There are some all-timers in here. Brathwaite masters sound, bringing rhythm beyond the bounds of meter, music within the bounds of language. Playful, empathetic, historically and politically conscious, unafraid to venture into the abstract, fearful of complacency, morphing verse line by line, his work just sings off the page. It's poetry as a physical, tangible force.
Some excerpts to sample:
From "Stone":
When the stone fall that morning out of the johncrow sky
i couldn't cry out because my mouth was full of beast & plunder
as if I was gnashing badwords among tombstones
as if that road up stony hill. round the bend by the church
yard . on the way to the post office . was a bad bad dream
& the dream was like a snarl of broken copper wire zig zagg.
ing its electric flashes up the hill & splitt. ing spark & flow
ers high. er up the hill . past the white houses & the ogogs bark.
ing all teeth & fur. nace & my mother like she up . like she up.
like she up. side down up a tree like she was scream.
like she was scream. like she was scream. in no & no.
body i could hear could hear a word i say. in .even though
there were so many poems left & the tape was switched on &
runn. in & runn. in &
the green light was red & they was stannin up there &
evva. where in london & amsterdam & at unesco in paris &
in west berlin & clapp. in & clapp. in & clapp. in &
not a soul on stony hill to even say amen
From "Colombe":
But did his vision
fashion as he watched the shore
the slaughter that his soldiers
furthered here? Pike
point & musket butt
hot splintered courage. bones
cracked with bullet shot
tipped black boot in my belly. the
whips uncurled desire?