Dear Editor,
I almost always shy away from any sort of written praise for a particular erudite but contemptuous type of contributor to your publication, for the simple reason that in my judgement they are often too full of themselves with their noses in the air, so that any form of endorsement coming from anyone they consider not in their category to be insulting. This perception fits so well one excellent crafty writer whose profound thoughts are always so interesting and uncomfortable to bypass. But really, humility is rarely an attribute of such folks. However, having gotten that out of the way, I want to mention the writings of one GHK Lall, a regular contributor to SN whose letter style is hardly smooth sailing for the simple average reader. I recall one avid reader of SN saying to me: “This man Lall, who is he? He ain’t easy fuh comprehend.”
But for a little while now he has been dropping some real ‘big bombs’ with some incisive analyses of our warped state of affairs. For example, on our crime scene he writes in poetic style: “The law is lynched and society dangles helplessly… Now a certain kind of madness is the foundation of the sanity that prevails…We will survive. Just how is the question.” And so too was his “The burning tyres are the incandescence of countless injustices,” ‒ indeed another fine piece of literary craftsmanship. There is need to quote a few lines for a sample: “yes, the tyres are the pyre of the collective cry from the pain in the heart… These momentarily harnessed fire zones illuminate and conceal. They light up deep frustration and flaring resentments of the have-nots. The resentments are many, the have-nots many more. Neither is fading away or going away, in fact both retreat underground where anger and fear are rekindled with renewed vigour.”
“And now this brings to what these same burning fires conceal. They conceal the ugliness of barbaric assault ‒ mainly ethnic that stain and complicate the struggle for justice and equality; they conceal individual and orchestrated antagonism: and they conceal darker secrets as to the source and origin, for this is not the work or mindset of extremists.”
GHK Lall, as black Americans are won’t to say, ‘knows where it’s at.’ For a simple person like me this is lovely and expressive writing. And now, just a few days back I’m reading his “what more can be said of corruption and corrupters?” yet again another example of excellent penmanship; the way he captures and uncovers us naked ‒ “our natural nakedness, there are bones”; indeed “deep in the marrows” ‒ what a wonderful expression. I like his description of us as multipolar and having four faces on any single issue: “an incomplete recapture of the massive sweeping deception and malaise… so deeply ingrained.” But of the last two “faces”, the third is “That personal disguise known to self only and not shared with anyone,” while the fourth is, “still personally unknown but is ready to be adopted and finalised to satisfy the demand of the moment.” This I know, hence the reason for a poem I wrote: ‘The Mask.’
I humbly want to extend a true feeling and say thanks to GHK Lall for such a beautiful piece of literature illuminating our dark “sordid realities.” But the deflating note on which he ends is more sad when he asks, “Where do we go from here?” and answers himself: “I do not know, I seek no answers anymore, perhaps I don’t care as much as before.” As I read these last lines believe me the hairs on my skin raised; I was touched. Why should those who truly care become so beaten to the point of despair?
Yours faithfully,
Frank Fyffe
