Tributes to the Poems Man
Arts on Sunday
by Alim Hosein
Stabroek News
October 13, 2002
Introduction
The Upscale Guyana Restaurant has rapidly established itself as a place to go for the arts; the weekly poetry reading sessions have been quite popular, and to this has been added, the comedy nights and an adaptation of the Poetry Slam performed in Europe and North America.
Attempts to build such venues have been made in the past, but it seems difficult to maintain them. The Hadfield Foundation had a brief golden age with art and theatre in the early nineties. Then the Hadfield's proprietor, Nigel Hughes, shifted the centre to the Sidewalk Café with jazz, other music, some poetry and theatre. The Hotel Tower, through Christopher Ram's influence, has hosted the range from poetry and prose to music, film and literature. Both theatre and art have been tried at the Ocean View, while Cara Inn has been a recent venue for theatre and film, and Le Meridien Pegasus continues with art after a past period of occasional theatre.
While Upscale's open mike, free form policy does not always evoke great artistry, it has two important values. It liberates poetry from the ivory tower and returns it to a necessary popular level, and it creates a platform for the occasional session where some of the best poets and poetry may be featured. This happened recently with a special Tuesday evening celebrating the work of Martin Carter. The Carter evening followed an earlier focus on photographer and poet, Bobby Fernandes, whose pictures and poems were exhibited at the restaurant.
This week, we describe one of the poems presented on that evening of tributes to Carter, and reproduce excerpts from two tributes offered by Ian McDonald, fellow poet and editor of Kyk-Over-Al, and David de Caires, editor of "New World Fortnightly", a magazine that appeared in the 1960s. Both were also published in "Kyk-Over-Al" 49/50, June 2000.
The Poems Man
Look, look, she cried, the poems man,
running across the frail bridge
of her innocence. Into what house
will she go? into what guilt will
that bridge lead? I
the man she called out at
and she, hardly twelve
meet in the middle, she going
her way; I coming from mine:
The middle where we meet
is not the place to stop.
The question has often been asked, why are we always highlighting Martin Carter as if he is the only Guyanese poet worth celebrating? The answer is, he is not the only one. There are others who are worthy, but the truth is, he is highlighted because he is the best that the nation has so far produced, and he has really not been celebrated as much as he deserves. He has often been called Guyana's "national poet" and "poet laureate", because he has been claimed as the poetic icon / symbol / voice of the whole country. But the deep humility of the man has meant that he consistently resisted self-promotion, never pursued his career as a writer overseas, where he would have attracted much more attention, and his books are virtually out of print. It is not without significance that he should have been featured at Upscale where the general public was invited to read any selections of his work, because his greatness as a profound artist has been accompanied by a nation-wide popularity.
The poem printed above is a good illustration of this popular recognition as well as of his proletarian sensibility, his deep sensitivity to the prevailing human condition, his concerns for the future and his skill as a craftsman. The poet recalls an encounter with a little girl, who meets him, significantly, in the middle of a bridge, and calls out excitedly "look, look, the poems man". The craft is so careful that style is closely related to subject. Carter's language here helps to dramatize the characterization of the girl, who seems neither middle class nor highly educated. She uses the non-standard structure "poems man" rather than "poet" to name a man who is known as a maker, even a peddler of poems. This reflects an absence of sophistication and the Creole sensibility, but Carter goes further. The entire poem is influenced by Creole syntax and rhythm as in "I the man she called out at" and "look, look, the poems man".
The language is appropriate because it is an important encounter between poet and people, intellect and intuition, maturity and youth, past/present and future reflected in "she going her way; I coming from mine". Note that she is "going", while he is "coming from": - the past confronting the future - but the poet expresses great concern for that future. The bridge on which they meet is "frail", suggesting two things: that which connects them is slight, and that very little separates them. But it also means her innocence will not last and a secure future is uncertain; she goes into a wider society tainted with guilt. Youth and innocence are frail because the poet wonders about the society's ability to protect or provide for them.
To continue the metaphor of the frail bridge, the middle of it "is not the place to stop" since it might collapse. However, at the same time, this meeting is so important that it is not an end, not a place to stop, but should promise continuity and the great social advancement that ought to be created by it.
Carter was the kind of person who would place much importance on this kind of meeting between poet and people. A poem such as this one further emphasises his proletarian concerns and his preoccupation with the quality of life and what the future holds for these people. At the same time, his recognition by the girl speaks for his common touch as well as his popularity and place as a poet of the people. What is more, he is repeatedly celebrated because his lines seem to speak for and appeal to so many in all sectors of life, which is why they are so often quoted and so often applied to situations including the political. The way Ian McDonald put it is that "the title of one of his poems, 'All Are Involved' has become a second national motto. What he has written is claimed on all sides to give authority to what is proposed or planned."
The True Poet
What follows was extracted from McDonald, who, in his tribute, reflected on the rewards of re-reading Carter's Selected Poems, ". . . so full of varied originality and profound glimpses of this subtle universe which we share and must learn to love. Read Bitter Wood".
Here be dragons, and bitter
cups made of wood; and the hooves
of horses where they should not
sound. Yet on the roofs of houses
walk the carpenters, as once did
cartographers on the spoil
of splendid maps. Here is where
I am, in a great geometry, between
a raft of ants and the green sight
of the freedom of a tree, made
of that same bitter wood
"When I think of Martin Carter's poetry I think of what William Wordsworth wrote when he tried to answer his own question 'What is a Poet?' With a grandeur difficult to match in any assessment of poetry's worth, Wordsworth in the end defines his notion of poetry as the 'breath and finer spirit of all knowledge' and sees the true poet as:
The rock of defence of human nature; an upholder and preserver, carrying everywhere with him relationship and love. In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs, in spite of things silently gone out of mind and things violently destroyed, the Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time. . . . Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man".
David de Caires also recalled Martin Carter's contributions to literary discussions and readings as well as his association with the New World Fortnightly in the 1960s.
We used to meet quite frequently on Sundays at his mother's house in Anira Street, Queenstown, where his elder brother Keith also lived. Keith had, like Martin, been a member of the People's Progressive Party in the fifties. On those Sundays large quantities of rum were consumed. Yeats was Martin's favourite poet and he would frequently recite passages from his work, in particular from "Easter 1916", the part near the end that begins "And what if the excess of love bewildered them till they died", as well as excerpts from "The Second Coming". Keith's favourite party piece as the day progressed and the alcoholic content increased was Pericles funeral oration. Rory Westmaas, another mate from the fifties, would sometimes be there. Rory delighted in singing a song from the Spanish civil war.
When the New World Fortnightly magazine was started in October 1964, Martin wrote us a letter of welcome which was published in our first issue. In it, among other things, he said:
Life in a country as materialistic and philistine as B.G, soon
blunts the edge of the mind. The almost fanatical
preoccupation with hollow issues, the gossip-mongering
which passes for conversation, and the inevitable political
hysteria, leave little time for the serious examination of ideas.
I know that the psychological squalor of everyday life is
exhausting. I know that the urgent practical problem of
making a living comes first. What I do not know is why only
so few revolt, either by word or by deed against such acute
spiritual discomfort.
At the end of 1964 Martin gave us for publication five poems under the title "Jail Me Quickly". They were published in our second, third and fourth issues and created a considerable impression. They were republished in issue No. 34 on 18 February 1996. The poems were: Black Friday 1962, After One Year, What Can A Man Do More, Where Are Free Men, and Childhood Of A Voice. They have always been among my favourites. New World Fortnightly was published on a shoestring budget and I regret to say no fee was paid. We were deeply touched by Martin's generosity and support in allowing us first publication.
"In his various undertakings, his trials and tribulations, his long depression, he has retained a quality of spiritual integrity without which we would all have been much poorer."
Bobby Fernandes
When these tributes to Carter were featured, the photographic artistry of Robert Fernandes was still displayed on the walls of the Upscale Restaurant. The photographer recounted his own memory of the great poet, and read a poem he had written in honour of Carter. Just two weeks before, it was Fernandes himself who was being honoured. A special session had been devoted to his poems and to an exhibition of his pictures.
This photographer-poet has spent many years exploring the Guyanese interior and has studied the landscape with his camera. The rainforest, sights of interest, including coastal phenomena, birds, animals and indigenous communities are all covered by his photographic studies. While it was a first introduction of his poems to a public audience, it was not Fernandes' first exhibition, since his photographs have been shown at Castellani House where one of his books was also launched.