Stagfield-House | Ferienhaus in Barbados an der Westküste St. Peter, Speightstown 
Ferienhaus Barbados

Deutschland: 08.08.2022, 10:08 Uhr | England: 08.08.2022, 09:08 Uhr | Barbados: 08.08.2022, 04:08 Uhr



Vernon Jackman
Vernon L. Jackman wurde geboren in Road View, St. Peter. Er besuchted Speightstown Schule für Jungen und lebte bis zum Alter von 10 in Barbados. Er ist ein preisgekrönter Dichter und Lehrer, der verschiedenen Hochschulabschlüsse von Cornell University vorweisen kann. Dort gewann er alle Dichter Wettbewerbe und erhielt eine ehrenwerte Erwähnung im Literatur Wettbewerb. Er hat Gedichte, Kurzgedichte und ein Kinderbuch veröffentlicht und bloggt im Moment über Kapitel eines Buches über Spiritualität und Selbstfindung "Radiance Benevolence Abundance". Mr. Jackman lebt heute in South Carolina mit seiner Frau Dr. Lorraine Jackman und seinen zwei Töchtern.
Mehr Informationen über Vernon Jackman ist hier:


Sails flesh out and shiver,
nightshift insects lose their bleat
in the click and wail of cicadas,
angling louder to the incoming
light. That seam between dark and day,
tailored in roughly.
Attempts at waking. Birds.

An old woman reveals herself
through fret and stagger,
through the grate of leather,
hollowed on cool tar;
and a road coils grey,
straining to the foot of a hill.

Who sees it first?
The too sudden light reveals us,
returns the brutal outline of shacks,
and galvanized roofs that blind.

Light scuttles back the choppy talus
of our nakedness. Below,
the water changes its ridges; winds alter,
swilly with half-awakened syllables.

Birds shrieking?
or the screech of the island's limestone ache?
Branches stir. Lapsed,
water drains: a cool finger
down the spinal groove in a leaf.

Sun Song
after Gary Sato's "Desire"

Starvation is simple. A few days by the edge
and your belly cramps with needles:
trembling desire,
fills up with sunlight,
warm as porridge, but weightless.

That nervous echo of blood
beats the walls inside
as trees (angered and hurt in a storm)
hurl their limbs on frail houses.

Sea wind turns to cobwebs
getting sticky between your fingers,
and you've taken up a wayward kinship with the sun,
walking shore in stiff, salty rags.

Noon bleaches the crescent bay hard and bright.
Bareback, your skin tempers like a steel drum.
If berries blew down in green shower
striking the hollow of your back
you'd break slowly
into a familiar, saddening song.

Birds are pecking fruit for their fill of music.
An almond, speckled purplish, opens
like a woman's love,
and dry leaves rock downward, cradled in air.

You hunger now. Birds tidy their nests
and fly toward sleep.
Trees go cool and silent.

But you endure along the coast
kicking sand into a darkening veil-resolved
to curse the fat smiling moon,
and those whispers, coddled in grassy spaces.

It is fruit you want:
that copper almond, fallen in the bushes
with its tiny wooden bell

plumb or mango, a fig to push a thumb into
and part slowly: the flesh wet, dark before its pink;
its sigh blowing from another mouth.

Woman's Tongue

Stooped under the shak-shak tree
hung there and shadowless,
lighter than wood smoke curling from shacks,

she is an ancestress,
stranded in the windy clack.
Leaned forward, she holds herself

as if wrapped with pains of bringing the first words.
She fingers remembrance,
twines the weathered strands of her frock

along the frozen dance,
cast in hard shadows of branch and bramble.
She reaches for an utterance
to give memory and curve,

shuttles in and out of the bright vortex,
where the names of things eddy,
break and separate.

The trance has her.
Burdened with the first spoken thing,
she cries into the dark of herself;

the sound shatters to sparks,
turns back from the pit of her stomach:
shaped recollection, clicking semantics.

She warns, prays, curses
and suddenly is gone. Only tracks of heat remain,
winding where she spoke.

D.J. schreibt ganz aussergewöhnliche Gedichte mit "bajan" Akzent, die das Lebensgefühl der Westindies ausdrücken.
Er hat sie in einem Buch veröffentlicht, das heisst:
'D.J.s Book O' Rhymz - Feelin' A Way'
Hier ein nettes Beispiel:

The Only Peach In a Tamarind Tree
I have the only peach in a tamarind tree,
And she's shining so bright; the whole world can see,
And the only hand that can reach to pick her is me,
And she will be placed on a pedestal created just for she,
And the only ones up there who could exchange juices is we,
So that no one else could taste of my sweet delicacy,
But hey thats just selfish little ol' me,
Because I want the only peach in that tamarind tree.

Dempstu Simmons Jr. 
Stagfield House 6th Ave. North Drive, Lot 171 Heywoods Park, St. Peter, Barbados W.I.

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