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What Caribbean See!

To Derek Walcott. March 21st 2017 primavera
 The geography of the Caribbean
Sky Air/Water
Suns at distance
From grand landmasses,
Yet the whole Amazon floated
Towards it and is the morning echo
Canoas of our birth.
Did the Dinosaurs shrink?
Into our iguanas, lizards
Earth belongs to no one,
As things have just appeared,
Seashells assisted by waves arrive
To our island rims of sand,
As if deserts
Were deposited at our edges.
Sea conch Agueybana picks up Salitre
Salty a sound like what blood
Might taste like to weave a force
Pushing the air. Announces Areito
Our epic poem celebration of tribal history,
Log of the navigators from the Orinoco.
Aware Derek focused the Arawaken
Arieto into his pen,
The circle dance, public to private
He was caressing the epic of our Caribbean,
The mountain sky. Opens history
Awaken dance of crabs,
Egrets/garzas whose necks are like
Question marks/fleeting lizards
Captured in slow motion in his
measured craft landscape poems,
Out of the air the brilliance of
The mountains, a road we turn
Confront a flamboyant tree
Summer spread with red or blue flowers,
Madagascar within us,
Like the pana which breadfruits so
Much in his poems, a transport from
The ancient Pacific Samoan/Fiji Islands
Poi Dog, starch for which we Mediterranean
Olive oil upon.
The Mediterranean came here
Stationed in the flavor of food
Looks and intuitions interlocked,
San Juan-Havana old medieval cities
Columns of the Arabs
Horseshoe doorways leaking
Blues of sky, light upon loseta-tiles
Patterns of fruits interiors and vegetables
Mandalas inside Arabic calligraphy the
Marble the mineral we walk upon.
The British English tone of some
Of the islands
Oxygen fluffed with sodium
Produced this classic poet,
The ocean was his writing desk,
Scarcity of land is an elongation of
The imagination,
The Tainos were transients, immigrants
A lifestyle only a little while here
Flower and song, before the chlorophyll
Of the leaves wither,
This Americas as always motion of people,
Imitation of oceanic waves,
No borders walking make home each beach
Mountain yours mine thems us
All you's,
What's happening now
Is the always is, earth planet history,
Thank God the Africans walked
Out of Africa as human beings,
To start the churning the sancocho
Mixture/Life is this motion.
The Caribbean
Not multi-cultures
But fusion culture,
A place where civilizations merge,
As in the olive oil
That my mother poured upon plantains,
In the mixture of calabasa into bacalao,
A Taino-Mediterranean conversation.
Cafe which the Arabs love
This classical liquid along with the language,
Aroma drifts along the sharp blue sea,
Reclined in the comfortable rattan rocking chair
Reading fragments of the Spanish epoch
Of gold.
Are we not a bowl of Sancocho with a promise?
Cooking still
A yautia lila balancing with an Inca sweet
Potato which slams into Nigerian name.
Such Caribbean we shared when Lorca
Spoke to Nicolas Guillen and later went to Santiago
To see the dancers scribbling upon the
Moorish tiles. The Cuban laud gliding through
The Son Montuno contrasting jolts of
The 3-2 subSaharan folkloric music dance
Gong frame pattern: la clave
Yet Derek knew that way before Lorca
Came Robinson Crusoe lost and in process
Discovers all over the unknew world,
Thus Caribbean set at origin of English narration
Joyce thought as much.
Derek woke with the early sun writing
Poems as a kid in the amazement
Eyes curvature of blue sea bahias
Scent of fruits as boy poet peddled his poems
On the isle streets,
His words like the skins of the tombadora
In front of him which he caressed with his
Mestizo hands into landscape painted language
Montage of layers of civilizations.
How clear the horizon from the fragmentation,
We are the wounds healing. Colonialism
Slavery. Our Arawak memory Africanizes
Mofongo plaintain mush,
And how so much Caribbean lifted his
Mulatto poets face to stare at the world
Like the Grand Combo of Puerto Rico
Mulatos del sabor
Style exuberante this Carib Milton sang
The profound classic,
Spelled letter by letter
In the monument of his life.
An iguana speaks in my dream
An egret/Garza white suit
Walks a brown figure off the edge
Of the Cafribbean sky upward,
Adios, Derek y gracias
For the silence.
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Article Details
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Title Annotation:POETRY
Author:Cruz, Victor Hernandez
Publication:Black Renaissance/Renaissance Noire
Article Type:Poem
Geographic Code:50CAR
Date:Sep 22, 2017
Previous Article:DEREK WALCOTT/AUGUST WILSON: Homage to 20th Century Masters of WORD.
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