From young, growing up at Hague and Vreed-en-Hoop and with the occasional forays in the Pomeroon where my father had his farm, I was into words. I’m not sure of the process there but certainly a part of it was the variety of languages around me: snippets of Portuguese from my parents and my aunts speaking to one another (they never spoke the language to their children) but largely, I assume, from the Guyanese culture with its mix of English, Indian, African, French and Dutch expressions. In short order I had read all that was available in the Hague house and found myself attached to the only book left – a beat up copy of the Bible. I distinctly recall being impressed with the variety of expression and the flamboyant language of many of the texts – the subject itself was unique and on top of that the very language was not something one found anywhere else. It had a special ring, coming across to me as poetry and, intimations of what was to come, often a rhythmic and even musical expression, redolent with song.
