Witness in Stone is reminiscent of intricately wrought but imposing stone structure, even as it testifies to the apparently commonplace -a young man on a bicycle, a playful encounter with a grandchild, a walk along a country road at dawn, all rendered in a manner that gives them shape and heft. Reading this collection exemplifies why Esther Phillips is Barbados’s Poet Laureate. Her poetic skill – the ability to capture detail with an economy of words and poignant imagery – is finely contextualised by her attention to Barbadian settings and landscape. But it is her treatment of this detail that enriches the reading experience. Nestled within observations of flora, simple rituals, the sounds of human living are profound emotions and weighty ruminations. For example, her contemplation of a marginalised figure at an intersection, usually ignored or dismissed because of his odd behaviour of directing traffic, with “both arms moving / in every, and sometimes opposite / directions” evolves in a few, deft strokes into an invitation to self-examination as he becomes “the philosopher/ whose arms are the pages / we should look into”.
From experiences made negligible by familiarity and routine, she delivers touching and provocative possibilities. This creative energy, capable of balancing the singular with the quotidian, forms one of the motifs of this collection. Several of the poems offer reflections on the intersection of beauty with the pragmatic, creativity with stoicism. However, these are not the only intersections made possible in this collection. The image of the elderly neighbour who regularly makes wreaths in memoriam of the village’s deceased in “Wreaths” and that of the ex-slave stonemason in “Stonemaster”, encapsulate an interlacing of this attention to beauty with other prominent motifs, namely, craftsmanship, testimony and nostalgia. This may seem like an eclectic group of ideas but their relationship across this collection is organic. Respect for those who practice a craft, as well as for the significance of that craft, produces a shared tone of gratitude and awe whether it be toward a mason whose fingers are trained “in the alchemy that breathes in stone” or the literary icon, Kamau Brathwaite, who could somehow “trust …to the trance of words”. The main connecting thread is the value of these creations to the following generations, particularly those who can claim a Barbadian heritage. The need for someone to testify to these creations in a meaningful way is indicated by the distance between subsequent generations and the voice in these poems bearing living witness to this craftsmanship. Alongside the tone of gratitude, therefore, is nostalgia – a looking backward – that is emphasised by the images of bygone Barbadiana throughout the collection such as children walking, “skillet in hand” to collect milk. Thankfully, the persona’s intimate and individualised perspective - the benefit of lyric poetry done well - pulls you into the moment so that you participate in the memory and share its meaning. This participation is important because so much of this work addresses “unspoken mementos” and these poems take on the obligation to articulate these memories through imagery and carefully balanced figurative language.
The imagery of stone, given the title of the collection, offers noteworthy renderings of memory. This is ideally captured in “Rock/Stone”, where stone’s various tactile qualities and physical features are each seamlessly linked to an important, personal memory. Nonetheless, this collection comes to remembrance through other figurative techniques - as diverse as the iterations of stone in this poem - that couple economy of expression with emotional expansiveness. For example, the recollection of the joy and abandon of a youthful affair is captured by the deceptively simple transference of the sound of an illicit motorcycle ride to the anticipation felt when it happened and the excitement of voyeuristically witnessing its participants re-enter that moment: “Suddenly the afternoon revs up,/ spreads out into the green fields/ and open road”. Imagery turned metaphor does the work of figuratively embodying familial ties to the past (reminiscent of Seamus Heaney’s “Digging”) in “Grandmother’s Crosses” and personification signals a historical burden in “Stairs”. The weight of the past, both as burden and foundation, finds expression in “Feathers” through a subtle interplay of simile, association and metaphor that links feathers with flying creatures and much heavier objects/ experiences. Other poems directly speak to remembering, such as the unmistakably titled “Memory” and “G, At Ninety-Two, Reflects On His Mother”.
However, revisiting the past and its importance is counterbalanced by those poems that capture the hope and uncertainty of the present as with “Erin” and “Young Rider”. The latter poem provides one of the noticeable contrasts in the collection, though not because of its focus on the young and their distance from the kinds of memories that dominate in this work. There are several poems here that address the guileless expectations and forward-looking promise of the young, such as “Wing-Growing”, “Swim” and “Bell”. Unlike these poems, the persona’s relationship to the young rider is that of an unrelated observer. Remarkably, the tone of intimacy and tenderness in “Wing-Growing” which is dedicated to a grandson, is also evident for the unknown young man in “Young Rider”. The effect is that a larger concern, embodied by the young male rider, though outside of the personal is nonetheless emotionally close. This same effect is produced with another poem, also distinct in its attention to concerns other than memory. “He Called for Momma” stands out as being the only work that ostensibly speaks to a contemporary socio-political issue, one of particular significance to the United States. This poem takes us beyond the Caribbean and the personal to a collective perspective on racial violence. Albeit unintentionally, “Young Rider” and “He Called for Momma” intersect over the uncertainties that await boys growing into men and those lurking dangers specific to men of colour. Both share a hopeful ending, but the definitive declaration of “one day soon and we’re done with running” that concludes “He Called for Momma” does not match the touching yearning of the persona’s parting wish of a better future for the solitary, unnamed boy.
Overall, this collection excels in its treatment of the sights and sounds of Barbadian settings. From the “group of boys / liming under the almond tree” in “Young Rider” to the stately, complicated presence of the plantation estate house, these poems revel in Barbadian iconography. In particular, the rural Barbadian landscape is a recognisable feature as setting in “Drax Hall” or at center-stage in “Ruminations”. The latter poem conveys a wistful pastoral imagery reminiscent of 19th century picturesque paintings but rescued from their colonial sensibilities because its beauty is for the “[p]eople born in the country”. These visual exemplars of Barbados are complemented by the sounds of local living most readily conveyed through nation language, whether it be in the neighbour’s voice of “Village-Keeper” or that of the persona in “Woman-Tongue Tree”. “Woman-Tongue Tree” points to a similar relationship between landscape and testimony as that seen between cultivated environment and memory in “Stonemaster”. Fundamentally, this ‘talking tree’ speaking in the tongue of the Bajan land (akin to the persona), tells of what human beings need to learn about themselves and the land around them via narratives that are linked across time. If there is an overarching theme to this collection it would have to be that people and the landscape offer stories and recollections waiting to be acknowledged. In order to make even the stones “bear witness”, to recognise and re-tell the moments held by the land and its people, it takes someone committed to mastering the skill of creative expression, willing to be like the ‘master’ who carves “lessons in stone”. With these poems, Esther Phillips assumes that mantle and therefore encourages us to find ourselves, as people of this limestone island and the wider Caribbean, in the moments and experiences carved through these words. This work, as our witness in stone, encourages us to recognise that “the song of the heart / will always find its roots…in these caves, hills,…running deep/ inside the veins, the blood / of these our island people”.