Dear Editor,
A layman is often considered brazen to want to question in the least way, or simply differ with someone who has received accolades and recognition of all sorts, whether a writer, a conversationalist, a recipient of literary awards and a fine craftsman of the English tongue. These are all labels that can make a layman jittery, and even become intimidated. But to be straight, some of these personalities for whatever reason do often take flight into the cloud nine zone.
The Stabroek News editorial of June 27, ‘Really, Dr Dabydeen?’ brought us up to date with what the BBC World Service has been asking athletes and cultural personalities from around the Commonwealth to do, viz, choose a musical piece that inspires them for the programme ‘Commonwealth Connection.’ One of the programmes featured Dr David Dabydeen, who on our behalf selected the song ‘Not a Blade of Grass’ by Dave Martins, and gave the reason for his choice, which was indeed a strange revelation.
I was on the side of the editorial after reading as quoted the good Dr’s romantic narrative about what ‘Not a Blade of Grass’ represents. What I was reading was so new to me and nothing like the song I knew. However, that’s a thing with bright bovs and men of vision; like magicians they can make you see what isn’t there. Boy oh boy! poetic licence aside, the garlanded man of letters surely went and outdid himself. Academic that he is, he gave a very erudite, esoteric interpretation of the song never before thought of, which was quite over and above the heads of us simple folks who sang it teasingly in carefree fashion, like a fun battle song. It did stir up much patriotism, but never such profound thoughts as those of the learned professor. It was obvious from Mr Dave Martins’ response that he tried hard not to be rude to the Dr, causing his earlier comments and advice to resonate: “I am often struck by how readily we accept, and even proclaim as mantra, something a famous writer or famous person said. I’m talking about absolute drivel that some writers deliver that is then given value because of the source.” Writers are also human beings who can say stupid things. When something inane is written or uttered, whatever the source, simply consign it to the rubbish bin. Treat rubbish as rubbish, SN.
But you know sometimes too many labels like a lengthy piece of string can tangle and trip up those in possession of them; it happens and we can’t quite fault the garlanded man of letters for his state of reverie in which he exuded much nationalism during his four minutes sermon on the song, which, of course, is his prerogative. In his state of reverie, he discovered the ‘hidden truth’ about the song, ie, that it was/is the embodiment of the soul of our nation which apparently the writer himself did not see. Funnily, this wasn’t so bad after all. Come on, why can’t we spark our imaginations once in a while and ride on; it sure stimulates a great feeling which the distinguished academic should not be denied – to each his own. And still you are so right as you nicely put it: “the musing of a fertile intellect.” And that’s just what it was.
Yours faithfully,
Frank Fyffe
