Citation
Now

Material Information

Title:
Now
Creator:
Brown, Stewart ( editor )
Place of Publication:
St. Ann, Jamaica
Publisher:
[Stewart Brown]
Language:
English
Physical Description:
1 online resource

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Caribbean poetry ( fast )
West Indian poetry ( fast )
Genre:
literary criticism ( aat )
literature (writings) ( aat )
poetry ( aat )
serial ( sobekcm )
Spatial Coverage:
Caribbean Area
Jamaica

Notes

Scope and Content:
The little magazine Now was published from 1973-1974 in Jamaica, and featured contributions of literary criticism, prose, poetry, and art, including (from the second issue): Patti Hinds, Anthony McNiell, Steve Sneyd, Edward Brathwaite, Miles Buxton, George Cairncross, Mary Crooks, Andrew Darlinton, and A.L. Hendriks. ( ,, )
Abstract:
"The main aim of Now is to provide a platform for the work of younger West Indian poets and writers, ad to publish their work alongside that of more established writers from the Caribbean and abroad."--Editorial page

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University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
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The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. This item may be protected by copyright but is made available here under a claim of fair use (17 U.S.C. §107) for non-profit research and educational purposes. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions requires permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact Digital Services (UFDC@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.

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Digital Library of the Caribbean

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.. ... i #~ l: 1ol :~t :J. X o. F.clitor: Address: r; ~ 1 ?3 ~ . ft I ..... < Stewsrt Brown Box 225, St. Ann's Bay St .. Ann, Jamaica ______________ .._.._.....4M,_____ _________________ EDITORIAL ___. ..................... !TOW 3 nearly didn't appear. The p roduction costs of the magazine are almost double what they were for no. 1 eight months ago; if it hadn't been for a chance meeting with a sym p athetic oil and mink heiress while I was crying over the price of p aper in Kingston's TIME store, this issue almost certainly wouldn't have hit the streetst The price is inevitably up and the mag~zine is running at a horrible fin~cial loss, which was exp e cted but is getting harder to bear. Can I ask anyone who can to sell a few copies of this issu e at the usual commission rates, to let me lmo~ and those people who have any money from sales of the previous two issues to send it on post haste, we'd appreciate it in any term carrots, peat turves, salt fish, anything~ Also, anyone who one day finds that he b:as $.~ and can' t think of anything to do with it, I know of a good causet On to happier things. The few people who res p onded to NOW 2 were quite enthusiastic, and any sort of feedback/reactions/criticism is much appreciated. This issue is full to the seams of poems from everywhere, and at last a couple of new reviewers I'm as relieved as you arei On with the show --------------------------------25 cents Jamaican / 60 cents Eastern Caribbean and Trinidad / 30 cent;s U.So / 10 pence UK. SUBSCRIPTION RATES: $1,20 Jamaican $1.50 US. $3 Eastern Caribbean & Trinidad and 50p UK for four issues postage included. p age 1

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QQNTfflTS POETRY Anthony McNiell That April, This Time Version: Hugh's Crow Darrik Buttress September '39 Darkness David Miller Prayer to Jizo Matthew Barrett Lord Bruin A. Cecilia Hewlett Contrast Phi;tip Sherlock Years Ending Maria Arrill~ga To aF~lksinger Patee Finch Insomnia in Seascapes & _,,-. Old French Towns James C. Story A Me ~ ican Busride Victor D. Ques tal Sta~ Directions A.L. Hendriks Lead Story David H.W. Grubb Lion Crab Anson Gonzalez Control Basil McFarlane Epithalamium Stewart Brown Apostasy page 2 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 13 15 18 21 24 25 ,2 33 34 36 37 REVIEWS "TRE ADMIRAL .ENTERTAINS" a play for radio by Basil McFarlane previewed by Peter Virgadamo 11 Allo et Au 'voir by Cecilia Hewlett 38 Caribbean Roundup Acknowledgements Stewart Brown 26 31 Letters from Jim Green/AoL. Hendriks/Janice Shine borne 40 Notes on Contributors 42 Cover design Back cover drawing Stewart Brown David Pull Copywright of all material in NOW remains with the authors.

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t I, b THAT APRIL THIS TIME {for Sugar) I remember it snowed April that year too late and amazing thin stalactites hung from the sill then thawed to streak windows again going blind I wiped the pane clean with a sponge: the view burst into Lazarine life, lifting a man crocus-like from the street then snow whirled him from sight. The glass mis ted over again. Far behind me imagined you stirring in bed and took a step back, turned to see whether or not you slept. You slept. Jou slept the entire snowfall. I sta.yed where I was. Others wept when you left me, I kept vigil instead years later, keep vigil still. I haven't gone out of my mind: I know, I knlilw your death April before the street lifts you this time. page 4 I i I I I VERSION: HUGHES' CROW Everyone else ducked those ones. Their shadows spilled fury. Their composite strange shapes sizzled the eye like suns. Their acci p itral bolt down brought the sky down. The forests were flattened. The foxes stampeded 011t of his skull then crashed down. He stared at his skull without flinching. Elsewhere there were ashes. What came up was Crow. Anthony McNiell. page 5

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.,,,, I, h I ', I h LI SEPTEMBER 39 Don't say a word, don't sing: the eye reproaches and the voice denies. All day and the ~Usie brays the horn in A and the screams. Dust has entered the music through the ducts of the wound and the news from Poland is still the news from Poland Don't go near the Palace to-night-the gaudy carousel has spilled its guts! No words please not even the news from Poland or the irreducable dust of songs. From whatever darkness is the presence felt slow music ~rom a worn-out whore. Later, walking beneath the prison walls, you'll be stunned by hastily discarded poems. page 6 I DA..~ESS In t ~ e room next door I imagine darkness breathing hierarchies or dust: war d robe in which a rat mough quivers in the mucous flesh ~ fa lost orange. That, and a parcel harbouiing mice, a 11 that is left of li .:~.' e. That, and the moist mouth of darkness breathing out, breathing in, its soft fur trembling. Derrick Buttress. pa;e ?

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3 PRAYER TO JIZO The heart, too, has dead children, please guide them. Do not let them run too long nor too far along the shor e at night in dark rain, nor shiver in bus sh e lters, before they foal the comfort of your staff. Lost in the wishing-ga::-den with only shadows and with more shadows Jizo, what is your wishing jewel? I only hope it h e lps the dead child mind that stumbles over wastes of enormity, a deserted fountain :bi !onliness' evening. I only hope it puts to rest the suspicions, the doubts, th e bloody toothed cunnin g of the man-wolf. That a singing shoumd come; came back so sweetly to my mind. I pray. I pray also for gods we failed; and gods who perished, or were left by the road-sid e brokan dolls, charms, empty bottles. The soul, also, has its dead children. Davi d Millero page 8 .. ll I t "I ~l LORD BRUIN 0 Lord Bruin do not listen To this talk of plantigrade Feet and protrusible lips Short tails and.reduced Vibrissae and did he dare Mention deciduous molars? Enough, professor, enough, Of blasphemy against the beari Mixture of tonnage &nd agility Of humour and hangover Never doubt that deep down The race memory clings to your totem in the woods You'll still got your fan mail There when this silly nomenclature Has died on the air. Matthew Barrett page 9

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CONTRAST In all his glory (or lack ot it) He oame, Lived, Left, And was forgotten 1'wo days iater. But silently, A thief in the night, You Knit Long slender fingers Through the Golden hairs of time, Plaiting yourself Rapunzel's silken ladder To storm the citadel Of wunna'e' pride. So, while you stayed You lived as one with us, And when you left A part of us had died. A. Cecilia Hewlett. page 10 THE ADMIRAL DTTERTAINS A. play tor Radio b;y Basil McFariane: A Pre-review by Peter Virgadamo. Much too often the plays broadcast over Jamaica's airwaves are mawkish, unrealistic and devoid of value. Basil McFarlane's "The Admiral entertains 0 is a welcome exception and is hopefull y a precursor to higher standards for future radio drama. His literary talents are already well established among West Indians familiar with his poetry. Perhaps the plays story is also familiar to Jamaicans. Christopher Coltmbus, stranded on the north coast with unseaworthy ships, is the centre of the play and he opens the dialogue with a fare well to his captain Diego Mendez. Hopefully Mendez and the Arawak oarsmen will be able to cross the sea to Hispahiola and return with rescue vessels. Both Columbus and Mendy, plus Bartholomew the brother of the admiral, are well aware of the unres among the marooned Spaniards Dissensi'on is quite evident in the conversation of the mariners, espe cially .from the voice of Francisco Parras. He concocts tho idea of an Arawak convoy sufficient in size to transport all the sailors to safety, and Parras breeds approval for this scheme through hints at the instability of their leader's mind. Even Bartholomew considers the sanity of his brothe has the obsession to reach Cathay warped the senses of Columbus? The time for thought quickly ends when Bernal the apothecary endeavors to murder Columbus, but the intervention of seaman Pablo prevents the death of their leader. Pablo is to later provide the only Falstaffian hwnour in the short play. And his jests are needed an Mendy returns in failure. The Arawaks have jumped off the canoe and their rebellion has spread among the Indians along the seacoast. page 11

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l ~' I from my tenant's cot My small and rented lot Observe his timeless vast demesne His changeless bright today. I in my changing self His nature comprehend And circumscribe his power, Hold fast and bind within my mind That which is gone and is to come, The sunset and the dawn, the d e ed and the desire. Time's child, in m e Tomorrow lives with yesterday. Philip Sherlock page 14 r r I I l J ) 1 1 1 1 I 1 I 1 : I I Ii I but only in Jamaica did the Admiral of the Oceans suffer from Shipwreck. The author's talents plus t Jamaican setting combine to produce a radio play which should be welcome in this era of airwave effluence. YEAR'S ENDING No sunset sequence here With da~m to come The glory and the fullness of the day. Time's child, in me Tomorrow lives with y esterday. Into my rented house I talce Deed and desire; In me, Time's child and creature frail F.ulfilment and prophetic fire. A bondsman and his tenant I Follow the strict progression laid By Tim e upon the patient earth, The springing seed that flowers and fades; Show in myself his changeless will What time he subtly roveals The g rinning eyeless bone. The Great House one, Time rides the fields wide a:s the world, far as forever. His Great House roof the heavens blue, :! with walls that touch eternity o :~ Bound to his will u;7 body yields. ----., "Z

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I from my tenant's cot My small and rented lot Observe his timeless vast demesne His changeless brigh~ to~ay. I in my changing self His nature comprehend And circUL1Scribe his power, Hold fast and bind within_my mind That which is gone and is to come, The sunset and the dawn, the deed and the desire. Time's child, in m e Tomorrow lives w ith yesterday. Philip Sherlock page 14 TO A FOLKSINGER Money grabbing fucking souless city Fight, fight against the w&ll, slash his throat. My fondest dreams cone true wither my cock. .Reality not like hope. Fruition is a bitter applo with a wom that says hello. Toss it away, play, play, th e music of success. Burnt forest waste. The sound of momentary expression, good. Going nowh e r e it. My blood runs fr e ely. Pick my toenails, wait. Shacked up, no go. Songs of supreme happiness or discont e nt. Go to th e beach, love. Wid e open spaces, lost my soul, the streets, the rooms. Girl over the ironing board sulks. Away to the sand and the fire. Beautiful body of a man, the maze of cells alive, a grown up embryo still. Feel th e cooln e ss of my hand, touch. Your cock like Indian pudding, good cl e an, smells so swe0t. page 15

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I~ 11 I,. In a quandary unknown. Close the book, tear the syllogisms, reason a damn bitch 1 man eater from Brazil. Forest hot and green where are thy hidden treasures? Gee. I look forward to it. Eat you up, eat me up. Nervous orange spurts into my eyes Spill the seed, all over me. Pretty jelly like the sea, wiggle the little fish. See, all over me. So big, I choke. So close as people, we live the same. Forget the parents that conceived you, make your world, in the multiple orgasm of yourself. Feel your bowels moving, take an early mornin g crap, enjoy. Your eyes intense, a blittdman is a seer. Gather the rod, to the temple go, ask the oracle about cercariae. Crouch beneath the willow tree, ask the wind, the long haired apparition like a sheaf of corn. .. ... page 16 I I I I h h I 1 1 ~ : 1 1 I i I I I 11 \, -l Close your eyes. See, in the steam there is a swan. Kiss the wings. Watch the prince break loose. Take his hand. Into the forest go. Row in the dry leaves. Watch the colours dull, the leaves disintegrate like peanut brittle. Talce the oil, mark your forehead, lie down by the parking meter and be known. I1aria Arrillaga ******************************* INSOI"JNIA ni SEASC_g.ES & OLD FRffiCH TOWNS the evening begins to crack its music froths like rusty sunlight the day dissolves into old bones and closing flowers my head aches the slow throb of unspent dreams it's been six weeks now since i slept and i am tired, tired ;i..c

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more of the night than of m;ysal.f i recall the sea often yet forget its names its tides grasping like withered hands boats learning to be driftwood driftwood learning to be sand sometices my feet move and there aro shapes in that sand these words change nothing they are an effect and not a cause like children they will learn that mouths and arms are silent appendages that have been taught to speak by centuries of pain and that the blood inside them is their own to be used to live or to be used to die page 18 someday after the dawn has Qeased its glanging, i shal sieep perhaps and wake with the same beautiful understanqing that sent rimbaud f running hard !or the sun i yawn as only true insomniacs yawn knowing that i have that underotanding but refuse on all counts to believe it. peter finch. :page 19

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:I Ii k ~! Ver Poet&l Ver Poets is an organisation where poets l!leet, discuss, exchange ideas and read. They discuss each other's work, buy each other's publications and generally act as a crossroads for ideas and activities. They also put out a series of booklets, broadsheets, anthologies, etc. of which to hand are: A Cure of Blue by John Hackett, which are war poems from the poet.ts experience in Desert Air Force in the Second World ~ar. 1 Ver Poets Single Poets Series No. 4t by J'oyce Pringle, who has taught in England and Africa and whose tight, concise poems are worth the effort to read -- Africa:Dry Season In the home fields, even in Winter frost, There is not this kind of death There is me.i?r>ry of water under earth And sparrow's jump and beckon in the garden. Here, the sun hurt~. Ver Poets Voic e s No. 1 1 which is a small anthology of members work including John ~1e, Tony Austin, Paul Mathews, Robert .\rmstrong, etc. Poems 1973 1 is an anthology of the best Poems to come in after one of their poetry competitions, som good poems by a good variety of poets. As well as the activities mentioned, Ver Poet$ correspond with members all over the world and would be glad for new contacts If interested, contact Mrs. M .. !adman, 10 Oldfield Road, London Cotney, Herta, ENGIAND. page 20 I : f : II I Ii H A MEXICAl.'1' BUSRIDE It is like an airplone. It groans and drones, It is very like an airplane. Not like a modern plane But a roaring, spluttering monster From World War One That used to dust the cotton fields When I was a boy. I remember how Terrified, Paralyzed, But terribly drawn To the hideous thrust of power And the noise I would lie on my back Among the cotton sto.lks In th e very row On which the plane bore down, I did not mind the niston funes That trailed beneath its swcllen belly, I bathed in them, Gasping, coughing, Terrified 1 And enjoying my secret te~~or, Here in the Mexican bus 1 Inherited from Greyhounc, Or whereever 1 It is very like an air,lane From World War One Roaring, gasping, splutteri~g And r~calling again That special fea;'. The driver seems not to notice it. It is an art, ~ot noticing Ho plays his part as classically ?age 21

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As Moliere would have him do While the airplane-engined Ancient Greyhound, Or school-bus, Or whatever, Tries to climb The twisted Mecican pass From one desert To another. Precisely at the point Of beginning helplessness Whero th e engine has begun To demonstr a te that it too Is human (or mechanic a l) He begins to take off his shirt, This stoic driver 1 And nev~r r e sts his wad of gum. Both hands absent from the steering wheel, Even as the motor bucks And kicks And protests Invited to more endurance Than World War One Technology And many years of trial Could justify Does the driver Finish his disrobing. Then, At the last gasp Of remembered power, Of forgott e n a wesomeness, Th e motor g ro an s forgiveness page 22 t 'ti As, hands free at last, The driver t:.: i e s a lower gear. The engine, the airplane Responds with g ratitude. I look over th e steep Cliffside the wheels were crumbling When the shift occurred. The stones from the mountainside Are still whe e ling wildly Into space, As we almost were, As perhaps Some silent deat h wish Or some secret longing To regain its wings Made the engine w ant, Briefly, .Also. The driver listens To the haunting roar, Steers with one hand, Casual, And, like me in the cotton patch I guess Half art, all s acrific e And enjoying the secret terror, N e ver ceases to chow his gum. J ~ m e s c. Story pctge 23

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"" STAGE DIRECTIONS A broken lamp; a typewriter for sale or rent A glass half empty. Besides the girl A tom-cat, across the bed a stray rack, or two Photos of sunshine faces the warmest things in the room Tom, the cat, is just anqther of those imitation things to fill empty spaces. Clips. clippings fragments of her scattered like ashes across her s e a sonal sorjourns in bed sitt e rs. She handles things. Like a clock her hands movo around marking the hour Like a clock Her hour never comes Victor D. Questel page 24 .. .. LEAD STORY One day (you remember don't you?) they said there is no nows that's it no news . the daily pap~:r-s the radio T~.E-L.-E-V-I-B-I-0-N q.ll were blank silent a?l said no news no news an.d that as uc kn 0w is good news Peonlo like us were killed of course wore hungry hunted lonely ,. deprived of rightsw~ and world lca ~ 0rs chatted shit but that's not News that day (you remember don't you?) T"'rlE BIRDS d.Alii' G THE RAIN RAINJID SUN SHONE FLOWERS BLOONED .. CHILDREN PEED THEI'.R PANTS EARTH SPUN ,. and everything went on as usual a day to remember (you rem~mber don't you?) A.L. Hendriks.

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1 h t r: I' t: l: I t, l 1 I C~-iRIBBEAN ROUNDUP . BIM Vol. 14, no. 56. SAVACOU ?/8 'for Frank Collymore' The NEW VOICES Nos l & 2 $ 1.25 Barbadj $1.50 Jamaic ~ # 50 Trinid i It's pretty much impossible to 'review' a magazine; all you can do really is list and discuss the contents and perhaps comment on the direction (whatever that means) that the magazine is moving in. That's what I've tried to do here BIM 56 is the last issue that Fr8.DJc Collymore will edit he is retiring (sic) to concentrate on his o~m writing! It's not my place to offer congratulations on his mag nificent achievement over 25 years with BIM, it has already been done far more eloquently by people much better qualified to do it than I am; but a:ny,.1ay we are awed and grateful. BIM, in its usual neat format and with the usual mixture of poems, short stories, articles and reviews is as much of a bargain as ever and a must for anyone wanting to keep up with West Indian literature. F.G. Rohlehr's 'Afterthoughts on his interesting and controversial article 'West Indian Poetry: Some Problems of Assessment,' which has appeared in the last two issues of the magazine 9 is very readable; his arguments are interesting, and if not always entirely convincing, certainly thought provoking. Of the stories I particularly enjoyed John Wickham's 'Casuarina Row' which capsules the incredible imagination and innocence of children beautifully, and Robert Moss's 'The Human Element' a tale of a 'human hoodlum who looos. his nerve in the face of a victim's stubbornness. page 26 I I poctr:, is r.1. fine mixture: Hendriks, Rolan < Lloyd, Ramon Mansoor, Harold Marshall, Brathwaite, E.A. Markham and Dianna Hamilton. My favorites being Brathwaites 'The Visability Trigger: A poem for Kwame Ukrumah' which runs: "and so they came up the reefs up the creeks and rivers oar prong put-put hack tramp sil e nce. and I was dreaming neer morning I offered you a kola nut your fingers huge and smooth and r e d and you took it your dress makola blue and you broke it i n to gunfire the metal was hot and jagged it was as if the master of bronze had poured an~er i n to his cauldron and let it spit spit splutter and it was red blue black in my fac e it was as if a maggot had slapped me in the belly and i had gone soft lik e th ~ kn a a d of my wifo s bre~u." and Ramon Mansoor's 'Maracus Dawn : Trini d ad, April 1972': "I returned to tho land where every arrog an t cloud wClghs heavy with sqng, every bird in the sky is a dream in the cit y whers rain does not punish shore music commun G s daily with faces kneaded in joy a nd jest calypsoes sing out design on the pavement's flesh .... n ag~ 27

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t f 1,i'.i: SAVACOU 7/8 is a collossal tom e of a magazine, 150 quarto pages with fifty contributors, dedicated to Frank Collymore on his eightieth birthday. It's full ot letters, stories, poems, an e cdotes and re prints from BIBs of the past, all written to, for, about, or by F.c. A mighty thanks and. congrats from the creativo writ o rs ot the Caribbean, far too many to list. Some of the highlights for me included John Wickham's story 'Patriarchs & Prodigals' "At the end of his long life, all Grandfather h ad left was an old box with an ancient document recording his own baptism and his patient, unob trusive devotion to his family. Nothing more. All he had to hand over was this symbol of his p ride, the pride he had fathered and fed with his own dogged, unprotecting spirit. And when he handed it to me, he was saying as eloquently as it could be:: said, that ho had done all that he could do and that he had never tor one moment doubted that it was worth doing." Samuel Sevlon's poem 'For Frank Collymore' "I tell you this, though: eighty Not a bad number for such-like Ninety or pass even greater still. I sorry man, to that man And I sorry man, for our men Thirding Up the world as i.f Three going to save we, when eighty or more ccn't save ho Nor none of we.' Shake Keane's 'People Like We which is unquot a bl e Jam. e s B e rry's story 'The Pet, Th~ So& and th a Littlo Buddy' "My .father wasn't only the animal witchdoc tor o.f our villag e who 0vcrybody call ~ d to th e ir sick pig, goat, dog, donkey or o.ny othor. He _also often bol1 g ht ani m als who w e re n ex t do o r to death. Ho often brought home a ninety.ninepercent dead animal on his back from another village yard or down from the bush. ~en for days he'd stay homo treating it, feeding it with soft foods, talk ing to it in his s~ociel little voica till it re covered. Even vicious untamed animals had their way of responding to him doubtfully, like some uncertain child. Now that we moved slowly he talked to Amiss in his little girls voice, and her apprehensive eyes began to blink sleepily. 11 Most of the BiM reprints arc excellent, par ticularly Frank Collymore's talk on the young Walcott that, especially, showed how great an editor he was, to spot that talent and encourage i~ so well. Mittelholzor's story 'The Sibilant And The Lost' and the f.ibulous 'I Han~g on Prais e God' by Austin Clarko, which must be classics by now. Micky Hendrik's 'Reflections on an Old Road': "Gritty; rutted; stained, baked, sluiced by weathers, the old road is a passago-way bordered by ditches betweon signposts pointing laconically elsewhere. On it one goes everywhere yet one remains," is a fine tribute to a gI'oat man and a good way to end a note about an excellent magazine. The NEW VOICES is a new magazine of poetry, short stories, sociological articles and reviews. Neatly printed and produced it has so far limited its contributors to youngish Trinidadians.

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H,' [ t. 11 t t t 1 1 11 I! ll The highlight of the two issues to date has. been Ronald Amrorosos story 'The Cry of the Pan man' which goes deep to the roots of 'Carnival' and steel bands in Trinidad: And then they were all in position and waiting. An unearthly hush had descended over tho entire scene. Tho players were waiting. The audience was waiting. From his position where ho s at, he could see a multitude of eyes, stretching back both sides, into the dim recesses of the stands. He looked down 9n the canopies which shielded his view of the other pansmen. They were almost still, +ike silent courtiers paying him homage. His fingors could not remain motionlass The poems don't work so well for me. They a re mostly blatently political and rather crude somehow, antipootry almost; Anson Gonzalez's poem "11 Years and Another Policeman Killed' is perhaps a good example 11 so it has come to this: the flower of our youth destroyed by the blight of powersoeking maskwearers" but ifst~aight potitical poetry. is your thing, than this is for iou Anson's long study of 'Family and Mating in ~rini!n~' is interesting and well done though it ri~gs of a university assignment rather than a magazine article but these are petty quibbles, the main thing is that the magazine is out, it's another voice, another outlet, another bridge. It is an interesting and brave venture that deserves our support. The addresses of these three magazines are listed among the 'Magazines Received', page 44. Stewart Brown paguO AOKNOWLEDGr'lmTS .. .. .... unreadably, in a recent Sunday Gleaner. Anson Gonzalez's poem 'Control' and Victor D. Questal's poem 'Stage Directions' are from their book SCORE, published at l Sapphire Drive, Diego Martin, Trinidad. Philip Sherlock's poem 'Years Ending' first appear ed, we think, in Caribbean ~uarterly and appears by permission of the author. Peter Finch's poem 'Insomnia in Seascapes and Old French Towns' first appeared in that excellent little magazine STILLBORN and appears by permis sion of the author and the auspicious editor of that amazing, now sadly defunct, magazine. Thanks to I1r. Carr of St. Ann' s Bay for letting us use his machin~s. And to the production team of Lois Langenfeld, Pete Virgadamo and Ed Wallace, none of whom did anything for NOW 2 and I hope this note will intimidate them into action on this issue~ Ed Wa;I.lace is not of JBC fame, in fact he never hears the programme run by his namesake; it's over two hours before his eyes open for the day~ page 31

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LION How to sing the opera with the blue caro passing by and snow's confetti. Etchings. Photographs. The slide of grandmother catching in the gate of the projector and she burns before our vecy eyes. The words are rare. Invisible documents. How to get at,;ay from the dead river that gets stuck in the living room: a small pile of words in a corner nobody sees. The man at the door says the lion can come in the mornjng. home page 32 CRAB In cold night in savage harmony crab gets into white moon that is its pain. There were men h e re today, tokens of barbed reality that crab wants to forget. There was sun, hot bruise of a cruel god teasing creation into fracturing miracles. There was sound, tense treachery and lust like a dud bullet. And then the day broke up; buggered again. Crab caught the idea, ripped it from chunky sleep, ran onto bald beach, scutter.ed into naked dances, split up the stinging narrations: crab grabbed at the moon its pulsating puss and swore a million years of violation. David H.W. Grubb page 33

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I Ii !i I l I 11 I I I I CONTROL Proclaiming with papal pomp a paternal enc y clical medieval rome rejects the idea of sex-is-fun Ban the pill Ban the condom Ban abortion (as of yore drum pan and kaiso) Procreate Ye faithful, procreate, and create fodder for space-age cannon, and recruits for modern white-slavers and fuel for Satan's inferno and beget lives bound to be beset by the ills of a world so depraved that evil perv a des in even better doed.s. Gestating ovaries in the shanty towns slums and ghettoes pulsate with force en~ugh to send a ship to Mars or fill a hospital or a gaol. page 34 In the deserts of my mind I meditated and saw the wisdom in the Holy One's decision. The population growth is absorbed in Viet Nam Biafra Latin America.Pakistan even in Watts Chicago Alabama and on the main highways of the world. "Tu es Pdtrus", Holy One, I kneel. Anson Gonzalez. page 35

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EPITHALAMIUM Do not consider, I am. mean or vengeful. Rather, sa:y I'm anxious or nzy-sterious, odd communion should be and be known (or not known) tor itself; should survive the death (ma;y itself be the killer) of such furious small lusts as you or I (you and me together, babe) in shadow of true love, mist:ucing for the tree the tree's motion, find. Rather, say the mystery alone is real, requiring neit,her touch nor void of absenc a : flame blowing from regions beyond our sun and ice: creations flame, fuelling forests. Blissfully together, we are separate. The woman's question (not why but why not?) signals betrayal of the mystery, makes instability virtue, asservates un knowing. Blissfully together, we are only a figure in th e dance. Then is truth th o mask, th e blowhard liar irrelevant as an actor uncast; or as shadowed, mysterious Christ patient as lilies, the perfect bridegroom. Basil McFarlane page 36 Sun. Tuesday just out . of Kingston where the refuse is burut. 90+ without fire and still a Rasta sifts the soon ash. Apostasy. (for Derrick Buttress) Black island furnace where the sun burns itself brown, where red ants gather in real dust, make a real and never ending meal that is more than images of indifference, that is more than a symbol of futility, that is merely the day to day scrapings of survival. Stewart Brown ..u age !fl

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I 1 I? I, ii :I 'Allo et Au 'voir by A. Cecilia Hewlett. Arthur H. Stockwel.l Ltd., Great Britian, 1972. 55p. The poet admits in her brief introduction that "in some poems I have made no attempt at telling a coherent tale, but have just put down disjointed ideaa or seemincly paradoxical statements whichoeotell their mm tale would be spoiled by greater elucidations." Of the 30 poems included in this bcoklet several are successful. The first poe"!ll, "Destination Cray-zi ? 11 is one of these. It co:csists of a dial..,gue bet;.1een the subject e nd his 11 shri?'Jt," Dr. Ps y cholo. Despite the melodr~raati~ phrasing : t 1e p e en is quite jo-rial has an obvious rhythm, and the rhyme ( thoug;. 1 a strnc tured arcb throughout) flot ;s easily. One wants to lau~ after re~ding it, without cyni cism, d~spite the fact that the su1ject ir.sist 8 on being cray-zi, Mad because "since when I 1 m sane Ir m sad. 11 ''My Life My Death" discusses the n e v e r ~ endin ; questions of life. Ceaseless I sought the meaning of My Being, Nor found I aught but Chaos, Nothingness It t o lks about the beast who drags his victim 0 through the clutching 'shadows' Then over 'sun.flecked' hill and plain. We came upon 'engulfing quicksands' ," thenength) p?. 3s 33 the will to fight?" Th.oso qucsti:ons at!e cliches ,t and it spoils the poem for the reader ~afore he even reads it, diluting the substance to water. If these questions had been omitted there would be somethinw left for the reader to look into. "He' talks about "She.L' a sensitive girl who is laughed at jeered. "' '.L"ney' thought her unfriendly," ,t' lou' thought her unfriendly," '" We' thought her unfriendly." Her response was to climb into her shell and never speak. Finally, "'He. thought her pathetic; Hurt and hated, Humiliated. He understood her, Pitied, loved her, Stretched a gentle hand out to her. And then she craw him Something'd hurt her But she's climbing out her shell she sometimes speaks. 1 Though again, as in most of the poems, the theme is a cliche, I like the poem. It is sensitive, and relates a feeling we all have experienced at one ti3e or another when self-confidence wanes. It reminds us that a bit more consideration and cour tesy for those around us, both friends and strangers, would do much to make the world a happier place. As we reach page 12, the poems deteriorate quickly. "The Leper" leaves one bored. Certainly he dreads each dragging day, with its quota or scorn and shame; but there is really no need to get this idea across by having the poem drag on and on. There is just so much mpetition, e .~. "eyes" is used 18 times in 29 lines; "Stare" and "mad" are other overused words that could have simply been omitted after1heir first use. In general, 'Allo et Au 'voir is not a success ful first attempt at publishing a collectilm of poem s. Perhaps referring to it as a collection of "tales" is more apt, as the poems lack the essentials rhyme, rbytp, most of all originality. ..Loi s.,. LR.rutP..D .f'A. l.f.t

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I, J :t ,~ I' i: LETTERS Extracts, notes, criticisms, quibbles etc Sir, 18 Atherstone Close / :1!.. r1~' The 4quila Publishing Co. Shirly ., .: S c lihull,.Wnrks B90 lAU .England. I quite enjoyed reading your magazine, but on~ point about which I feel rather sore is your inability to insert staples into the maga zines so that the points are inside. My criti cal opinion of NOW suffered when, on removing it from its envelope, my right digit finger was raked by an unguarded staple. signed (in blood) ps Jim Green it impairs my typing by 50% to have 1 finger out of action. 1; Lyon Avenue New Milton Rants BH25 6AP England I lik e your idea of publishing English poets in NOW, we also need West Indian poets to submit to the English mags. You should encourage them to do so in an editorial. And warn them not to be discouraged by rejection slips, we all have to get thick skinned or at least bite back the tears~ i Phoenix, An g lo Welsh Review, London Magazine, Headland, Scrip, Here Now, Honest Ulsterman, have accepted by work and I'm sure would use other : W.I. poets if they Ere persistant Addresse~ can be had from Second Aeon or I'll send them if you like... A.L. Hendriks. page 40 EXPRES3IONOVA 251 Alma Ave PRASHAD NAGAR GUYANA I gather from your letter and mag that you are approaching the thin g in a very big way in terms ot organisation etc. Yes, I know that is the hard core ~eality of producing a magazine. I try not to let it control me on the mag too much, It's just work that has to be done p roperly. I can't tell you anything about "EXPRESSION.OVA" now. I think the magazi~e will speak to you for itself. We are selling at Sl so we can't exchange.ft. You stated in the introduction that one must not take the whole thing seriously, the danger of being pretentious etc but I thiilk you have done exactly that. It looks a bit too ambitious to me. I abhor reviews. I think this excercise in itself a pretentious one. I just like peoples spontaneous reactions instead of formal beating-around-the-bush intellectual essays. I also think, personally, it should be a platform mainly for your Jamaican writer s which is my approach to h-pressionova. I don't like being solely responsible for the magazine. I would ideally like it to be a collective effort. For the moment this ideal has not manifested itself for a lot of reasons. Anyway, as I said I think Expressionova will speak tor itself. At the moment it is at the irinters (yes, we've actually gone that fart) and it should be out next week Janice Shinebourne E:litor (that was a couple of months ago and no sign of EXJ?RESSIO!:J'OVA as yet, but we look forward to it and wish the magazine the best of luck) We're always glad to receive any sort of feed back, especially constructive criticism and hope to have more Letter in future NOWs. page 41 -----------~

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p 11 I ,' r I : ,, I rr I~ t '. ...! I THE CAST n-r ORD.ER OF APP~c :.: AntHony McNiel director of the amazing 'Reel lrom the "li.te .Movie"' (see notes in NOW 2 and rtview NOW 1). Derrik Buttress much published Midlands 'chopper inspector and doom-prophet. Recently re-born as middle aged anarchist and student at Faircroft College, Bir mingham. Joint booklet planned with Stew Brown. David Miller Wondering Australian last heard -t' .: =,rarkest London. Matthew Barrett Catholic priest from Dublin currently studying in Rome. A. Cecilia Hewlett poetess, dancer, accountant. Prom St. LucTa (?) but has lived in Barbados .for a few years now, soon waltzing off to the US to study Dance. Basil McFarlane Jamaican, Journalist and broadOuO'cc"r, Pl8J7Wright, internationelli published poet, son of the former poet laureate of Jamaica Clare McFarlane. Peter R. Virgadamo Obscure meglam; : nill.o his torian currently teaching social studies in St .. .Ann's Bay and working on a social studies text-book for Junior/Secondary schools. Also an intellectual comic on some long dead Bostonian! Sir PhiliE Sherlock knight, historian, recently described as""rthat great Jamaican by Michael Manley. Former Vice chancellor of the UWI and currently Secretary General of the Associ ation of Caribbean Universities and Resear c h Ins ti tut es. Mgria Arrillaga Teaches S p anish a t the Univer !ity 61 Puerto Rico, a book of poems in Spanish won first prize in the Ateno p a ge 4 2 ""'! I -~ Puertoooiqueno Christmas Contc$t '?2 and is lcoking for a publisher for her book in English. Peter Finch always good for a bangt Editor of the amazing Second Aeon magazine. Welsh. Much published including a hard/paperback 'The End of the Vision' (John Idris Jones, Cardiff). James C. Stor;y American, N ew Yorker. Russian historian, dramatist,actor. Much published in US magazines. Married to a Jamaican. Victor D.Juestal Young Trin i dadian, active, brou tout SGORE with Anson Gonzalez in '?2. Published in T.APIA, SAVACOU, NEW VOICES etc. A.L. Hendriks Much loved/published West Indian poet (see notes in NOW 2 and letters here) with new book in the balance we all crossin our fingers. David H.W. Grubb Superb young British poet magician responsible for 'And suddenly, This' (see N OW 1) with a hard back in sight, we all crossing our other fin~ers~ Anson Gonzalez Young Trinidadian, editor of the N~w Voices, published SCORE w!th other books .. promised. Stewart Brown Disastee. David Pull Artist, d runkard, teacher laat seen slipping out of site beneath a bar in Notting ~ ham, En.gland. Geordy. page 43

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