, as well as the narrator's tendency to over-analyze what's going on, it is quite a captivating story of young love that dissolves in marriage.  

Singh is at his best when he uses dialogue.  In the exchanges between his characters, you get to hear and picture genuine country folk.  I quite enjoyed the exchanges...felt like I was back in my grandmother's house eavesdropping as she and her next door neighbor tried to whisper about the lives of other neighbors.  Here's one such exchange between a father ("Salt Fish") and his daughter's suitor (Anil) that was particularly well written.  Cheers to you, Mr. Singh!

___________

Salt Fish had already disappeared into his bedroom, pretending to be resting, when the 'boy' was announced.  His wife [Rosie] soon requested his presence.  He took his own good time before coming out of his hiding with pen and exercise book in hand, specifically to impress the young man, and to assert his superiority.

"Ah just been trying to straighten up de books foh de business...if you na keep good record, you end up in trouble."

Anil did not answer.  He was not disrespectful.  He simply did not know what to say.

"By de way, you come alone?  Whey you father an mother?" Salt Fish was somewhat surprised to see him alone.

"Daddy deh home, Uncle Salt Fish.  Meh mother dead since Ah been small, but Ah got a step-mother."  He was blandness itself.

"You Daddy know dat you want married?"

"No, Uncle Salt Fish."

"What!"  Salt Fish exclaimed in disbelief.

"You step-mother know?"

"No, Uncle Salt Fish."

"Jesus, wha kind a family you all gat..."

"Me Daddy won't object to any gyal me pick."  He paused, then continued, "Once is nah one black gyal."

"Look, Me na know you parents, you background, nothing.  How Me go leh me data married you?  You wuking?"

"Yes, Uncle Salt Fish.  I is a outdoor salesman with Wieting and Richter drug section."

"How long?"

"About six months now."

"Which High School you been to?"

"Shivraj High School in Helena, Mahaica."

"How much subject G.C.E. you get?"

"Me na write G.C.E...when Ah was in third form Me and another boy been fighting in school and Mr. Shivraj, the Principal, expelled both awe.  Since den Me na go back a school..."

"Jesus...like you been a one bad horse or wha, boy?  Look leh me tell you straight.  When you come back wid you Daddy we gon see about dis match again.  But foh now, Me na think Nadira want married yet."  Salt Fish was as cool as a cucumber.  Anil was obviously disappointed but managed to maintain his calm.  Rosie and the children were not party to the discussion.  They were allowed only to sit and listen like spectators at a show.  After Anil left, Rosie took on Salt Fish:

"How you could treat the boy so?"

"How Ah treat 'e?"

"How you mean...is he want marry Nadira, not 'e family..."

Salt Fish wouldn't allow it.  "Listen, don't argue wid me.  suppose 'e Daddy get leprosy an deh in Mahaica Hospital?  Or suppose 'e Daddy is a lunatic in de mental hospital in Berbice?  Tell me, you go still want 'e married Nadira?"

Rosie did not answer.  He continued, "Listen, Nadira a one nice, nice gyal.  She come from a good family.  Ah know she can get good, good offer..."

"Wha you want...doctor or lawyer...dah is wha you looking foh?" asked Rosie.

"An why not?  At least Me na want no grass cutter."

[Wild Maami is available for purchase at Austin's Book Store (Georgetown, Guyana)]

A workshop opportunity for writers in Guyana

If you've ever been fortunate enough to participate in a writer's workshop, you know the benefits of interacting with peers, testing out ideas on a receptive audience, getting inspiration from other writers, and renewing your committment to the task of writing.  If you have never been so fortunate, then join in on this one to be led by Ruel Johnson in February, 2009.

A Guyana/Caribbean-focused review of David Dabydeen's Molly and the Muslim Stick

Most of Molly and the Muslim Stick is set in England, and spans the first half of the twentieth century and a little beyond.  The story focuses on Molly Harris (Anglo-Brit), a victim of sexual abuse who tries to heal herself of the physical and mental effects of her abuse.  When Molly is finally settled into a teaching career in a working class town, and has found a way to bring order to her very disordered life, (about half-way through the novel) an illegal immigrant  from Guyana shows up on her doorstep.  She takes him in, gives him a bath, powders him, clothes him in a dress (with a belt to maintain his maleness), sticks a pipe in his mouth, places him on a sofa, and names him Om.

He remains in her home, never developing social skills to function outside of it--his most coherent way of communicating with Molly is by emitting scents (of fear, of anger, e.t.c.)--as part servant, part exotic exhibit for her friends and neighbors.  Eventually, in the thick of the anti-communist, racist, xenophobic fervor of the 1950s, the man is deported.  Molly discovers she can't live without him (they aren't romantically involved, but she feels a strong maternal-like attachment to him) and goes to Guyana in search of him.

Once the novel's setting shifts to Guyana, we get a view of Amerindian lifestyle from the outsider, Molly.  Molly is shocked at the near nakedness of the people, but admires the bead necklaces of the women and the feathered headdresses of the men (can you imagine a more primitive exotic scene?...mmm?...OH YEAH, a certain expensive Amerindian village in the middle of Carifesta happenings, August 2008 comes to mind).  

Like 21st century visitors to the Carifesta village (maybe), Molly (in the mid to late 1950s) is happy and relaxed in the serenity of the place where she can slow down and catch up with her life, and where she is treated like a special guest, fed and housed by the "natives."  But eventually, she tires of it all and returns to England.

But before she leaves, Molly discovers that Om's presence at her door in England may have been a "dream happening" gone wrong, and his subsequent return home to Guyana was a result of him dreaming his way back home.

Which brings me to this...

The novel has some elements of surrealism--a talking stick, supernatural occurrences, and such, but that genre only serves to frustrate this reader.  I find the use of elements of the surreal in the novel (absurdist in some definitions) only serves to exoticize and eroticize Amerindians in Guyana.  But at least Dabydeen was responsible enough to place his novel in a 1950s Guyana.  The person or persons responsible for creating and subjecting Amerindians to the spectacle that was that village during Carifesta 2008 should be... alright alright...I'll just think it for now.  I promised folks I wouldn't cuss on this blog during this good Christmas season.

Conclusion:  From the perspective of a person reading to see what the novel says about Guyana and Guyanese, and the Caribbean by natural extension, I found Molly and the Muslim Stick an equal combination of frustrating and appalling, and I hope it's the worst thing I'll ever read by Dabydeen.

A closer look at "Om" in David Dabydeen's Molly and the Muslim Stick

Om, the man from the Caribbean in David Dabydeen's Molly and the Muslim Stick, is an Amerindian who appears on Molly's doorstep drenched and in a state of shock, as if he had been plucked by some unforeseen hand from the jungles of Guyana and dropped unceremoniously into a British working-class town.

Question (possibly) relevant to Guyana and the Caribbean: If you take a man out of his pre-modern Caribbean existence, and place him in a modern setting, what would his experience there be like?  In Molly and the Muslim Stick,the Caribbean man's experience includes contending with racism, xenophobia, language barriers, and the understandable fear of being alone and out of his element.  The man's experience is a heavily exaggerated portrayal of the immigrant experience.  Dabydeen makes him absurd, ridiculous, hopelessly out of place, and then (mercifully) the man is deported.  Message?  Could it be something as plain spoken as this?  (Of course not. I'm just letting Stolid see how relevant his rantings may be in relation to Dabydeen's book though.  Maybe one of Stolid's stories will involve a modern-day Amerindian character...hint hint).

[Stay tuned for my reviews of Molly and the Muslin Stick, and Wild Maami this weekend...really this time.]

Before they all came aboard, fronting and claiming bragging rights, Bakannal and Guyana Gyal ruled

There's no doubt about it.  The Guyanablogoshere has seen a surge of new bloggers within the past year or so.  Some came aboard quietly and gained readerships at varying paces.  Some came on hot, sweaty, swift, downright offensive (though obviously capable of brilliant writing), and left just as swiftly.  Some have a clear mission and give us lots of new and enlightening information.  Others don't seem to have a focus, and aren't really informative, but nevertheless manage to captivate us with good humour, and frequent writing on their blogs, and almost everyone else's.

And I couldn't be prouder of them if I'd given birth to each and every one of them myself.

But before the busy, entertaining Stolid, the eerily familiar storytelling of Brass knuckles, and the saucy Raptus, there were (and still are, by the way) Guyana Gyal and Bakannal...the original Guyanese storytelling bloggers.  And as much as I love Stolid and the others, nobody can tell a story like Guyana Gyal and Bakannal.  At least not yet.  Now of course that doesn't mean that Bakannal has an edge on any of the other writers mentioned when it comes to the short story competition.  No way sir.  Stolid, Brass, Raptus, and every prospective entrant in the competition are all equal until the judges say hell no. (I'm not a judge, by the way.  This competition IS going to be a fair one.)

But more on the original storytellers in this Guyanablogosphere.

 

Bakannal: A comic genius with precise timing...

If you think it's easy to write a joke, then try it.  Not easy at all.  A well-written joke has to be a precise combination of timing and details.  And this one is a true example of just that.  Granted drunk people often do and say things that are an easy laugh, but Bakannal shows us that it takes talent to write about those drunk happenings, and still deliver the same punch one would get from witnessing the moment.

When he's not entertaining us with his tales from the bar, he's in the toilet . . . wimping out.  But every now and then (as he gets older and closer to being a family man maybe) he hits us somewhere else besides the funny bone.

I read Bakannal's blog and marvel at a writer who seems so reluctant to write (he has made every ludicrous excuse in the book about why he doesn't write more often), but who obviously has the talent to go a long way with a writing career.  Maybe this writing competition I'm hosting is just the kick in the tail he needs to get going.

Guyana Gyal: A throwback to the days when there was art in hooking the listener with a simple tale...

Once upon a time there was a gyal who had a thing for nature, especially trees, and when she wasn't hugging one, vexed with one, or spooked by one, she was trying to get frogs to show her some action, squealing at rats, or stammering at the sight of snakes.  But if you thought a pastry couldn't melt in her mouth, try accusing her of being unspectacular, or watch her tell President Jagdeo how to do his work.  (She probably inherited that spark from her mother.) 

And although she may now be long-in-the-tooth (as they say), don't ask her about children or about hooking up with any of those "Buddy's Night Club kinda boys."  You see, she's quite content chatting on the phone with Annie about her latest escapades, taking it easy by sewing, sitting on her throne admiring her pretty toes all in a row, and sipping a nice cup a tea.  But don't let all that old-maidish tea drinking and sewing fool you, cause she's got that "very special friend," and every now and then you can catch her dancing naked in the rain...almost. 

Gyal, but is wheh yuh deh?

Motivation for writers: Geoffrey Philp lists ten things every writer should know

Jamaican writer and literary theorist / critic, Geoffrey Philp gives us ten credible, motivational points from which any writer can benefit.  I've added his list to the 2009 short story competition reads (sidebar right).  and I've added some of Geoffrey's books--including Twelve Poems and A Story for Christmas, imaged above--to signifyinguyana's amazon.com bookstore.