Many of our writers were upset when Kamau Brathwaite, who has been called Barbados’ unofficial poet laureate, won first prize in the 2006 Frank Collymore Literary Endowment competition for his poetry manuscript Missa Solemnis. The grumblings were much the same January 11, when Kamau did it again, this time with a collection called Lazarus Poems.
The outrage, now as then, from some I spoke with at the awards ceremony at Frank Collymore Hall (the venue was switched after the AC in the Grande Salle broke down) hinged on Kamau’s reputation. “If he’s entering,” they said, “then what chance do the rest of us have of winning?”
My reaction eight years ago, when Kamau, according to the judges, just edged out Margaret Gill’s poetry manuscript, was a fist-pumping “Finally!”
Kamau’s participation legitimized the competition overnight. Not that the Collys needed it, given the quality of writers who had been entering and the number of their works that had gone on to be published or staged. But if one of Barbados’ internationally recognized writers was entering the Collys, then it reconfirmed that the award ceremony was no karaoke show.
The Collys, Barbados’ most prestigious and lucrative literary award for unpublished manuscripts, were created neither for amateurs nor so-called stakeholders. They were and rightfully remain open to any Barbadian writer, citizen or resident, who has a story to tell and who can presumably tell it exceptionally well, whether in prose, poetry or drama. That could be Kamau. That could be me. That could be you.
What Kamau’s participation—and the participation of our best writers, emerging and established—has always done for the competition is raise the standard one was expected to meet. It’s no surprise we’ve had a couple years without first place winners at the Collys. Churlishness on the judges’ part? You mean to say no second-place winner was good enough to be elevated to first? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I’ve asked the same questions, made the same complaints and arguments. But the judges have the integrity of the competition to maintain as well as their own good names. They had the right to put writers on notice that only what they deemed the best would be awarded as such.
There is this assumption that if Kamau or someone of his stature enters, he will automatically win; not only because of the presumed quality of the work but because of who he is. That’s assuming every judge recognizes a writer’s work or is a fan. It’s possible the local literary community has a lack of faith in the judging process. Judging for the Collys is blind. This wasn’t always the case. There may be lingering suspicions of favouritism—or victimization. How the judges come to their decisions could be better explained, to the public and to the writers who enter the competition, to dispel these worries.
But why this belief no one can top Kamau? We’ve heard when he’s won. He may have entered in other years and not been shortlisted; we wouldn’t necessarily hear about that. It’s useful to remember that it’s possible to win some and lose some—to take, say, the Giller but be shut out of the Booker—for a variety of reasons, including those that have little to do with the work itself. A respected reputation or the quality of a work is no guarantee of ultimate success in any competition.
And maybe that’s another thing to remember: judges’ decisions may be final, but they are not absolute.
Ronald Williams was shortlisted at second place for his novel The Memoir. His entry also won The Prime Minister’s Award, which is given to a work that celebrates or elevates an aspect of Barbadian culture. Mark Ramsay was another double awardee, coming in third for his story collection The Generation with the World in Our Mouths and earning The John Wickham Prize for an exceptional entry from a writer 25 years of age or younger. Sonia Peter received an honourable mention for her intriguing (illustrated!) botanical treatise Seed Under the Leaf.
There were those on the balcony after the awards ceremony who said they preferred the drama of Ramsay’s reading to that of Williams’, and vice versa. I was impressed by the familiar elegy of Kamau’s verse but, at the same time, curious to hear about Peter’s effort.
For all I knew, her manuscript may have been the most unique work entered. For all any of us knew, that distinction may have belonged to another manuscript entirely.—Robert Edison Sandiford
