Al Creighton

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Eric Roach

On Eric Roach, freedom, culture and traditions

Verse in August                                                 (For Frank Collymore) knock drum draw bow on fiddle strings let rhythm jump and catgut screech let all time jig a kalinda and reel these august freedom days let dead bones rise and dance their own bongos who’ll dance my death farewell?

Wole Soyinka

In praise of African oral and written literature … and palm wine

                                To Palm Wine                                                    Alimotu of the gourd Lamihun in the fibrous clump Dawn it is that heralds your approach When evening comes, the drum crooks taps Taps, taps in gladness Mistress of tuppence only, yet Chased the millionaire into the forest.

New Day

not hands                                                                        like mine these Carib altars knew: nameless and quite forgotten are the gods; and mute, mute and alone, their silent people spend a ring of vacant days, not like more human years, as aged and brown their rivers flow away.

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