You Got To Go There To Know

The Morning Air Was Like A New Dress. That Made Her Feel The Apron Tied Around Her Waist. She Untied It And Flung It On A Low Bush Beside The Road And Walked On, Picking Flowers And Making A Bouquet… From Now On Until Death She Was Going To Have Flower Dust And Springtime Sprinkled Over Everything.

From Barren Brown Stems To Glistening Leaf-buds; From The Leaf-buds To Snowy Virginity Of Bloom…it Was Like A Flute Song Forgotten In Another Existence And Remembered Again. What? How? Why? This Singing She Heard That Had Nothing To Do With Her Ears. The Rose Of The World Was Breathing Out Smell. It Followed Her Through All Her Waking Moments And Caressed Her In Her Sleep.

Magic Is Older Than Writing. So Nobody Knows How It Started.

So In Jamaica It Is The Aim Of Everybody To Talk English, Act English And Look English. And That Last Specification Is Where The Greatest Difficulties Arise. It Is Not So Difficult To Put A Coat Of European Culture Over African Culture, But It Is Next To Impossible To Lay A European Face Over An African Face In The Same Generation.

I Know That Nothing Is Destructible; Things Merely Change Forms.