Kamau Brathwaite, widely acclaimed as Barbados’ greatest poet, and certainly one of the giants of Caribbean Literature, whose writings spanned literary criticism, drama, history, sociology, anthropology, linguistics, and more, died Tuesday, February 4, where his navel string was buried. He was 89 and would have been 90 on May 11. For decades, many considered Kamau Barbados’ unofficial poet laureate. Then, in 2018, the nation finally appointed its first poet laureate, Esther Phillips. In the following editorial, reprinted from the Spring 2018 issue of Kola, No. 30, Vol. 1, ArtsEtc Editor Robert Edison Sandiford writes about the spirit of the post Kamau embodied so well despite never having assumed it, and the complex yet immense generosity of the man as he knew him.
BARBADIANS can now say they have a poet laureate.
In the first full week of February, during its budgetary estimates for 2018-2019, the government of Barbados announced that Esther Phillips has been appointed to the post. Esther kind-of-sort-of had an idea she was in the running because of prior canvassing by the Ministry of Culture, Sports and Youth, but she was informed secondhand. George Lamming called her to confirm the radio report he’d heard. I’m fortunate she then called me to dispel any fears of fake news: it’s not that Esther isn’t one of our finest poets deserving of the honour—she is on both counts; check out her Governor General’s Award-winning collection, Leaving Atlantis—it’s just this has been such a long time happening I most likely would have mistrusted the Facebook, Twitter and WhatsApp messages to come.
For years, Barbados’ leading poet, Kamau Brathwaite, had been considered what Esther would call the nation’s poet laureate “in spirit.” We—meaning several members of the literary community lobbying yet again for the post’s creation, including Esther and the WritersInk Barbados collective—had approached him two years ago about his willingness to make it official. For various personal and possibly certain political reasons, Kamau eventually declined our advances. A significant factor for him was having the necessary energy for the job. After our initial disappointment—who first if not him?—we had to accept and understand.
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There was a time Kamau, who turns 88 in May, seemed to be everywhere: at every book launch, reading or literary programme in the island. Neat tam. Tangled beard. Owlish glasses. Calm smile. Stylish dashiki. He wasn’t everywhere, of course; this was only my perception. There has been plenty happening in the literary arts here for decades. For every event where we met up; for every interview I did with him about the disrupted sanctity of CowPastor, his retreat; for every review of a new book of his I wrote, I know he was as much away teaching in the US or elsewhere in the Caribbean, if not resting himself with his wife at home, all the while tinkering with his Sycorax video-style text.
I know Kamau wasn’t omnipresent. It just felt that way.
More so than any other Bajan writer I’ve encountered or read, Kamau’s work and influence hang over the literature and much of world literature besides, within the Diaspora yet also far beyond it.
The folk legend that there is a Bajan everywhere, popping up in the most unexpected places on this planet, could have started with him.
Most recently, Philip Nanton thanked Kamau in his acknowledgements to his study on notions of civilization and wilderness in St. Vincent. Kamau’s question to him, “And what does Philip Nanton have to say about the Caribbean?” so dogged Philip, he had to write Frontiers of the Caribbean as a response. When reading H. Nigel Thomas’ Why We Write, I was shocked (truly) to learn British Columbian writer Wayde Compton lists Kamau as “probably my biggest” literary influence, noting “his way of using rhythm and breaking words on syllables…. The Arrivants was a book I was reading over and over again.”
Just the week before the poet laureate announcement, Kamau received the 2018 PEN/Voelcker Award for Poetry “for his body of work, including Elegguas, Born to Slow Horses, and Ancestors.” The award recognizes “a poet whose distinguished and growing body of work represents a notable and accomplished presence in American literature” (https://pen.org/2018-lifetime-career-achievement-honorees/).
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Over the years, several local writers I know have shared their work with Kamau. This has been at his urging, and he usually responds with further encouragement. If it has always felt as if Kamau was there, that’s because he’s often been so supportive. His generosity of spirit suggests what is possible with Caribbean art (but all art, really). This is true whether you agree with his viewpoint or not; and Kamau and I haven’t always agreed. His refusal to see a way to being Barbados’ first official poet laureate, even for a day, is but one obvious instance of difference between us.
But what is for us is for us. The appointment of a poet laureate in Barbados is a good thing; if not overdue, then it is definitely timely.
In 2017, Lorna Goodison became the second poet laureate of Jamaica after Mervyn Morris in 2014. The Canadian Parliamentary Poet Laureate from 2016 to 2017 was Kola Editorial Board member George Elliott Clarke. Georgette LeBlanc took over the position, created in 2001, this year. I look forward to the course Esther plots. She is a former educator and the current chair of the Frank Collymore Literary Endowment Committee. Her expressed concerns for the spiritual wellbeing of Barbados draw a line between the increased violence in our schools and the nation’s neglect of the restorative powers of the arts. As sister Barbadian poet Linda M. Deane wrote to her in a congratulatory email, “Exciting and welcome news. Work now start!”
To which Kamau may have quietly counselled, “But doan tell she it evah done.”
February 27, 2018
For more on Kamau, please visit ArtsEtc's online perpetual galleries of his life and work. You'll find them under our various menus, starting with Kamau 85 under Adventures on our homepage.
Last Modified: February 5, 2020
