Arts for the 21st Century

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c’est toujours comme ça à chaque fois 

le jour et la nuit viennent se confiner ensemble

dans ma mémoire en ébullition

lorsque ma claustration se transforme

en une saison engloutissante 


un autre grand voyage 

dans un voyage ordinaire 

it’s always like this every time

day and night are confined together

in my boiling memory

when my confinement turns

into an engulfing season


another great voyage

in an ordinary voyage

where the words that fight

collide violently

donne-moi une raison

pour que mon corps ne soit plus souverain

plus ce lieu inviolable

pourquoi des changements de fréquence de mon souffle

contrôle du rythme

battements de cœur

de paupières 


on a souillé mon corps 

 

give me a reason

so that my body is no longer sovereign

no longer this inviolable place    

why changes in the frequency of my breath

rhythm control

heartbeats

eyelids


one has tarnished my body

extract from biography “Riff: The Shake Keane Story”

The jour ouvert, the mardi gras, the numbing dance that does not end

this careless costume, its sinews drenched in dew

in glitter of sweat, in tatters of flesh will fall away and

like your forebears you’ll philosophise «enbas la terre pas ni plaisir», you

Do it in this clear-eyed light

now that you know that your back’s against

imponderable walls,

do it in the day-breaking light of

these times because you can no longer

retreat under rocks,

do it where the water washes

“Nunca hubiera creído que la muerte se llevara a tantos”

  1. S. Eliot

Cuando despertó la pandemia todavía seguía ahí

y recordó el cuento de Monterroso

con algo de ironía con algo de pavor

Translation by Keith Ellis

“I had not thought death had undone so many.”

  1. S. Eliot

When he woke up, the pandemic was still there,

and he remembered Monterroso’s short story

I write the following brief lines having been witness to a process by which literary theory achieves growth, evolution and function.

     _ for the late Owen Seymour Arthur,

        Prime Minister of Barbados Sept. 6, 1994 to Jan. 15, 2008


In the land of wood, water and levity,
we roamed, as young men do, but separately.
I joined him after Michael’s defeat in 1980.

It’ll be in the morning
that I will look upon you, lying next to me
for a while untroubled, and I will wish
that you should not wake, afraid that when
you stir, when your eyes of almond-brown honey
open to the world, to me next to you
and to all this might mean,

NEGUS 2

-for Kamau Brathwaite

 

It is

It is

how you slash and burn an entire lexicon 

to rule among the harbingers of language; 

Question (Q): Lisa, your YA novel Home Home (Papillote Press, 2018) tells the story of fourteen-year-old Trinidadian Kayla, who struggles with depression and anxiety, as well as with her mother’s personal and cultural inability to understand that these conditions are bio

My Dad used to leave us for long hours when we went to the beach, any beach, we could be in the States or another Caribbean island.   It was as if he was forever seeking a way Back Home, the sands of Barbados on other shores.

Felice sat hunched over her embroidery hoop, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose.  She looked up occasionally over the rim to check a paper pattern that was spread on the table in front of her.  A stretch of aida cloth with colourful images hung from one side of the hoop.