Plots of Snow

Natures rasping harmonies in

Mass of green, brown…

wind- riffled creeks

held by silvery-tangled firewood

… Points of awakening in plots of flakes

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Linked moments hand-picked for nurturing

Ice splintered limbs tore through tree’s sap

Warm tones of stones in frost delight

Livelihood lovingly trails in flurry sights

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Propulsive energy surged, stings

Joy rises, churned, strung tight

Winter in full trestle in old quarry thoughts

Harness afar in sun-shot sensation

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Poem Written by Brenda L. McCartney

Restraint

Image by Tom Grill

Sometimes I have an inescapable obligation to myself to comment or write my thoughts with a pure voice but I choose not you use obvious abusive or crass language. I have always marveled at literary works back when language and speaking was an art rather than just functionary as it is now. No matter how modern our society has become it is considered a social solecism to conduct ourselves in a certain manner. Consequently, rather than putting myself at the risk of speaking with a supercilious voice in the end I express my thoughts poetically, which can be interpreted as memoirs of guises.

Jamaican Raphael Carl Rattray felicitously pen poem “Restraint” expresses this same sentiment; that tells a ‘poignant story of the agony of choice.’

My bottled thoughts

Stopped with caution

Born of learning

Strain now to issue

From sealed lips;

To break free

From civil bonds,

To say

What comes to mind,

Ignoring

Rules  of circumspection

Or the bruised effect,

Upon the hearer

I want to hurt

With words,

Simmered in the cauldron

Of my discontent;

To disgorge

The constrained acid

In my soul;

To have lava flow

From the volcano

Of my mind

But a greater force,

Now intervenes,

The polishing effect

Of tutored words,

The nourishing

In school rooms

Long deserted,

The warm caresses

On a thousand bosoms –

They hug me close,

And leave me

Civilized,

And mute

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Poem Written by Raphael Carl Rattray

To A Grandmother with Love

My cousin’s Facebook wall today had a photograph of my grandmother. The images invoked memories of my grandmother’s ritual of blowing me kisses through the phone after ending our telephone conversation; the figure of her looking into my eyes and seeing the simple pleasures of her smile still resonate with me. My blog today celebrates my paternal grandmother on her ninety sixth birthday. The role she had in all our lives and shared with all of us (family, friends, and well -wishers) is palpable. I recall the first time she met my husband the look in her eyes and the salutation ‘my grandson’ as if he had cometh forth from her loins. Today I remember the words, the conversations that my grandmother and I have had over the years publicly or in our private ‘whispering-galleries.’  These times are still clearly heard and held for posterity. I am blessed to have known her.  I can truly savor my thoughts … now with a sweet maturity and authentic tenderness.

The simple pleasures of her smile

In her eyes

Pierced through

Pieced together

Salvaged family moments

Succinct whispers

Atavistic instincts

Enraptured in her beauty

The years weaved her story

Our memories

Memories – our treasured heirloom

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Poem Written by Brenda L. McCartney

Freedom

Photographed by Ron Chapple

Words spoke of war

… Born of fire

Increase dedication

Birth of freedom

Frontiers pushed

Cheerful strength

Soft sibilance

Banishing fear

The reassuring will

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Poem written by Brenda L. McCartney

Go put your record on

Photographed by Genevieve Naylor

My cousin uploaded a Carleen Davis “Stealing love on the side,” song on her Facebook.com wall and one of her friends replied “My mom used to love this song….hmmm wonder y [why].” I laughed because  growing up I loved this song and replayed it over and over or may have even called the radio station to replay it. Music for us at one point in our lives was a mere form of entertainment consumed in the moment. We enjoyed the rhythms, for some music relaxes us and we do not delve into the deeper meaning of the song. The music when composed is a mirror into the songwriter’s enigmatic life or proxy to whatever situation.

As we get older, we listened to what the songwriter was saying hence discovering the tender pleasures of his epiphanies. I recall when I first met my husband he said: “Brenda, you sure love white music.” He must have forgotten about his U2 and Radiohead CD’s. Admittedly I love some Kenny Rogers, Dolly Parton, Jim Reeves, Air Supply, Billy Joel etc. but I was taken aback as I do not see music in colour, for me it commands my attention and I enjoy the vibrant melody. Most of all I appreciate the lyrics i.e. the words of the song.

For example the lyrics in Jim Reeves song ‘We Thank Thee’ I enjoy teaching it to my daughter and she loves singing it on her way to school every morning. For me it is like passing on a legacy as my grandparents taught me this song. To teach her the song is like giving her something meaningful to take with her on life’s journey.

There are mornings when I get up and listen to the radio and the Arrow song “Proud to be a Montserratian” comes on. The lyrics evoke a sharp feeling of patriotism, resilience, pride as I bask in the sweetness of the melody. Other songs I hear conjure images such as the pulse of the street, the smell of food, the cool balm of friendships, weathered eyes etc.

The Song ‘You’re beautiful’ by James Blunt I love this song but until recently after watching the video I got sucked in by the complexity, sheer mystery and density of the lyric. The lyrics were clearly coded in the narrative of confession; it was all about suicide suffice it to say. Before then I just enjoyed the song but the visual of him committing suicide left me dazed.

So now my cousins’ intelligible friend who is now much older and sees life through a different lens now came to understand the meaning of the words   as she unpeeled the layers of the meaning of ‘Stealing Love on the Side.’ She now sees the song through an adult lens and feels she can now have a confident dialogue with her mom (I would really like to be a fly on that wall).  I am sure when her mother first stated that she liked the song it did not reflect her life. I am certain that it was just the seductive rhythm that drew her to the song.  What about you, do you listen closely to the lyrics of songs? If so, which songs have impacted you most in your life?

Junkanoo Faces

Our lives – eyes – wide open

Under fettered compelling emotions

Ethnographic still life

Inscriptions in mosaics piece by piece

II

Nocturnal pauses – the rhythm of bugle

cowbell, goombay and goat skin drums

Images muse in cultural imagination

Subliminal manipulations

Vividly conjured

III

Mosaic depictions in an episodic buzz of a Byzantine era

Vignettes  bold

Night and day reflections

World of spirits – old and new

Rattles, dazzles

Yoruba tradition blares in a drumming dance

Multiple layers under the dominance of gazes

Red, yellow, blue, gold, white and black touchingly reconciled

The radiance of Junkanoo faces not bound by season

But kindred spirits

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Poem Written by Brenda L. McCartney

A Shade of Blue

Image taken by Tom

I stood in the zoo looking at a peafowl willing him to raise the train of feathers for a stunning display but to no avail. I wanted to see the spread of the feathers. It would make a great photo and a memorable moment. Now that I have had a chance to do some research on the peafowl I have learned that there has to be a reason for them to raise their feathers. I have also learned that in Hindu the peacock is a symbol of mortality and love and most times when people think of the peafowl it is usually in reference to the male with its raised train of multicolored feathers. That is why we call them peacocks – the cock part signifies that it is a male and this particular peacock was an India Blue Peacock.

So there I stood in the sun raising my arms, my daughter and husband and a random woman raising their arms as well – hoping that this peacock would somehow show us his full plumage. What struck me that day was the bold shimmer of blue on the peacock’s neck. Another lady stood by making her own observation of the peacock. She openly shared my sentiments about the brilliance of the blue. If someone would ask me what is my favorite a color a color does not come to mind. For me a favorite color depends on my mood.

On that day even the hot sun seemed cool. When I reflected on the peacock it was as if it embodied tranquility even in its colors. A few weeks has passed since by experience at the zoo but still there is something electrifying about the anatomy of a peahen’s brilliant color particularly the blue. This week shades of this hue has been revealed in several places or things namely; Bridesmaid dresses, red carpet dresses, the color of cars, that I felt compelled to blog about this.

Do you know what is your favorite color is? Is there a particular reason why you like a certain color. Is your favorite color  a color that has to compliment your skin tone, eyes etc.?

Prae se ferre

Image taken from the web

Today images of Montserrat’s Agricultural exhibition held at the Groves Botanical Station came fully and movingly to life. Prae se ferre is latin for Exhibition.

March modern oxen

Trailing tracks that tractors now trek

Welcome the exhibition

Bulls midnight mating

Calf’s coming showcased

Needle craft, handy craft

Artistic highlights

Knitted stole, Sea Island cotton, crotchet

Colors dance

We grin

Products capture nature

Reminds use of schools of blue fish

Water currents and green mountain tops

Juicy tomatoes candy red

Preserved and mixed in tasty dishes

Large catch caught, process, prepared

Jumping jacks, Mahi  Mahi, Wahoo

Prize winning Fisherman – a proud moment captivated

The hearty laugh of seasons

Slogan – Support local production reduce importation

Groves Botanical

Cost minimal

Participation honorable

Display trees, judge fields

Eyes examine baskets

Heaps of fruits vegetables, flowers

Farmer’s crops come together

The rhythms of our hard work

The results of our labor

The Collected outcome of what the earth birth

Potatoes, breadfruits, shaddocks

A pumpkin that two men lift

Collins Ghaut Mountain, far mountain, Farrell’s yard

Joseph’s coat pales to the mix

Of peals of cakes and pastries

Fruit drinks prepared

Scent of goat water intoxicates

We sip from paper cups

We swing to sounds of singers

Twirl to incessant drum beats

Surrounded by livestock and candy

Pigs, fowls, sheep, donkey

Sugar cake, ginger sticks, guava cheese

Garden groves  grow

Children intermingle

Fresh from school buses eager to see

The new, the familiar, the delicious

Ice cream thoughts command

Melodious smiles

We look at the results

Categories contain scores

A half day, a whole day of

Selective Agricultural best

We all win the prize of a festive atmosphere

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Poem Written by Brenda L. McCartney

Ode to John Alfred Osborne

Steady as he goes
Taking flight
Under the Western sun
-       followed streams to open shores
His fleet of intentions sailed the Carib sea
Re-written expressions
Expressive shifts
Meanings vivid
Torque moments
The elusiveness of his time
Unsettling blots
Under the spindly evergreen
And tempest of waves
A master of his craft
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Full tilt
He would not be brought to his knees
-       except to pray
The surf of his dialect reverberates
The confluence of his passions
His temperament lit by the heat of the sun
Chants for poor people – the function of his life
Cast iron convictions
Throwing out many nets
“Studiation beats education” -
Now illuminated at sunset in the January sea
An old fighter welded to his island
The Union Jack flown at half mast
Now his hull laid bare
Our Statesman John –  a  Montserrat Citizen
At sunset he stands on solid ground

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Poem Written by Brenda L. McCartney

Dukuna

Photographed by Debie Lander

The preparation of dukuna brings back memories of my childhood of going to the river (ghaut) to collect Chainy bush. I can remember the huge boulders (stones), the slippery stones and the water flowing.

I recall the time our Duke of Edinburgh group went on an expedition and decided to rest at Trants’ Estate outside the old plantation house ruins. We prepared dukuna on site as our leaders sat and talked about old jumbie (ghost) stories.

I have to admit until now I never thought about where dukuna originated. However, I can assume that given the ingredients; sweet potato, sugar, ginger, coconut and also given the virtue of how it is prepared; grass roots preparation wrapping in dasheen bush (chainy bush) suggests a slave innovation for them to make best use of what they had to eat.

According to the dictionary of Caribbean English usage dukuna is called ‘dukana‘ in Antigua, British Virgin Islands, St. Vincent, blue-draw(er)s in Jamaica, Boyo in Belize and Jamaica, Cankie in Guyana, Conchi in Nevis, Conkie in Antigua, barbados, St. Kitts, corn-dumpling in St. Kitts, dokunu in Belize and Jamaica, pemi in Tobago, Trinidad, Pone in Jamaica. There are varying mixtures of ingredients all wrapped in a leaf. Ingredients

• 1 lb sweet potatoes, peeled (grated)
• 1 cup of coconut (grated)
• 1 cup of brown sugar
• ¼ cup vegetable oil
• ¼ cup flour
• 1/2 teaspoon salt, or to taste
• 1 table spoon of ginger
• 1 teaspoon ground black pepper,

Directions

1. Peel and grate the potatoes .
2. Place them in a bowl of cold water to prevent discoloration.
3. Remove (with a knife) the hard layer of the endosperm (coconut).
4. Grate coconut in a large bowl.
5. In a large bowl, combine coconut, potatoes, ginger and oil.
6. Stir in the sugar, black pepper and salt to taste.
7. Gradually mix in the flour.
8. Divide the dukuna mixture into a plant leaf such as elephant ear leaf(chainy bush)/banana leaf/ sea-grape leaf wrap with banana palm strings (use aluminum foil if you do not have leaves).
9. Pour water into a large pot and bring to boil.
10. Place the completed dukuna in water.
11. Cook in a covered pot for 1 ½ hour on medium heat.
12. Untie and enjoy. Serve hot or cold.

The preparation of dukuna brings back memories of my childhood of going to the river (ghaut) to collect dasheen bush (Chainy). I can remember the huge boulders (stones), the slippery stones and the water flowing.

I have to admit until now I never thought about where dukuna originated from. However, I can assume that given the ingredients (potato, sugar, ginger, coconut). Also given the virtue of how it is prepared; grass roots preparation wrapping in dasheen bush (chainy bush) suggests a slave innovation for the slaves to find something to eat.