Sparks from the central fire – I was lucky to be near enough to feel the blaze these men ignited in the world.
Wilson Harris
Soon after I arrived in British Guiana in 1955 I met Wilson Harris. Arthur Seymour had introduced me to his writing by giving me a copy of Wilson’s strange and powerful poem “Eternity to Season.” Wilson was a professional surveyor and spent much of his time in the forest and savannahs whose great spirits invaded his imagination forever. When he was in town I used to meet him at Martin Carter’s home. Wilson had a smile which crinkled his face until his eyes nearly closed and a very distinctive, slow, quiet tone of voice. But when he was inspired by the ideas teeming in his mind his low voice would rise and rise as he read out loud passages he had written to express his thoughts and his speaking of the words would become a sort of chant and soon he would be raising his hand to strike Martin or me on the arm or knee as we sat near him quite hard and harder to punctuate and emphasise what was tumbling out of his mind. “You see!” he would say. “You see! You see!” I might not always see. But I felt. Some passages he read were incomprehensible to me. Some I remember being as beautiful and clear yet shadowy as forest rivers. At the time he may have been composing that extraordinary, visionary, wholly original work later published in England as Palace of the Peacock – so I like to think those passages he beat upon my knee may have been the first announcements of his genius!
