They have become an inspiring part of Guyana’s poetic heritage. I found them instantly unforgettable. I have come to think of them as the last poems of Mahadai Das. In the Peepal Tree edition of her poems, A Leaf In His Ear, they among others are listed as being composed – but composed may not be the right word – between 1973 and 1994 but never published. Mahadai Das died in 2003 at the age of 48 so it seems she wrote no poetry in the tragic, shattered last decade of her life. These poems are for me, therefore, a miraculous starburst of creativity before the darkness.
Her heart broke and her mind raged and out of this fire of despair and fierce desire emerged these passionate and enduring fragments. Here are a few of them plucked from a burning mind.
Learner
I am the great learner.
I devour the apple but before that,
I halve, then quarter
and eighth it.
I am a baby feeding on mashed yams.
I discover red apples and green ones,
Small apples, large ones. Romanos,
Granny Smiths.
I have eaten them.
Flame in the gut. Like a Chinese dragon,
I hold horses, I drive and I breathe fire.
Adam and Eve in one, I am in a garden,
eating. Breathing.
There are raspberries too, and bananas,
The banana-man sells me some.
I, oriental fire-dragon, mother Kali
in China, wrap snakes around my neck and
eat the fruits, belching out ribbons of fire
into the snow-white prison to which I am
relegated.
Bars are white hot iron.
Books encased in cartons stand low
against the bars.
Tears
Bones of dew scatter on my plate
as they rain down the land.
How can I stop them? They splatter
through my dreams leaving me homeless.
Oh God! I am naked as a newborn.
I implore you with my tears.
Monday, Come Quickly
Come quickly, Monday.
Your flag in my heart hides
from the wind of his eyes.
Deep-flung, I drink turquoise
pools of sudden water.
I am a mermaid basking on the rock
of his glance.
Woman-at-sea, I am vine-bound
upon rafters of his smile.
The razor-teeth of the hours,
swift, sure sharks, lurk
beneath my bark.
Light shards from above.
Nights of his absence
seem distant.
Switch off the Darkness
Switch off the darkness, sweet.
Direct your smile with its rosedrawn
chariots across my dark clouds.
I need your light, young one –
not a small star, some dim moon
nightly sliced in my sky,
but your whole golden coin
so I may freely spend it
across love’s counter in your eyes.
I read them again with tears in my eyes, others also: Ant And Eternity; Bernini Baby; The Leaf In His Ear; Lucky; The Coming Of The Maiden; In The Clear Ballroom…. I met her a few times in those final, silent years remembering her proud and frightened eyes. Read them over, those last poems in Peepal Tree’s A Leaf In The Ear – her damaged but radiant mind unburdening itself in a rush of immortal longing before oblivion. And the last one of them all.
Return Me To The Fire
If I should ever die
Return me to the fire
If I should live again
Return me to myself.
Heartfire,
flame in hurricane-lamp
Outside, into this storm.
