1. English Girl Eats Her First Mango by John Agard

1. English Girl Eats Her First Mango

Agard, John. "English Girl Eats Her First Mango." In Give the Ball to the Poet, edited by George Horrell, Aisha Spencer and Morag Styles, 42. London: Commonwealth Education Trust Books, 2014.

"If I did tell she

hold this gold 

of sundizzy

tonguelicking juicy

mouthwater flow

ripe with love

from the tropics

she woulda tell me

trust you to be

mellowdramatic

so I just say

taste this mango

and I watch she hold 

the smooth cheeks

of the mango

blushing yellow

and a glow

rush to she own cheeks

and she ask me

what do I do now

just bite into it?

and I was tempted

to tell she

why not be a devil

and eat of the skin

of original sin

but she woulda tell me

trust you to be

mysterious

so I just say

it’s up to you

if you want to peel it

and I watch she feel it

as something precious

then she smile and say

looks delicious

and I tell she

don’t waste sweet words

when sweetness

in your hand

just bite it man

peel it with the teeth

that God give you

or better yet

do like me mother

used to do

and squeeze

till the flesh

turn syrup

nibble a hole

then suck the gold

like bubby

in child mouth

squeeze and tease out

every drop of spice

sounds nice

me friend tell me

and I remind she

that this ain’t

apple core

so don’t forget

the seed

suck that too

the sweetest part

the juice does run

down to your heart

man if you see

the English rose

she face was bliss

down to the pink

of she toes

and when she finish

she smile

and turn to me

lend me your hanky

my fingers

are all sticky

with mango juice

and I had to tell she

what hanky

you talking bout

you don’t know

when you eat mango

you hanky

is your tongue

man just lick

you finger

you call that

culture

lick your finger

you call that

culture

unless you prefer

to call it

colonisation

in reverse"

"Passion for Solitude" BY CESARE PAVESE ~ TR. GEOFFREY BROCK

~
I’m eating a little supper by the bright window.
The room’s already dark, the sky’s starting to turn.
Outside my door, the quiet roads lead,
after a short walk, to open fields.
I’m eating, watching the sky—who knows
how many women are eating now. My body is calm:
labor dulls all the senses, and dulls women too. 

Outside, after supper, the stars will come out to touch
the wide plain of the earth. The stars are alive,
but not worth these cherries, which I’m eating alone.
I look at the sky, know that lights already are shining
among rust-red roofs, noises of people beneath them.
A gulp of my drink, and my body can taste the life
of plants and of rivers. It feels detached from things.
A small dose of silence suffices, and everything’s still,
in its true place, just like my body is still. 

All things become islands before my senses,
which accept them as a matter of course: a murmur of silence.
All things in this darkness—I can know all of them,
just as I know that blood flows in my veins.
The plain is a great flowing of water through plants,
a supper of all things. Each plant, and each stone,
lives motionlessly. I hear my food feeding my veins
with each living thing that this plain provides. 

The night doesn’t matter. The square patch of sky
whispers all the loud noises to me, and a small star
struggles in emptiness, far from all foods,
from all houses, alien. It isn’t enough for itself,
it needs too many companions. Here in the dark, alone,
my body is calm, it feels it’s in charge.

Abha by John Siddique in his collection Full Blood

“The Earth loves the first ray of light that

Falls

upon him each morning more than any other light.

She is the first ray, the only one.

Day has its beauty but nothing pleases the

Earth

more than the first moment when Abha

takes his hand

What a risk to take for love?

Five thousand miles and a failing marriage,

a cat’s cradle of ties holding her there.

Moving with the sunlight as it tracks his

face

he is the world under her; without each

other

there is only darkness and bare rock.

What did the Earth know before

the first ray of light of the morning?
That darkness was all and forever.

His hardness, the absence of life.

A cold dream of a star.

The meaning of being untouched.

What did the light know before

She reached out to take Earth’s hand?
Pure speed through endless darkness.

No reflection of herself in the mirror.

A cold dream of a distant Earth.

The meaning of not touching.

From Chandigarh to Manchester

for a man she only knows by heart

the imagined city of love.

Imagine a city without light,

or the light without a city.

How small the world of the heart?

The world has conurbated,

It’s a small world they say.

How large the world is

when travelled for love,

when we count the hours

and the miles lived without it.

          *****