Poetry in the City is a Noisy Affair

An evening of poetry at Bookophilia, our friendly neighborhood bookstore, is always an interesting experience. Earlier this evening, poets had to contend with the Friday night traffic, which roared behind us on busy Hope Road. Scottish poet Rab Wilson read one poem to the accompaniment of a stentorian car alarm, whose regular blasts provided a kind of counterpoint rhythm. He seemed to enjoy it. And somehow, I take pleasure in hearing literature out there in the hot evening air, when it really hasn’t cooled down enough to make any difference and when the city is still restless. By the time I left, it had quieted down a little. A humid half-moon was up.

Roland Watson-Grant, the only prose writer at this evening’s event, read from his novel “Sketcher” which is published by Alma Books.

Unfortunately, I arrived a little late. And Bookophilia events always start on time, which is admirable. Roland Watson-Grant was already reading from his debut novel “Sketcher,” published by Alma Books. The protagonist is a young boy called Skid, growing up in a swamp near New Orleans. It was only afterwards that I realized that Mr. Watson-Grant himself grew up in something resembling a swamp – the district of New Haven on the outskirts of Kingston. I recall one visit there and found it so neglected that I blogged about it, rather harshly. Probably no one should be living there. I wish I had sat down and talked to the author about how he became a poet. Was it an escape?

Philippa “Saffron” Sauterel sat at a table to read. Her poetry seems to half-unlock mysteries. The other half is for you to figure out.

The beautiful Philippa Sauterel (her stage name is Saffron) was concerned that one or two of her poems might be a little too “adult,” and wondered if there were any children in the audience. There was only one – her son. He was sitting next to me, and seemed unperturbed. But he and I were somewhat distracted by a large flying insect, which landed on the stage, climbed the microphone cable resting on the white tablecloth – but abruptly departed when Saffron laughed coolly and waved her hand. “It’s the tropics,” she said.

Raymond Mair’s reading had an air of nostalgia.

A long-standing member of the Poetry Society of Jamaica, Raymond Mair has a wonderfully resonant reading voice. He read from his 2012 collection “Shards of Remembering.” An air of nostalgia pervaded the poems he read, with touches of gentle, wry humor. I loved “Saturday Funeral” and “Cuban Love Song.”

Ann-Margaret Lim read from her “The Festival of Wild Orchid” published by Peepal Tree Press, plus one or two new poems.

 

 

 

Ann-Margaret Lim seemed to read her poetry from a position of inner strength and passion. She has grown tremendously in her interpretation and the actual performance of her poems; some that I was familiar with from her collection “The Festival of Wild Orchid” sounded quite different than when I had heard her read them before. Her voice was stronger, with a kind of flowing, urgent strength. The audience fluttered appreciatively, and so did I.

Millicent Graham is the instigator/founder of The Drawing Room Project, a creative venture that nurtures new Jamaican writers.

Millicent “Toni” Graham read from her two collections of poetry, published by Peepal Tree Press: “The Damp in Things” (2009) and “The Way Home,” recently published. In contrast to her gentle, almost shy demeanor, you immediately trip over brilliant images and strong emotions in her work. I love the poem “Dawn,”  which is so evocative of morning in the city of Kingston. I am indebted to Millicent for reawakening my interest in poetry – and especially for her Drawing Room Project, which nurtures young writers and explores the nature of inspiration and collaboration.

Scottish poet Rab Wilson is a former miner and worked as a mental health nurse for many years.

I don’t think I have ever heard the cadences of the Scots language in Jamaica. Not ever. Rarely, even, a regular Scottish accent. And yet, as Rab Wilson pointed out, there are more Campbells in the Jamaican phone book than there are in the Scottish one.  He began his reading with the Scottish national poet, Robbie Burns, in whose long shadow every Scottish poet lives. “Tae the Mouse” is the somewhat plaintive tale of a mouse who, unfortunately, did not escape the sudden arrival of a plough. His life was literally turned upside down. Mr. Wilson also read from a rather interesting book that I would like to get my hands on, a collection of poetry in Scots, inspired by the all-encompassing Mr. Burns. A triptych of poems about the mental health patients that he used to care for was haunting and (in the third poem) triumphantly funny.

I am not sure that the audience understood much of the language – I found it difficult at times, as I am not so accustomed to the many regional dialects and accents of the UK, any more – and Scots is really a different language altogether. But we delighted in its musicality and richness, and we enjoyed Mr. Wilson’s open humor and his generosity of spirit. He really seemed to appreciate Jamaicans’ love of poetry.

We ended happily with Mr. Watson-Grant doing an on-the-spot quiz for giveaways – signed copies of his novel and T shirts. One book went to a young woman called Kacy, who is working on a poetry collection. Saffron won a T shirt. Many of us retired to the cool interior of Bookophilia, where the smell of coffee wafted through the air. Much chatting and enjoyment ensued, while Ann-Margaret’s daughter Kayla slept deeply and peacefully in the children’s section.

Roland Watson-Grant chats with a book-buyer while autographing his novel inside Bookophilia.

By the way, this was a little “braata”  from the Calabash International Literary Festival, which took place last weekend by the warm seas of Treasure Beach, St. Elizabeth. It’s every two years now. I missed it this year, but do not intend to miss it again. 

Orchid and poems.