Wayne's World (a long overdue post)
I remember walking into the open aired den of his house, looking around at the books and art, and stepping down into the inner sactum of Wayne's world. I remember Saturday mornings held captive by a lilting Trinidadian rhythmn and the view of the hills and the Caribbean Sea. We studied Walcott, and I am proud of my ability to have reeled off "Verandah", "Egypt, Tobago", "The Highwayman", and Chapter 15 of "Another Life".
In that den, years of distaste for rigidity gave way to deference for and delight in the revelation of the sheer beauty of form. This once vehement proponet of free verse bowed before the power of well-written meter. I keystroked my first (and only) sonnet, widened my reading list, and dabbled in sestina, villanelle, haiku and rondeau. Wayne's World seemed to be like his bookcases - structured, orderly, slightly meticulous.
He was a severe taskmaster, throwing one leg over the arm of a chair and insisting we memorize Walcott. Opinionated, irrascible, irrevent are words that could be levied at him. He had an austere disinclination toward forced rhyme and 'bad poetry'. In our class, he seemed illiberal with praise. He was Wayne.
I prefaced this post by saying I was saluting. What manner of salute be this, you may wonder. It is perhaps the highest salute I can offer. I bear witness that he was honest. He believed in the power of good writing. The subtleties of life do require of tact and diplomacy indeed, but in choosing to err on the side of truth, he was simply Wayne. He did not seem interested in the hue, pitch or timbre of his point, only that you got his point. In that honesty and that commitment to getting you to look beyond where you presently stood, he got you to realize where you could be standing. By demanding more of you, he forced you to demand more of your ownself. Ask Kei, Sharon, Millicent, Raymond, Nicky and others. This is the honesty that made him the remarkable mentor and teacher to whom Geoffrey Philp's blog refers.
I was saddened to hear of his depature last year and I wish the best for his loved ones who remain. I have joined that community known as the diaspora, and see the need for deliberate activity to include Caribbean writing in the literary diet of the young readers in my house. And whether they wish to become writers or not, thanks to Wayne, I will introduce them to meter and structure and form, and they will have to memorize good Caribbean writing. I bear witness, Wayne.
