Today we take the opportunity to revisit the poetry of Edward Alston Cecil Baugh (January 10, 1936 – December 9, 2023), generally known as Eddie Baugh, one of the foremost giants of Caribbean literature in our time.
The selections appear in Baugh’s collection Black Sand, published by Peepal Tree, UK. Black Sand was the winner of the Guyana Prize for Literature Caribbean Award 2014 for the Best Book of Caribbean Poetry. They do not represent the entire range of Baugh’s output, but they give vivid reminders of the fine lines he has contributed to West Indian poetry. But they provide another opportunity to appreciate the quality of verse; to read a poem like “Black Sand” for the overpowering brilliance of the verse seeking a quality possessed of the endless, fathomless representative of the natural environment with all its possibilities, such as the sand on the beach. The poet confronts this flawless nature, weighing against it, an inferior mankind.
Both “It Was the Singing” and “Nigger Sweat” remind of the delight in reading (or hearing) the wit and humour of Baugh’s famous dramatic monologues. Such monologues have been a stand-out success in this acclaimed volume of poetry, and they include “The Carpenter’s Complaint” from Baugh’s first published collection.
The poem “Truth and Consequence”, which is a take-off, drawn from the lynching of Cinna the Poet in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar will focus another element in the range of poetry. Baugh’s famous line “there’s no such thing as only literature. Every line commits you” interrogates the age-old debate about art and society, driving home in the poem the political importance and impact of poetry and of literature in public life.
All told, Baugh’s poetry emphasizes an enduring factor of poetry – that poetry can entertain, and this poet is an extraordinary reminder of this. He was famous for the strong dramatic quality in these poems, but equally renowned for his public readings of them. Two West Indian poets widely acclaimed for the reading of their work have been Baugh and Mervyn Morris – actually hearing them read has been an additional experience.
Yet, Eddie Baugh’s contribution to West Indian Literature extends well beyond that. He was an icon, several times referred to as one of the giants in the literature and its criticism. As Professor at the University of the West Indies at Mona, his impact was felt in his critical contributions such as the defining work in the publication Critics on Caribbean Literature, a foundation post-colonial volume, which came after West Indian Literature 1900 -1970. Baugh also distinguished himself as the principal critic and biographer of Nobel Laureate Derek Walcott. Baugh also served UWI, Mona as Public Orator and, not surprisingly, created a collection of citations that combine scholarship with wit and drama. These citations were collected in the publication Chancellor, I Present (Canoe Press, UWI, 1998). .
BLACK SAND
If the poem could open itself out and be wide
as this beach of black sand, could absorb
like black sand the sun’s heat, and respond
to bright sunlight with refractions of tone,
nuances that glamour would miss, if this
could happen, if the poem could yield
like black sand, if you looked patiently,
polished stones that fit in the palm
of a woman’s hand, could be cool as the sand
where the wavelets splash over her feet,
if the poem could be open like this beach to the breeze,
like these trees that have known great winds,
if the poem could be wide and open, like a love
that is larger than desire, larger than fear,
if the poem could be patient and wide as this evening,
this beach of black sand expecting the night
without fear, the moon lifting over the sea,
the largo of sunset spreading over the city
as the jagged, wounding edges of our unworthiness
are worn down by forgiveness, wave after untiring wave…
IT WAS THE SINGING
It was the singing, girl, the singing, it was
that full my throat and blind my eye
with sunlight. Parson preach good, and didn’t
give we no long-metre that day
and Judge Hackett make us laugh to hear
how from schoodays Gertie was a rebel
and everybody proud how Sharon talk
strong about her mother and hold her tears.
But the singing was sermon and lesson and eulogy
and more, and it was only when we raise
“How Great Thou Art” that I really feel
the sadness and the glory, wave after wave.
Daddy Walters draw a bass from somewhere
we never hear him go before, and Maisie
lift a descant and nobody ask her,
but it was the gift they bring., it was
what they had to give and greater
than the paper money overflowing the collection
plate. It was then I know we was people
together, never mind the bad-minded and the carry -down
and I even find it in my heart to forgive
that ungrateful Agnes fir everything she do me
and I sing and the feelings swelling in my chest
till I had to stop and swallow hard.Then sings my soul, my saviour God to thee,
How great thou art, how great thou art…
and we was girls again together, Gertie
and me by the river, and then the singing
was like a wide water and Gertie laughing
and waving to me from the other side.
Girl, I can’t too well describe it.
Was like the singing was bigger than all of we
and making us better than we think we could be,
and all I asking you, girl, is when
my time come to go, don’t worry
make no fuss bout pretty coffin
and no long eulogy, just a quiet place
where gunman and drug addict don’t haunt,
and if they sing me home like how they sing Gertie
I say thank you Jesus, my soul will sleep in peace.
NIGGER SWEAT
‘Please have your passport and all documents out and ready for your
interview. Kindly keep them dry.’ (Notice in the waiting room of the
US Embassy, Visa Section, Kingston, 1982)
No disrespect, mi boss,
just honest nigger sweat;
well, almost, for is true
some of we trying to fool you
so we can lose weself
on the Double R ranch
to find a little life.
But, boss, is hard times
make it, and not because
black people born wutliss;
so, boss, excuse this nigger sweat.
And I know that you know it
as good as me,
this river running through history,
this historical fact, this sweat
that put the aroma
in your choice Virginia,
that sweeten the cane
and make the cotton shine;
and sometimes I dream a nightmare
dream, that the river rising.
rising and swelling the sea
and I see you choking and drowning
in a sea of black man sweat
and I wake up shaking
with shame and remorse
for my mother did teach me,
“Child, don’t study revenge.”
Don’t think we not grateful, boss,
how you cool down the place for we
comfort, but the line shuffle forward
one step at a time like Big Fraid hold we,
and the cool-cut, crew-cut Marine boy
wid him ice-blue eye and him walkie-talkie
dissa walk through the place and pretend
him no see we.
But a bring me handkerchief,
me mother did bring me up right,
and, God willing, I keeping things cool
till we meet face to face,
and I promise you, boss,
if I get through I gone,
gone from this bruk-spirit
kiss-me-arse place.
