WEEK FOUR 19-347
In 1313 first recorded Africans arrived in the New World, from Mali.
We, the members of CANGASOBOGGA (Can Garden Suburban Cognizance Assn.), cognizant of our duty to be remarkable, and resolved to be so cognizant, demand to know why we were not informed in time.
WEEK FIVE 26-310
GONNA SHARPEN MY KNIFE
GONNA COLLA A DOLLA
GONNA LIVE A COLORFUL LIFE
COLOR BY TECHNICOLOR
GONNA MAYBE SEN FOR YOUR SISTER
WHEN DE BABY BORN
Long-guts long-eye poor-brag
WEEK SIX 33-333
BUMB-BUM is a small but growing
village near the Capital of St. Vincent.
We have not yet devised a means
of spelling its name in a way
that satisfactorily indicates the way
it is pronounced.
Friday, February 6th. New Zealand Day
WEEK SEVEN 40-326
JAZZ, the Sane Man said,
is a bit like surgery. You need it.
You buy it privately, or you socialize it
if you dare.
Also, it purifies by probing—even in public.
Cuts out the stuff and nonsense. But
it tends to heal sweeter if the instruments
are not too sterilized.
gutsify jokify hug-up
WEEK TEN 61-305
OX: Man pass here, yet?
ASS: No, man, Ox. Man does done dey home in
he bed this time of a evenin.
OX: Good. Let we rest here out the sun, talk
PARROT: Littlebit littlebit littlebit.
OX: But Ass, is six years now I ain’t see you. I
think you did loss?!
ASS: Loss! I livin for years just behind da bush
dey. Let Man do he own wuk. I is now my
own independent ass-self. Nuttin but medi-
tate and eat grass all the time. Only ting, I
does have to be careful hold back meself when I
feel to bray!
PARROT: Braybray braybray.
OX: Well boy, Ass, you lucky, nuh!? I wukkin for
Man like a cattle every day, till me tongue
dry-up and me tail ben-up.
ASS: You must be a ass. All you have to do is play
loss like me. Or better still, tomorrow
mornin when wuk to start, don’t mek one
bellow; just drop down right by Man foot,
breed heavey, and say yo sick.
PARROT: Trick, trick, sick trick!
MAN (next morning): My God! You ever see anyting so!? My ass
loss already, and now my damn ox fall down
wid bad feelins. Who the hell will do my
work for me now!
PARROT: Sen for Ass. Behind-the-bush-behind-the-
MAN: ASS!!! Come outta dey, you wutlass …
PARROT: Lassassassass ass ASS ASS AASSS
(Based on one of the many “stories” I’ve heard over the years from an old friend, Elias Roache)
March 3rd, 1976 Arsch Wednesday
WEEK ELEVEN 68-298
O GIVE ME A HOME
THE SANE MAN SAID
WHERE YOU CAN CARRY THE PHONE
NUMBERS IN YOUR HEAD
AND THE GODS ARE HAPPY AND GROOVING
AND THE BAKERS DON’T OWN
ALL THE BREAD
YOU’RE FREE TO ROAM
WHEREVER YOU’RE LED
BY YOUR OWN
AND THE CHILDREN ARE HAPPY AND MOVING
AND YOUR LIFE IS YOUR OWN
EVEN WHEN YOU’RE DEAD
AND EVEN WHEN YOU’RE DEAD
LOVE SMILES ON YOUR BED
WITH TEETH AS WHITE AS FOAM
Quite a few shopping days after last Christmas
(March: 57th issue of BIM—Caribbean Literary Magazine published
(1974: in Barbados
WEEK TWELVE 75-291
thus and thus dreamed the sane man
Whose mother is Amen
Much-up Much-up own-way