Skip to main content


<?xml version="1.0"?>

<!DOCTYPE TEI.2 SYSTEM "base.dtd">




<title>A Reading </title></titleStmt>

<publicationStmt><distributor>BASE and Oxford Text Archive</distributor>


<availability><p>The British Academic Spoken English (BASE) corpus was developed at the

Universities of Warwick and Reading, under the directorship of Hilary Nesi

(Centre for English Language Teacher Education, Warwick) and Paul Thompson

(Department of Applied Linguistics, Reading), with funding from BALEAP,

EURALEX, the British Academy and the Arts and Humanities Research Board. The

original recordings are held at the Universities of Warwick and Reading, and

at the Oxford Text Archive and may be consulted by bona fide researchers

upon written application to any of the holding bodies.

The BASE corpus is freely available to researchers who agree to the

following conditions:</p>

<p>1. The recordings and transcriptions should not be modified in any


<p>2. The recordings and transcriptions should be used for research purposes

only; they should not be reproduced in teaching materials</p>

<p>3. The recordings and transcriptions should not be reproduced in full for

a wider audience/readership, although researchers are free to quote short

passages of text (up to 200 running words from any given speech event)</p>

<p>4. The corpus developers should be informed of all presentations or

publications arising from analysis of the corpus</p><p>

Researchers should acknowledge their use of the corpus using the following

form of words:

The recordings and transcriptions used in this study come from the British

Academic Spoken English (BASE) corpus, which was developed at the

Universities of Warwick and Reading under the directorship of Hilary Nesi

(Warwick) and Paul Thompson (Reading). Corpus development was assisted by

funding from the Universities of Warwick and Reading, BALEAP, EURALEX, the

British Academy and the Arts and Humanities Research Board. </p></availability>




<recording dur="01:07:50" n="10364">


<respStmt><name>BASE team</name>



<langUsage><language id="en">English</language>

<language id="la">Latin</language>



<person id="nm0001" role="main speaker" n="n" sex="m"><p>nm0001, main speaker, non-student, male</p></person>

<person id="sm0002" role="participant" n="s" sex="m"><p>sm0002, participant, student, male</p></person>

<person id="sm0003" role="participant" n="s" sex="m"><p>sm0003, participant, student, male</p></person>

<person id="om0004" role="observer" n="o" sex="m"><p>om0004, observer, observer, male</p></person>

<personGrp id="ol" role="observer and main speaker" size="2"><p>ol, observer and main speaker, group size: 2</p></personGrp>

<personGrp id="ss" role="audience" size="m"><p>ss, audience, medium group </p></personGrp>

<personGrp id="sl" role="all" size="m"><p>sl, all, medium group</p></personGrp>

<personGrp role="speakers" size="7"><p>number of speakers: 7</p></personGrp>





<item n="speechevent">Lecture</item>

<item n="acaddept">Centre for Caribbean Studies</item>

<item n="acaddiv">ah</item>

<item n="partlevel">PG/staff</item>

<item n="module">unknown</item>





<u who="nm0001"> after this # little performance <pause dur="1.0"/> something very historic happened today <pause dur="0.4"/> i went down to Oxford University <pause dur="0.6"/> to examine as the external examiner <pause dur="0.7"/> # <pause dur="0.3"/> a D-Phil <pause dur="0.7"/> on Black British writing from Equiano to <pause dur="0.6"/> # <vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/><pause dur="0.3"/> Linton Kwesi Johnson <pause dur="0.9"/> and this was <trunc>ver</trunc> i felt very historic <pause dur="0.2"/> because # <pause dur="1.2"/> it was a student of mine an ex-student of mine who was in your class the M-A class <gap reason="name" extent="2 words"/> <pause dur="0.9"/> and # there we were at Oxford University the centre of <pause dur="0.9"/> of # scholarship <pause dur="0.2"/> <vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/><pause dur="0.7"/> # a man of colour or as i prefer to call myself a Paki <pause dur="0.5"/> # <vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" dur="1"/> examining <pause dur="0.4"/> another man of colour whom we <pause dur="0.3"/> jocularly call a Paki <pause dur="0.6"/> on a Paki subject <pause dur="0.9"/> and i really felt <pause dur="0.2"/> terribly historic yes <pause dur="0.4"/> and it was such a brilliant dissertation <pause dur="0.8"/> that # <pause dur="0.2"/> it <trunc>wa</trunc> it was # passed <pause dur="0.3"/> without qualification <pause dur="0.7"/> so <gap reason="name" extent="1 word"/> was my friend i dragged him right away he's got a gown on and you know in Oxford to be examined <pause dur="0.4"/> the external examiner can dress up <pause dur="0.4"/> # turn up like a slob which

was what i did <pause dur="0.6"/> # but the internal examiner has to wear <pause dur="0.7"/> a gown <pause dur="0.5"/> a bow tie <pause dur="0.4"/><kinesic desc="moves hands round head demonstrating mortar board" iterated="n"/> the # <pause dur="0.5"/> the # <pause dur="0.2"/> you know <pause dur="0.5"/> the fly swatter </u><u who="sm0002" trans="overlap"> a mortar board </u><pause dur="0.2"/> <u who="nm0001" trans="pause"> <vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/> mortar board <pause dur="0.7"/> so as soon as his examination was finished we had a quick glass of wine <pause dur="1.3"/> and # another one <pause dur="0.6"/> and got on a train <pause dur="0.4"/> he's in my office now and some other friends of mine are going to come and meet him and we're going to take him out for a good drink tonight <pause dur="0.6"/> and the legendary curry so you're more than welcome to come along <pause dur="1.0"/> now what i will do now is # <vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/><pause dur="0.7"/> just say a few things about <pause dur="0.3"/> why i write <pause dur="0.2"/> about slavery <pause dur="0.6"/> by saying something about Guyana <pause dur="1.9"/> Guyana is a <vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/><pause dur="0.8"/> in many ways <pause dur="0.7"/> a marginal country <pause dur="1.2"/> marginal in the sense or peripheral peripheral <pause dur="0.5"/> in that it's one of the most <pause dur="0.3"/> southernly <pause dur="0.6"/> of <pause dur="1.5"/> British colonies <pause dur="1.4"/> it's seven-and-a-half-thousand miles away <pause dur="1.0"/> # <pause dur="1.1"/> it's it's and if and London was the centre of the empire <pause dur="0.5"/> or of the universe

which it was <pause dur="0.5"/> Guyana was seriously at the periphery <pause dur="0.5"/> of it <pause dur="0.5"/> being seven-and-a-half-thousand miles away <pause dur="0.8"/> maybe a thousand-and-a-half miles south of <pause dur="0.2"/> Jamaica <pause dur="1.1"/><vocal desc="cough" iterated="n"/> it's marginal <pause dur="0.3"/> in another sense <pause dur="0.4"/> in that we do actually physically live <pause dur="0.4"/> most of us in the margins <pause dur="0.7"/> of the sea <pause dur="0.2"/> and the land most of us live in a very narrow strip <pause dur="0.6"/> of coastal land sometimes <pause dur="0.3"/> a mile deep sometimes seven or eight miles deep <pause dur="0.7"/> and we <trunc>ha</trunc> we we we we live in this <pause dur="0.3"/> very thin strip of land <pause dur="0.5"/> # behind us is the <pause dur="0.4"/> the great Amazonian jungle <pause dur="0.2"/> and in front of us is the <pause dur="0.6"/> stormy Atlantic <pause dur="1.0"/> and it's a very <pause dur="0.2"/> precarious existence because <pause dur="0.7"/> the # <pause dur="0.3"/> because the <pause dur="0.5"/> the <pause dur="0.2"/> Atlantic is not <pause dur="0.2"/> the blue Caribbean sea <pause dur="0.5"/> it is a <pause dur="0.3"/> dirty brown muddy <pause dur="0.4"/> brown tea brown horrible <pause dur="0.7"/> # coastal water <pause dur="0.6"/> # threatening to look at <pause dur="0.5"/> # largely because of the <pause dur="0.5"/> the mud washed down by the <pause dur="0.2"/> by the <pause dur="0.5"/> in the Amazon and the <pause dur="0.7"/> the # <pause dur="0.2"/> the great Amazonian <pause dur="0.3"/> flow towards the sea that takes all the mud with it <pause dur="0.3"/> so for <pause dur="0.2"/> twenty thirty miles outside of Guyana's <pause dur="0.4"/> Guyana's coastline is is muddy water <pause dur="0.5"/> yeah <pause dur="0.2"/>

shark infested very dangerous dangerous currents <pause dur="0.9"/> and <trunc>a</trunc> and behind is as i said is the Amazonian jungle still pristine in Guyana <pause dur="0.6"/> which is not a place # it's not like an English garden <pause dur="0.2"/> obviously it's # <pause dur="0.3"/> it's a place of dread and darkness <pause dur="0.6"/> it's a place you we don't venture into <pause dur="0.8"/> it's a kind of space of # <pause dur="0.4"/> it's a kind of epistemological space almost it's it's the area of darkness <pause dur="0.9"/> you don't go walking in a jungle <pause dur="0.3"/> you know <pause dur="1.0"/><vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" n="ss" dur="1"/> # <pause dur="0.4"/> and of course <pause dur="0.5"/> the waters from the from the Amazonian jungle wash down into the sea <pause dur="0.8"/> and then you have the <pause dur="0.4"/> the waters of the Amazon washing up <pause dur="0.5"/> we're we're we're # <pause dur="0.4"/> we live a perilous existence in in the sense that # <pause dur="1.1"/> Guyana is # below sea level <pause dur="1.5"/> and <pause dur="0.6"/> therefore subject to <pause dur="0.5"/> constant flooding <pause dur="1.6"/> and i can't swim <pause dur="0.7"/> so it becomes even more perilous you know <pause dur="1.0"/> # it's a marginal place also in the sense that <pause dur="0.4"/> you can't really be authoritarian in Guyana <pause dur="1.5"/><vocal desc="sigh" iterated="n"/> you see <pause dur="0.3"/> in the rainy season <pause dur="1.5"/> when it rains and it rains <pause dur="0.4"/> we have a rainforest <pause dur="0.4"/> and you know what a rainforest is <pause dur="0.5"/>

when it rains and it rains the valleys get flooded <pause dur="0.9"/> the valleys get flooded <pause dur="0.8"/> the <trunc>v</trunc> the valleys get flooded up to fifty sixty feet of water <pause dur="0.8"/> the trees <pause dur="0.4"/> get flooded up to their necks <pause dur="0.8"/> up to the leaves <pause dur="1.1"/> the animals in certain parts of Guyana <pause dur="0.3"/><vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/><pause dur="1.1"/> in the rainy season <pause dur="0.7"/> the animals <pause dur="1.7"/> cougars and the monkeys <pause dur="0.3"/> migrate <pause dur="0.9"/> to dry land <pause dur="0.7"/> what was dry land becomes <pause dur="0.7"/> almost a seascape <pause dur="1.0"/> and <pause dur="1.1"/> the animals migrate <pause dur="1.0"/> and fish <pause dur="1.3"/> all kinds of sea creatures great otters <pause dur="1.2"/> come in where the animals <pause dur="0.3"/> used to walk <pause dur="0.7"/> so what used to be land suddenly becomes seascape <pause dur="0.9"/> and of course when the rain ends <pause dur="1.0"/> # <pause dur="0.2"/> the fish bugger off to wherever fish go to <pause dur="0.8"/> and the animals come back <pause dur="0.5"/> so basically the land is inherently unstable <pause dur="0.6"/> you can't have authority you can't have authoritarian fascist structures in Guyana <pause dur="0.4"/> 'cause the land <pause dur="1.0"/> is inherently <pause dur="0.8"/> unstable <pause dur="1.0"/> it becomes <pause dur="0.3"/> a seascape <pause dur="0.4"/> in the rainy season <pause dur="1.0"/> and all these things filter into our imaginations <pause dur="0.2"/> i don't mean myself but <pause dur="0.3"/> all of us as Guyanese <pause dur="0.9"/> and if it

is that we are probably <pause dur="0.8"/> the least nationalistic people <pause dur="0.7"/> in the West Indies <pause dur="0.4"/> it's because of the nature of the landscape <pause dur="1.3"/> now being peripheral <pause dur="1.1"/> being marginal <pause dur="0.7"/><event desc="picks up book" iterated="n"/> is for us a source of strength <pause dur="0.7"/> because you see <pause dur="1.5"/> not a not a source of grievance <pause dur="0.5"/> it's only until you're at the periphery <pause dur="1.7"/><kinesic desc="tilts book" iterated="y" dur="5"/> that you can tilt the plane of the centre <pause dur="0.7"/> you know when you're in the periphery <pause dur="0.6"/> yeah that's the centre <pause dur="1.0"/><kinesic desc="indicates centre of book" iterated="y" dur="10"/> when you're in the centre you're settled you're fat <pause dur="0.6"/>you're <trunc>s</trunc> you're you're you're <pause dur="0.6"/><kinesic desc="hits book" iterated="n"/> you're stuck right <pause dur="0.7"/> you're canonical <vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" dur="1"/><pause dur="0.3"/> you're imprisoned you're anchored <pause dur="0.6"/><kinesic desc="tilts book" iterated="y" dur="18"/> when you're at the periphery <pause dur="0.7"/> you can tilt the plane of the centre <pause dur="0.4"/> you know <pause dur="0.9"/> as i said to you before right <pause dur="0.9"/> you could you could you could affect all kinds of movements through language <pause dur="0.7"/> through carnival <pause dur="0.4"/> through rioting <pause dur="0.6"/> through whatever <pause dur="0.3"/> you know you could actually <pause dur="0.8"/> you know with a bit more you

could actually <pause dur="0.4"/><kinesic desc="drops book" iterated="n"/> and the cannon has gone you know <pause dur="0.5"/> so being peripheral <pause dur="0.8"/> should be a source of strength to us <pause dur="0.7"/> and is a source of strength in terms of our writing <pause dur="0.9"/> now <pause dur="0.4"/> John Gilmore was there <pause dur="0.6"/> and i'm going to read a passage about the classics and i just wanted to say something about the classics <pause dur="0.6"/> the way that we as peripheral people <pause dur="0.4"/> came to <pause dur="0.4"/> the core of Western civilization <pause dur="0.4"/> now we came to it through very debased ways <pause dur="0.6"/> we <trunc>u</trunc> we used you know in the eighteenth century as you know <pause dur="0.5"/> we used to be called Nero and Caesar and <pause dur="1.2"/><vocal desc="sigh" iterated="n"/> you know Plato <pause dur="0.9"/> Aristotle <pause dur="1.0"/> i wrote # in my first novel i wrote # # i went to school with a boy called Caesar <pause dur="1.2"/> when i was <pause dur="0.2"/> when i was a child i went to school with a boy called Caesar <pause dur="0.9"/> # <vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/><pause dur="0.8"/> he used to sell mangoes <pause dur="0.4"/> on a Saturday <pause dur="0.7"/> he was very poor <pause dur="1.0"/> # so i wrote about it <kinesic desc="indicates book" iterated="n"/> in in this first novel about Caesar selling mangoes on a Caribbean pavement <pause dur="0.8"/> # <pause dur="1.8"/> yeah we came to the classics in very debased ways <pause dur="0.5"/> but then # <vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/>

as Gilmore's # research shows <pause dur="1.0"/> eventually we <trunc>re</trunc> <pause dur="0.2"/> we end up # <pause dur="1.9"/> revisualizing <pause dur="1.4"/> or # <pause dur="0.4"/> you know <trunc>re</trunc> reconceptualizing the classics <pause dur="0.5"/> in the works of say Omeros <pause dur="1.4"/> in Walcott <pause dur="0.3"/> the <pause dur="0.2"/> the triumph of Walcott winning the Nobel prize in ninety-two <pause dur="0.5"/> was exactly this creolization of the classics <pause dur="0.6"/> this revisualization of it so that <pause dur="0.6"/> # <pause dur="0.8"/> on the five-hundredth anniversary of <pause dur="0.4"/> Columbus <pause dur="2.5"/><event desc="drinks" iterated="n"/> we were able to <pause dur="0.7"/> we were able to enrich the classics <pause dur="0.3"/> by going beyond the pillars of Hercules <pause dur="0.9"/> in poetry <pause dur="1.5"/> # <pause dur="2.2"/> but # we came to language in peculiar ways <pause dur="0.4"/> now i'm going to read a passage about coming to language <pause dur="1.6"/> oh one last thing why do i write about slavery <pause dur="3.3"/> well <pause dur="0.7"/> you can't come from Guyana <pause dur="1.3"/> which has this admixture of different peoples <pause dur="0.4"/> where your own culture <pause dur="1.0"/> where your own language the language we speak at home <pause dur="0.7"/> is # <pause dur="2.2"/> is impregnated <pause dur="0.9"/> with <pause dur="1.4"/> aspects of the African experience <pause dur="0.9"/> slavery i always think of as <pause dur="0.7"/> the defining and the shaping and <pause dur="0.2"/> parent experience of the Caribbean <pause dur="0.7"/> # <pause dur="1.4"/> first the Amerindians the idea of eradication then

the Africans and then the Indians <pause dur="0.5"/> so you can't live in <trunc>guy</trunc> you can't be a Guyanese <pause dur="0.5"/> without # <pause dur="0.7"/> without consideration of the theme of slavery <pause dur="0.2"/> in whatever form <pause dur="1.0"/> i remember # <pause dur="1.8"/> being braced up in some conference in London by <pause dur="0.4"/> a very ignorant Jamaican <pause dur="0.6"/> who said to me <pause dur="0.2"/><shift feature="voice" new="mimicking Jamaican accent"/> well why don't you just write about your Indian people <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/><pause dur="0.5"/> being Jamaican you know kind of question you field <pause dur="0.8"/> and # <vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" dur="2"/> # by the way i do apologize # i <trunc>sh</trunc> i should say a pseudo-Jamaican a Rastafarian Black British <pause dur="0.3"/> who wanted to be a Jamaican <pause dur="0.9"/> fine so i went away and i did exactly what she wanted me to do i wrote a whole book called Coolie Odyssey <vocal desc="laugh" iterated="n"/> right <pause dur="0.9"/> but of course # <pause dur="0.4"/> you see <pause dur="1.1"/> i've always thought <pause dur="1.4"/> and there are kind of <unclear>urien</unclear> underpinnings to this <pause dur="0.5"/> that <pause dur="1.9"/> ancestry is not a matter of blood merely <pause dur="0.8"/> if ancestry was just a matter of blood <pause dur="0.3"/> then <pause dur="0.5"/> half of you are Eskimos <pause dur="0.9"/> yes <pause dur="0.6"/> or Aborigines <pause dur="0.7"/> # <pause dur="0.3"/> ancestry can't just be defined by <pause dur="0.5"/> by by blood heritage ancestry is also a matter of culture <pause dur="1.3"/> and in a Guyanese context the

African Guyanese if ever there's an African Guyanese <pause dur="0.7"/> is # as much Indian as i am African <pause dur="1.2"/> in terms of culture <pause dur="0.5"/> terms of cultural ancestry i have no <unclear>debt to pay</unclear> <pause dur="0.6"/> and i'm no longer defensive about these things yeah <pause dur="0.6"/> # anyway i want to read this passage about # <pause dur="0.2"/><vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/><pause dur="1.0"/> here is <pause dur="0.3"/> <trunc>th</trunc> this is set in the nineteenth century a novel called <pause dur="0.9"/> The Counting House <pause dur="1.4"/> # <pause dur="1.3"/> and by the way i use the word nigger and coolie <pause dur="0.2"/> liberally <pause dur="1.0"/> # <pause dur="4.9"/> it's about ten minutes so after five minutes you can <pause dur="0.3"/> go off if you want <pause dur="0.6"/> # here is a woman called # Miriam <pause dur="0.7"/> an African <pause dur="0.8"/> this is just after slavery <pause dur="0.7"/> # an African <pause dur="0.3"/> African Guyanese # <pause dur="1.3"/> servant woman <pause dur="1.1"/> who was a senior servant <pause dur="0.2"/> in the # in the # <pause dur="0.4"/> great house <pause dur="1.0"/> and then a younger servant a younger girl called # Rohini <pause dur="0.3"/> Indian <pause dur="0.5"/> who's come <pause dur="0.5"/> who's come later <pause dur="0.6"/> and # the two of them <pause dur="0.3"/> and there's a kind of power relationship going on between them as to who is <pause dur="0.3"/> who is the <pause dur="0.6"/> who is the more ancient servant <pause dur="1.3"/> the <trunc>g</trunc> and the <trunc>g</trunc> family are called the Gladstone family <pause dur="0.3"/> yeah <pause dur="0.2"/>

<reading>the Gladstone family cemetery <pause dur="0.6"/> a plot <pause dur="0.3"/> laid with lawn <pause dur="0.2"/> and adorned with urns of hibiscus and frangipani <pause dur="0.6"/> was Miriam's favourite retreat <pause dur="0.8"/> it was within the compound of the great house <pause dur="0.4"/> surrounded by a high wall of Suffolk brick <pause dur="0.4"/> especially shipped over from England <pause dur="0.7"/> neither nigger <pause dur="0.3"/> nor goat <pause dur="0.9"/> could idle in to graze <pause dur="0.5"/> for the entrance was barred <pause dur="1.2"/> by an <trunc>i</trunc> iron gate <pause dur="1.7"/> of all the workers in the plantation <pause dur="0.2"/> including the gardeners who tended the plot <pause dur="0.2"/> only she had the key <pause dur="0.7"/> a special favour from Gladstone <pause dur="0.7"/> to wander among the white dead <pause dur="0.5"/> to unwrap her bundle of fruit <pause dur="0.3"/> and picnic in their presence <pause dur="0.5"/> and when the sun was sluggishly hot <pause dur="0.6"/> to lean up against them <pause dur="0.6"/> this was her special privilege <pause dur="0.9"/> the white gravestones glared at her she closed her eyes and held her breath <pause dur="0.4"/> pretending to be the last corpse <pause dur="0.7"/> the effort of suppressing her breath made sweat <pause dur="0.6"/> rush to the surface of her skin <pause dur="0.4"/> she let out the air in a loud wheeze and cackled to herself <pause dur="0.5"/> at the thought of her livingness <pause dur="0.6"/> fuck-arse dead

white babies <pause dur="0.3"/> no black hands to wipe their backsides down <pause dur="0.4"/> no black lips to tune up a lullaby <pause dur="1.0"/> she grabbed a broad leaf from off a sadu tree <pause dur="0.4"/> and fanned her body indelicately <pause dur="0.9"/> God was watching her through the vast cloudless sky <pause dur="0.3"/> God <pause dur="0.3"/> God's iris was the sky <pause dur="0.3"/> blue like white man's <pause dur="0.4"/> but she didn't care what he saw fifty-thousand-million white angel stars <pause dur="0.3"/> stopped twinkling <pause dur="0.2"/> shocked at what she and Kampta did <pause dur="0.9"/> but blood blood-cloth to the lot of them <pause dur="0.6"/> when she died they could blow up on her <pause dur="0.4"/> and disperse her in particles of dust throughout the universe <pause dur="0.5"/> so that she could never be gathered up again <pause dur="0.4"/> well <pause dur="0.2"/> let that time come <pause dur="0.3"/> amen <pause dur="1.1"/> for the moment she was here <pause dur="0.6"/> and fat <pause dur="0.9"/> and Kampta was sprightly upon her <pause dur="0.6"/> so that when they rose <pause dur="0.3"/> no imprint was left in the earth <pause dur="0.4"/> no definite shape which was hers <pause dur="0.3"/> no matter how he grunted and pressed <pause dur="0.3"/> he was still too slight a coolie <pause dur="0.4"/> to leave a trace of her in the earth <pause dur="0.2"/><shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> i ain't going to bury in some nigger mound in backdam <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/><pause dur="0.4"/> she told

Rohini <pause dur="0.5"/> giving her a tour of the cemetery <pause dur="0.4"/> as a way of impressing her status upon the lesser servant <pause dur="0.7"/><shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> you see that one over there <pause dur="0.6"/> my one will be big and shiny so <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/><pause dur="1.5"/> she led Rohini to what was the most ornamental grave in the plot <pause dur="0.9"/> the headstone was carved with cherubims holding up laurels <pause dur="0.4"/> or blowing trumpets <pause dur="0.6"/> at the corners of the tomb <pause dur="0.3"/> were urns bearing a profusion of bright tropical flowers <pause dur="0.3"/> which reflected colours onto the stone <pause dur="0.3"/> giving it a gaiety absent from the rest of the graves <pause dur="1.0"/> an ornamental pond <pause dur="0.4"/> patterned with lilies lay before it <pause dur="0.5"/> softening the appearance of the stone <pause dur="0.9"/> they stood at the foot of the pond <pause dur="0.3"/> looking at the tomb's reflection <pause dur="0.7"/> fish seeped through <pause dur="0.4"/> it <pause dur="0.3"/> as if through stone <pause dur="0.2"/> scaling the interior with tropical colour <pause dur="0.4"/> the gloomy dead English body of old Mrs Gladstone lay there <pause dur="0.4"/> but swimming within it <pause dur="0.4"/> were bright <pause dur="0.5"/> cubla and maju fish <pause dur="0.3"/> the bitch didn't deserve more than dry white dust <pause dur="0.4"/> but all good things come to white people even in death <pause dur="0.6"/><vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" n="ss" dur="1"/>

jellyfish and piranha would have filled the pond <pause dur="0.4"/> if Miriam had her way <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> who bury here <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/> <pause dur="0.5"/> <trunc>roni</trunc> Rohini asked in a whisper <pause dur="0.5"/> awed by the beauty of the setting <pause dur="1.3"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> old Mrs Gladstone it say on the headset you can't read Latin <pause dur="1.8"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> little bit <pause dur="0.6"/> <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/>Rohini stared at the lettering <pause dur="0.7"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> the top is the Latin <pause dur="0.3"/> and the bottom write in English <pause dur="0.3"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> acha <pause dur="0.5"/> <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/> Rohini nodded in agreement <pause dur="0.8"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> <distinct lang="la">sunt lachrimae rerum</distinct> <pause dur="1.2"/> you understand that <pause dur="1.5"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> i only learning the English more easy than what write on top <pause dur="0.6"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> <distinct lang="la">sunt lachrimae rerum</distinct> to tell the truth girl <pause dur="0.3"/> i ignorant myself what it betoken <pause dur="1.0"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> but how you know to talk the words <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/> Rohini asked overwhelmed by Miriam's learning <pause dur="1.1"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> my grandpa <pause dur="0.3"/> tell me how no nigger in this plantation blacker then he but Latin he know <pause dur="0.6"/> what old white people used to write in

book <pause dur="0.7"/> he was stonemason and every time white man die <pause dur="0.3"/> is my papa who they instruct to carve plaque <pause dur="0.2"/> and letter it with Latin <pause dur="0.5"/> they write down for him on piece paper <pause dur="0.2"/> all over this place <pause dur="0.4"/> <trunc>grap</trunc> <pause dur="0.2"/> Gladstone graveyard Anglican church plantation house <pause dur="0.4"/> my grandpa work so hard <pause dur="0.5"/> that he learn Latin <pause dur="1.0"/> he use <pause dur="0.4"/> he speak nigger talk <pause dur="0.3"/> and he speak Latin <pause dur="0.7"/> and he use to say the two of them <pause dur="0.5"/> cousin close like bastards from one belly <pause dur="0.4"/> <distinct lang="la">sunt</distinct> is like scunt <pause dur="1.3"/> <distinct lang="la">lachrimae</distinct> sound like old Mrs Gladstone name <pause dur="0.3"/> and <distinct lang="la">rerum</distinct> is rear up <pause dur="0.4"/> what preacher man does call resurrection <pause dur="0.4"/> so the old scunt <trunc>lucri</trunc><pause dur="0.2"/><vocal desc="laugh" iterated="n"/> lachrimae will break wind and break stone and walk the land when kingdom come <pause dur="0.3"/> and nigger once more will scatter at her footstep <pause dur="2.6"/><shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> how she dead <pause dur="0.3"/> <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/> Rohini asked <pause dur="0.6"/> seeking a direct response from Miriam <pause dur="0.4"/> something simpler than the story of <pause dur="0.6"/> her grandpa's doing <pause dur="1.4"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> childbirth <pause dur="1.5"/> she was bearing but like the <trunc>v</trunc> child violent and kick up her stomach and kill her <pause dur="1.2"/><shift feature="voice" new="normal"/> Miriam looked hard at

Rohini sensing the girl's withdrawal from her <pause dur="0.3"/> she felt a sudden compassion for Rohini <pause dur="0.5"/> for someone who still believed in giving birth <pause dur="0.9"/> as she once did <pause dur="1.1"/> someone to love was what she wanted <pause dur="0.7"/> but she got Gladstone and Kampta instead <pause dur="0.2"/> all of them <pause dur="0.5"/> the whole plantation of niggers and coolies <pause dur="0.6"/> saw only her fat <pause dur="0.2"/> and her rudeness <pause dur="0.6"/> she Miriam was good to get drunk with <pause dur="0.4"/> to grope <pause dur="0.5"/> to curse <pause dur="0.3"/> they wanted to slap <pause dur="0.2"/> they wanted her to slap them away in mock anger <pause dur="0.3"/> they admired her strength when they push <pause dur="0.4"/> when she pushed them off and they fell on the rum shop floor <pause dur="0.4"/> a humiliation more acceptable <pause dur="0.3"/> than that suffered at Gladstone's hand <pause dur="0.3"/> she knew her status among them <pause dur="0.4"/> as someone who could roam among the master's possessions <pause dur="0.3"/> and throughout his estate <pause dur="0.3"/> with the freedom they lacked <pause dur="0.7"/> they provoked her to outrageous deeds <pause dur="0.3"/> for every show of rudeness <pause dur="0.3"/> was a sign of their own desire <pause dur="0.9"/> to begin with she accepted her status dutifully <pause dur="0.6"/> for the sake of restoring their pride <pause dur="0.3"/> she was looking after her three

abandoned brothers <pause dur="0.4"/> and she would take in the rest of the tribe she would nurture them <pause dur="0.7"/> all until they grew strong enough to survive on their own <pause dur="1.7"/> she remembered her grandpa coming home <pause dur="0.4"/> with a bruised mouth <pause dur="0.7"/> because a big word he had acquired from some gravestone <pause dur="0.3"/> had slipped out in the presence <pause dur="0.3"/> of a white man <pause dur="0.3"/> who took his learning as a sign of arrogance <pause dur="0.9"/> for weeks after <pause dur="0.3"/> her grandpa would talk like a nigger <pause dur="0.7"/> using a dozen small words at the most <pause dur="0.4"/> and mispronouncing them ignorantly <pause dur="0.9"/> only when his mouth was healed and the pain diminished <pause dur="0.4"/> would he try out the odd phrase <pause dur="0.4"/> and even so <pause dur="0.4"/> muttering to himself each morning she went into the adjoining yard where he lived <pause dur="0.4"/> with a bowl of boiled plantains for his breakfast <pause dur="0.3"/> he was once inside his hut <pause dur="0.8"/> sharpening his chisel for the day's work <pause dur="0.3"/> when the file slipped <pause dur="0.3"/> and injured his thumb he screamed some Latin <pause dur="0.3"/> involuntarily when she rushed in <pause dur="0.3"/> he raised his mouth protectively to his mouth <pause dur="0.4"/> and babbled apologies <pause dur="0.4"/> as if expecting a

white man <pause dur="0.9"/> the shame on his face afterwards was a nigger shame <pause dur="0.7"/> it was inscribed on all their faces she had always seen it <pause dur="0.4"/> even when they twisted their looks to feign anger or revengefulness <pause dur="0.3"/> the louder they slapped their hands down on the rum shop table <pause dur="0.3"/> the more clearly <pause dur="0.3"/> the scars of their humiliation showed <pause dur="1.0"/> but the burden of sustaining their pride <pause dur="0.4"/> was outweighed <pause dur="0.9"/> by shame for their cowardice <pause dur="0.6"/> only Kampta was deserving of her <pause dur="1.0"/> for all the beatings from Gladstone he came and went as he pleased he would <trunc>as</trunc> he would abscond from the plantation on a whim <pause dur="0.4"/> and disappear into the bush they were all terrified of the bush <pause dur="0.4"/> the white man had made them clear the land <pause dur="0.3"/> creating paths digging canals <pause dur="0.2"/> he gave them a space within the estate <pause dur="0.3"/> which they became habituated to <pause dur="0.5"/> each morning they left their logies <pause dur="0.3"/> and walked down certain dams to their assigned portions of canefields <pause dur="0.3"/> each evening they returned home <pause dur="0.4"/> along familiar paths <pause dur="0.3"/> new generations arose <pause dur="0.3"/> but they too moved in the same direction <pause dur="0.3"/> for the same purpose <pause dur="0.2"/> they felt secure within the design of Gladstone's estate <pause dur="0.3"/> the

boldest dared to trespass in the forbidden spaces <pause dur="0.3"/> within the estate <pause dur="0.4"/> received their lashes when caught <pause dur="0.3"/> and retreated back to their logies <pause dur="0.3"/> not even the boldest dared to test its boundaries <pause dur="0.3"/> though by entering <pause dur="0.3"/> through by entering the bush at the back of the estate <pause dur="0.9"/> # except Kampta he cast off his clothes <pause dur="0.3"/> and joined up with the Amerindian tribes living savagely on their diet of raw meats <pause dur="0.3"/> he took up bow and poisoned arrow with them <pause dur="0.5"/> hunting labba and bush hog <pause dur="0.7"/> when game was scarce he scavenged <pause dur="0.4"/> with them for <pause dur="0.2"/> skels worms rats whatever lurked in holes in the ground <pause dur="0.3"/> and when he tired of the degradation of their lives <pause dur="0.4"/> he abandoned the bush people <pause dur="0.3"/> and returned to the haven of the estate <pause dur="0.5"/> where there was rum <pause dur="0.7"/> and where the flesh of woman was to his mind <pause dur="0.4"/> less rank in smell <pause dur="0.4"/> less coarse in texture <pause dur="1.5"/> he took his punishment from Gladstone <pause dur="0.3"/> and then settled down to a period of work he entered Miriam's hut <pause dur="0.4"/> and assumed his previous space without permission <pause dur="0.3"/> he organized her brothers into a

gang <pause dur="0.3"/> making Thomas shave his head <pause dur="0.3"/> and scarify his face <pause dur="0.3"/> to show his African roots <pause dur="0.2"/> he taught them coolie words all obscene <pause dur="0.3"/> since they had lost their original language <pause dur="0.5"/> under his strict supervision they practised throwing knives at young coconuts <pause dur="0.3"/> until the blade struck first time <pause dur="0.3"/> they exercised by climbing and reclimbing trees <pause dur="0.3"/> to pick more coconuts when he felt they were prepared <pause dur="0.6"/> devoted to him in mind and body <pause dur="0.4"/> he let them loose at night <pause dur="0.3"/> to steal wood from the fence <pause dur="0.2"/> surrounding the great house <pause dur="0.3"/> or tools from the warehouse <pause dur="0.7"/> with the money from the sale less a percentage for the boys <pause dur="0.4"/> he disappeared to nigger villages along the coast to make sport <pause dur="0.7"/> Miriam was glad to see him go <pause dur="0.4"/> for she felt that she was secretly afraid of him he loved her only because she belonged to Gladstone <pause dur="1.1"/> she could tell from the way he insisted on taking her at night <pause dur="0.2"/> to the cemetery <pause dur="0.4"/> always beside her on top of old Mr Gladstone's grave <pause dur="0.7"/> he would turn her around and press her against the cold surface

deliberately <pause dur="0.6"/> so that she would cry out he took pleasure in bruising her skin against the stone <pause dur="0.3"/> she could so easily shove him off <pause dur="0.4"/> for she was stronger than him <pause dur="0.8"/> but she permitted it <pause dur="0.9"/> one night in <pause dur="0.2"/> <trunc>i</trunc> # in unfulfilled rage <pause dur="0.3"/> he would go too far <pause dur="0.4"/> and close his hands around her neck she knew it would happen <pause dur="0.4"/> for he tested her tolerance by gradual degrees <pause dur="0.5"/> and when it happened <pause dur="0.4"/> she would knock him off <trunc>t</trunc> <pause dur="0.3"/> she would knock him to the ground coarsely <pause dur="0.5"/> as she had once turned on Gladstone <pause dur="0.5"/> leaving him sprawling at the foot of his couch <pause dur="0.3"/> utterly terrified <pause dur="0.4"/> by what else she might do <pause dur="0.5"/> she had stood above Gladstone <pause dur="0.3"/> both hands behind her back <pause dur="0.5"/> as if concealing a weapon <pause dur="0.6"/> he had looked <pause dur="0.2"/> up at her <pause dur="0.4"/> not knowing whether to command her <pause dur="0.4"/> or to negotiate for his safety <pause dur="0.4"/> she had reached down <pause dur="0.2"/> plucked him up <pause dur="0.5"/> laid him on the couch again <pause dur="0.6"/> and left him there <pause dur="0.4"/> to regain his authority <pause dur="0.7"/> whilst considering <pause dur="0.4"/> the nature <pause dur="0.2"/> of her services</reading> <pause dur="1.6"/> so that was a chapter from # <pause dur="0.8"/> this Counting House book right <pause dur="1.1"/> by the way i

should say as a writer <pause dur="0.6"/> it gives you great pleasure <pause dur="0.6"/> late at night <pause dur="0.4"/> when everybody is sleeping <pause dur="0.8"/> to # <pause dur="0.5"/> to just # <pause dur="1.0"/> to really write your neuroses 'cause when you write slavery <pause dur="0.4"/> or when do you when you write anything <pause dur="0.4"/> what you're really doing is writing your own neuroses <pause dur="0.7"/> yes <pause dur="1.0"/> and then # <vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/><pause dur="0.5"/> you get paid for it <pause dur="0.8"/><vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" dur="2"/><pause dur="0.5"/> you know sometimes <pause dur="0.5"/> <trunc>pe</trunc> i was saying to a friend of mine today we were talking about writing <pause dur="0.6"/> # <pause dur="1.3"/> you need a motive to write <pause dur="1.3"/> and you have to choose the basest motive <pause dur="1.1"/> 'cause the romantics have <pause dur="0.2"/> taken up <pause dur="0.2"/> the noblest motives <pause dur="0.2"/> yes <pause dur="0.8"/> and the basest of motive is when i'm short of money <pause dur="1.7"/> and i think if i write a novel of say <pause dur="0.7"/> hundred-and-fifty pages <pause dur="0.3"/> i get a hundred pounds a page <pause dur="0.4"/> yeah fifteen-thousand pounds royalty <pause dur="0.4"/> so i'm going to go to the library and make a hundred pounds <pause dur="0.4"/> today <pause dur="1.1"/> and in a in a peculiar way <pause dur="0.8"/> especially when you're writing about slavery <vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" dur="1"/> <shift feature="voice" new="laugh"/> i <vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" dur="1"/> <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/>the commerce drives you <pause dur="1.2"/> to finish the page <pause dur="0.5"/> and then you get up <pause dur="0.5"/> and then you

think well that's my hundred pounds <pause dur="0.3"/> tax free <pause dur="0.8"/> yes <pause dur="0.5"/> and if you do two pages you think yeah <pause dur="0.2"/> that's two-hundred pounds <pause dur="1.0"/> dead easy money <pause dur="0.4"/> you know it's like Equiano <pause dur="0.7"/> # <pause dur="1.0"/> capitalizing upon himself <pause dur="0.7"/> yeah <pause dur="0.2"/> by writing himself <pause dur="1.1"/> right # <pause dur="1.9"/> you don't have to write about slavery directly <pause dur="0.9"/> obviously but everything we <pause dur="0.2"/> we write about <pause dur="0.6"/> has to do with that kind of history <pause dur="0.8"/> # this is a passage from the first novel it's about <pause dur="0.6"/> two boys <pause dur="0.4"/> one is very <pause dur="0.2"/> aggressive <pause dur="0.6"/> # <pause dur="0.9"/> one's very aggressive <pause dur="0.2"/> sexually aggressive he's about eighteen <pause dur="0.9"/> and # <pause dur="0.9"/> sexually in <trunc>adv</trunc> well not in advance of his age <pause dur="0.7"/> but # <pause dur="1.2"/> sexually <pause dur="0.3"/> # <pause dur="0.5"/> vulgar <pause dur="0.8"/> yes <pause dur="1.0"/> vulgar <pause dur="0.2"/> you know <pause dur="1.3"/> and a younger boy who was # <pause dur="0.4"/> about seventeen who's doing his A-levels <pause dur="1.1"/> and is obsessed with the idea of romance <pause dur="0.3"/> he's doing his A-levels on Troilus and Criseyde <pause dur="1.1"/> Chaucer's # Troilus and Criseyde the great <pause dur="0.3"/> C-S Lewis says the great <pause dur="0.9"/> <trunc>y</trunc> a great poem in praise of love <pause dur="0.4"/> i don't know have you read Troilus <pause dur="1.2"/> eh it's # in Chaucer <pause dur="0.3"/> yes it's a it's an enormously beautiful story in case you don't

know briefly <pause dur="0.9"/> the Trojan war is going on <pause dur="0.7"/> it's like the Titanic sinking <pause dur="0.4"/> you have a love story <pause dur="0.5"/> the love story <pause dur="0.2"/> is the prince of Troy <pause dur="1.6"/> Troilus <pause dur="0.9"/> and this beautiful <pause dur="0.6"/> woman who was a a noblewoman called Criseyde <pause dur="0.2"/> and they love each other <pause dur="0.4"/> in a very # courtly way <pause dur="0.2"/> there's no sex involved just love <pause dur="1.1"/> # though he would want it very much <pause dur="0.8"/> # <pause dur="1.1"/> and then <pause dur="0.2"/> eventually <pause dur="0.6"/> she abandons him <pause dur="0.7"/> for a man called Diomede <pause dur="0.4"/><vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/><pause dur="1.9"/><vocal desc="sigh" iterated="n"/><pause dur="1.6"/> because she's afraid <pause dur="0.6"/> that she would be killed <pause dur="0.9"/> when the Greeks win <pause dur="0.9"/> yes <pause dur="1.0"/> and because we are reading the story we know her tragedy we know the Greeks have won <pause dur="0.8"/> so she abandons him for <trunc>gri</trunc> Diomede <pause dur="0.6"/> and poor Troilus just goes out and gets himself killed <pause dur="0.5"/> gets on his horse you know all <pause dur="0.4"/> kind of all courtly <pause dur="0.7"/> and he goes and gets himself killed right <pause dur="0.5"/> so here are two boys <pause dur="0.4"/> # <pause dur="0.2"/> one called Shah who's going to a sex shop <pause dur="1.3"/> and this other young chap <pause dur="1.0"/> who is unnamed who is # kind of concerned about # <pause dur="1.1"/> about romance <pause dur="0.8"/> and although this is <pause dur="0.2"/> the the <trunc>s</trunc> <pause dur="0.3"/> the idea i suppose was that the

sex shop was a kind of <trunc>commer</trunc> the commerce of the sex shop <pause dur="0.7"/> was a kind of # <pause dur="1.0"/> and there's a thing about whores in a in a in a booth a set of booths right <pause dur="1.6"/> it's <pause dur="0.2"/> <trunc>i</trunc> in a sense it was a kind of a slave slave # <pause dur="0.3"/> slave setting <pause dur="6.6"/> yeah <pause dur="0.2"/> <vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/><pause dur="1.3"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> <reading>come with me to the hospital <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/>he urged <pause dur="0.2"/> me <pause dur="0.4"/> one day <pause dur="1.1"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> what's the matter <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/> i wanted to know <pause dur="1.0"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> man trouble <pause dur="0.4"/> <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/>he said <pause dur="0.2"/> smiling proudly <pause dur="0.6"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> that Italian slag gave me an itch <pause dur="1.2"/> i've got to get it checked out <pause dur="0.7"/> <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/>he had called round the previous week and persuaded me to accompany him to the West End <pause dur="0.4"/> where he said <pause dur="0.2"/> he had to purchase <pause dur="0.3"/> a special set of magazines <pause dur="1.1"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> now what are you reading now <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/>he asked <pause dur="0.5"/> as i put down the book <pause dur="0.3"/> and reached for my jacket <pause dur="0.4"/> i was labouring over Troilus and Criseyde <pause dur="0.3"/> reading an essay on Criseyde's character <pause dur="0.7"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> you love this rubbish eh <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/> he laughed <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/>

you'll end up an old professor wanking by the fireside <pause dur="0.6"/> putting aside your pipe and warming up your hand first</reading> <pause dur="0.5"/> i should say this is not a <pause dur="0.4"/> <shift feature="voice" new="laugh"/>autobiographical work <vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" n="ss" dur="1"/> in any <trunc>s</trunc> in any way right <vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" n="sl" dur="2"/> # </u><pause dur="0.6"/> <u who="sm0003" trans="pause"> you've said that before <vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" n="sl" dur="2"/> </u><u who="nm0001" trans="latching"> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> <reading>warming up your hand first <pause dur="0.5"/><vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" n="ss" dur="1"/> i looked at him sternly <pause dur="0.9"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> only a joke man <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/> he said <pause dur="0.2"/> with mocking reassurance <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> only a joke <pause dur="0.9"/> <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/> i sat on the bus deep in thought trying to work out why she should have betrayed him so easily <pause dur="1.2"/> why after all those pure shy exchanges the secret glances desperate kisses <pause dur="0.4"/> aching hearts poetic letters swearing honour and devotion <pause dur="0.3"/> the desire to lay down fortune and life for the sake of love <pause dur="0.8"/> why she should have abandoned him for Diomede <pause dur="0.9"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> it's not enough to say we are human <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/> i thought <pause dur="0.5"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> there must be something more to us some higher quality <pause dur="0.4"/> that we can <pause dur="0.2"/>

only possess if we willed it believed it <pause dur="1.0"/> i knew that Shah's response would have been <pause dur="0.5"/> she was a cunt <pause dur="0.6"/> that Troilus dreamed over <pause dur="0.4"/> and his imagination refashioned into a pool of pure rainwater <pause dur="0.3"/> flecks of diamond glittering from below the surface <pause dur="0.3"/> as he leaned over to admire his face <pause dur="1.0"/> but she was only a cunt-doll <pause dur="0.3"/> just another pussy <pause dur="0.5"/> salty and oozing and begging for <pause dur="0.3"/> knight Diomede's prick to lance her</reading> <pause dur="0.7"/> # <pause dur="0.2"/> Shah talks like this throughout the novel right <pause dur="0.4"/> <reading>in the end she wanted to be frigged <pause dur="0.5"/> not fondled by a gentle Troilus <pause dur="0.2"/> or smooched at by his wet words <pause dur="0.5"/> what Troilus needed was to catch a rash <pause dur="0.6"/> and be a man <pause dur="2.0"/> we got off at Piccadilly Circus</reading> <pause dur="0.3"/> oh by the way you'll have to edit all of this because he's making a film <shift feature="voice" new="laugh"/>for the University of <gap reason="name" extent="1 word"/> right <pause dur="0.5"/> <vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" dur="2"/></u><u who="om0004" trans="overlap"> <gap reason="inaudible" extent="2 secs"/> </u><u who="nm0001" trans="latching"> <vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" n="ol" dur="3"/> <reading>we got off at Piccadilly Circus <pause dur="0.4"/> headed down some back streets <pause dur="0.6"/> and came to an area littered with sex shops <pause dur="0.8"/> massage parlours and cinemas <pause dur="0.6"/> it was a

wonderland <pause dur="0.6"/> of coloured lights <pause dur="0.2"/> flicking on and off in shop windows <pause dur="0.7"/> amusement arcades packed with machines that flashed and uttered electronic sounds <pause dur="0.4"/> and large billboards of women <pause dur="0.3"/> offering their naked flesh to us <pause dur="0.4"/> the proprietors stood in the doorways <pause dur="0.2"/> beckon us <trunc>ing</trunc> beckon us <trunc>i</trunc> us in <pause dur="0.4"/> bawling out their wares of peepshow girls striptease videos toys <pause dur="0.3"/> Shah moved through this playground with ease <pause dur="0.4"/> stepping over the odd drunk sprawled across the pavement <pause dur="0.4"/> weaving between the bags of rubbish put out by restaurants <pause dur="0.3"/> winking at the girls waiting at street corners <pause dur="0.6"/> i followed raggedly <pause dur="0.2"/> squirming with self-consciousness <pause dur="0.4"/> staring ahead <pause dur="0.4"/> as if i was an innocent traveller <pause dur="0.4"/> on my way <pause dur="0.2"/> to another destination <pause dur="1.3"/><shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> come on <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/><pause dur="0.5"/> he turned round <pause dur="0.2"/> and shouted <pause dur="0.3"/> as i passed a shop window <pause dur="0.4"/> trying to catch sight of the display from the corner of my eye <pause dur="0.7"/> guilt quickened my steps <pause dur="0.2"/> and i caught up with him <pause dur="0.6"/> we turned into another street <pause dur="0.3"/> and crossed over to a sex shop <pause dur="0.4"/> Shah's local <pause dur="0.6"/> he

entered confidently <pause dur="0.4"/> not pausing to look left or right as i did in case some some someone saw us <pause dur="0.3"/> i saw nothing as i entered <pause dur="0.4"/> putting on a serious face <pause dur="0.3"/> and looking at the floor <pause dur="0.3"/> the walls at Shah <pause dur="0.4"/> anywhere but at the racks of magazine and sex toys <pause dur="0.2"/> i stayed close to him out of fright <pause dur="0.4"/> as he lined up with the other male customers <pause dur="0.3"/> and thumbed through the magazines i picked one up idly <pause dur="0.3"/> and flicked the pages <pause dur="0.3"/> again seeing nothing <pause dur="0.5"/> after a while <pause dur="0.3"/> i put it down and picked up another <pause dur="0.4"/> not wanting to appear too engrossed in one article <pause dur="0.4"/> for the proprietor was staring in our direction <pause dur="0.7"/> Shah glanced over <pause dur="0.2"/> saw the pictures <pause dur="0.3"/> and immediately <pause dur="0.2"/> took the magazine from my hand <pause dur="0.3"/> putting it back on the shelf <pause dur="0.2"/><shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> that's for queers can't you see they'll think we're a couple of poofs <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/><pause dur="0.6"/> he whispered <pause dur="0.5"/> i looked at the magazine cover and noticed the photograph of one man leaned over a bench with another man spanking him <pause dur="1.3"/> he reached for the rack and pushed another magazine in my hand

<shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> relax relax <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/> he urged under his breath <pause dur="0.4"/> as i fumbled with the pages it was full of pictures of a black woman <pause dur="0.3"/> standing imperiously over a white man <pause dur="0.3"/> lying on a sofa <pause dur="0.2"/> who was trussed up with ropes chains and blindfolds <pause dur="0.7"/> i could feel my shyness waning <pause dur="1.2"/> sight returned to my eyes five minutes had elapsed <pause dur="0.4"/> since we entered the shop <pause dur="0.3"/> and the longer we stayed the more secure i felt <pause dur="0.6"/> i put back the magazine and wandered <pause dur="0.4"/> around to the next rack without <pause dur="0.2"/> waiting for Shah to accompany Shah to accompany was crammed with mysterious devices <pause dur="0.3"/> i picked up a box of plastic spheres shaped like eggs <pause dur="0.5"/> and read the instructions <pause dur="0.4"/> marvelling at the language of the blurb <pause dur="0.6"/> which promised excitement <pause dur="0.3"/> beyond the grasp of the wildest imagination <pause dur="0.9"/> i wished i could write like that <pause dur="1.7"/> there was a peepshow at the far corner of the shop <pause dur="0.2"/> with three individual booths occupied by men <pause dur="0.3"/> their feet fidgeting against the curtain <pause dur="0.7"/> as soon as one of the

booths was free i slipped in <pause dur="0.2"/> reached into my pocket <pause dur="0.4"/> and drew out some coins <pause dur="0.8"/> i wasn't sure what to do <pause dur="0.9"/> i felt about blindly from <trunc>so</trunc> for some slot and to my great relief <pause dur="0.2"/> found one beside the aperture <pause dur="0.8"/> i waited awhile for my eyes to get accustomed to the darkness <pause dur="0.5"/> and searched the area around the slot for further instructions <pause dur="0.7"/> there were none <pause dur="0.8"/> out of desperation and fearful that there was <pause dur="1.3"/> probably a queue of impatient men behind me <pause dur="0.5"/> i slipped some coins into the slot <pause dur="0.4"/> small ones to begin with <pause dur="0.7"/> so as not to overpay <pause dur="0.7"/> but as the aperture did not open <pause dur="0.2"/> i ventured a ten pence coin <pause dur="0.9"/> then another <pause dur="0.5"/> and another <pause dur="0.2"/> still nothing happened <pause dur="0.8"/> i looked forlornly at the few coins left in my hand some twenty-five pence enough for the bus fare home and a cup of tea what to do i had already used up a small fortune <pause dur="0.3"/> there were at least four days before the next Social Security cheque arrived <pause dur="0.5"/> and in the meantime <pause dur="0.6"/> i had only two pounds at home to buy <pause dur="0.2"/> food <pause dur="0.6"/> i lingered in the booth calculating <pause dur="0.4"/> knowing that

it was better to cut my losses by leaving <pause dur="1.0"/> i pressed my ears against the steel wall <pause dur="0.5"/> hoping at least to hear <pause dur="0.4"/> what the woman behind was doing <pause dur="0.4"/> since i could not see her <pause dur="0.4"/> in a fit of desperate desire <pause dur="0.4"/> i put my remaining coins in <pause dur="0.7"/> the aperture remains <pause dur="0.2"/> obstinately closed <pause dur="0.8"/> i imagined i could hear mocking laughter from the woman behind the wall i searched frantically in my pocket <pause dur="0.3"/> found my door key and pressed its sharp edge against the aperture <pause dur="0.3"/> trying to force it open <pause dur="0.4"/> it slipped against the steel with a screeching noise i froze <pause dur="0.4"/> expecting any moment that an alarm would go off <pause dur="0.3"/> the lights would be switched on <pause dur="0.3"/> and i would be dragged out and humiliated <pause dur="0.3"/> in full view of all the customers in the shop <pause dur="1.2"/> i waited a few seconds nauseous with fright <pause dur="0.6"/> composed myself in a massive effort of will <pause dur="0.5"/> pushed aside the curtain <pause dur="0.4"/> and walked blindly towards Shah</reading> <pause dur="1.4"/> and so it goes on with this kind of # <pause dur="0.3"/> this idea of # <pause dur="4.7"/> a genuine really shock that i had when i was about nineteen <pause dur="0.6"/> and that passage is

very autobiographical <pause dur="0.7"/> a very genuine shock that i had <pause dur="0.9"/> when i first saw in England something called a sex shop <pause dur="2.4"/> and # my friend <pause dur="0.5"/> Shah figure <pause dur="1.0"/> the Shah figure took me and it was genuinely i mean God i mean we're all grown up now but <pause dur="0.9"/> you never ever thought <pause dur="0.3"/> that you can have something called sex and something called shop together <pause dur="1.1"/><vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" n="ss" dur="1"/> do you know <pause dur="0.4"/> a shop a sex shop <pause dur="0.6"/> and # i i i remember being utterly puzzled and bewildered by this # <pause dur="0.3"/> not morally but more intellectually kind of bewildered by this <pause dur="0.5"/> # it's only much later in life do you realize that that's as <pause dur="0.3"/> when i was reading out to you the Thomas Thistlewood <pause dur="0.4"/> passages that's that's Thistlewood you know <pause dur="1.0"/> # except that we are now exploring it <vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" dur="1"/><pause dur="0.4"/> # <pause dur="0.8"/> i think we'll take a little cigarette break and then i'll end up by reading some Turner <pause dur="1.0"/> yeah <pause dur="0.7"/> or i'll read one last passage and then # <pause dur="0.2"/> we'll we'll # <pause dur="0.8"/> we'll # this is from the new novel which is still in # <pause dur="1.0"/> type form <pause dur="1.7"/> and this is a <pause dur="1.1"/> this is a novel about slavery <pause dur="0.6"/> it's a novel about # well yeah

it's a novel about slavery where # <pause dur="1.6"/><vocal desc="sigh" iterated="n"/> where i wanted to do something grotesque with slavery <pause dur="1.1"/> and suggest that <pause dur="0.2"/> # <pause dur="1.0"/> and to suggest that # <pause dur="0.2"/> a kind of grotesque beauty <pause dur="1.3"/> a grotesque beauty <pause dur="2.5"/> almost a perverse beauty could could # <pause dur="1.3"/> could result <pause dur="0.5"/> from slavery very dangerous idea <pause dur="1.2"/> which you can't work <pause dur="1.1"/> ideologically <pause dur="0.3"/> or philosophically <pause dur="0.9"/> you can only do it in art where art confuses everything <pause dur="0.9"/> so art creates a kind of ambiguity <pause dur="0.5"/> whereby you could say <pause dur="0.3"/> that something beautiful emerges from slavery <pause dur="0.8"/> anyway <pause dur="0.2"/> this is a <pause dur="1.6"/> i have to unpublished so <vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" dur="1"/> so # <pause dur="0.7"/> it's still subject to # <pause dur="3.0"/> critical beatings <pause dur="2.1"/> # <pause dur="2.9"/> there <pause dur="0.3"/> there's a whole lot of <pause dur="0.3"/> dead people they're all dead actually <pause dur="0.8"/> but they come to life and they're on this slave ship <pause dur="4.3"/> and the captain is called Thistlewood i use Thistlewood <pause dur="3.7"/> but i'm just reading this passage as as more a sort of you know straight passage about slavery <pause dur="6.6"/> <reading>i lock myself in the cabin <pause dur="0.3"/> and await his coming <pause dur="1.1"/> but instead <pause dur="0.2"/> a mist seeps through hidden spaces <pause dur="0.5"/> and

forms the shape of Ellar and Tanda <pause dur="0.2"/> and Kaka <pause dur="0.5"/> and Manu <pause dur="1.0"/> Ellar's skin <pause dur="0.2"/> is flayed <pause dur="0.5"/> by a sailor's whip <pause dur="0.2"/> she is streaked with colour <pause dur="0.5"/> like a mask of desire <pause dur="0.9"/> she's gaudy <pause dur="0.2"/> with bruises <pause dur="0.7"/> she wears the swelling of her lips and cheeks <pause dur="0.3"/> like haughty ornaments <pause dur="0.8"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> it is i who marked you all with the sign of evil <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/> she announces <pause dur="0.4"/> <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/> Kaka lies how can a beggar destroy the world <pause dur="0.9"/> <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/> and as she twirls around to confront him <pause dur="0.5"/> the folds of her skin loosen and lift <pause dur="0.4"/> and dazzle <pause dur="0.5"/> with the colours of her suffering <pause dur="0.9"/> Kaka <pause dur="0.2"/> gasps of the sudden revelation of Ellar's beauty <pause dur="0.7"/> he who knew her hitherto <pause dur="0.4"/> as the plainest of women <pause dur="0.5"/> deserving of admiration <pause dur="0.4"/> only from a base creature like himself <pause dur="1.3"/> and as Ellar faces Kaka <pause dur="0.4"/> she too is astonished by his image <pause dur="0.6"/> as if the comely man she sought all her life had suddenly materialized <pause dur="0.8"/> she lowers her eyes overcome by shyness <pause dur="0.2"/> speech abandons her <pause dur="0.8"/> Kaka's head <pause dur="0.4"/> is a palette of colours <pause dur="0.8"/> before his head <pause dur="0.3"/> shone monotonously monotonously like a constant

sun <pause dur="0.5"/> tiring to look at <pause dur="0.6"/> but Captain Thistlewood had banged his fist into it <pause dur="0.4"/> obliterating the light <pause dur="0.4"/> in place of an ordinary roundness <pause dur="0.4"/> his head was indented in places <pause dur="0.4"/> small pockets bearing unfamiliar liquids <pause dur="0.4"/> raven black <pause dur="0.5"/> the pink of coral <pause dur="0.4"/> rouge of crab-back <pause dur="0.6"/> bubbling up through hidden spaces <pause dur="0.4"/> rubies of congealed blood <pause dur="0.3"/> hang from his ears <pause dur="0.4"/> here and there glimpses of clean white bone <pause dur="0.4"/> exposed by the Captain's cuff <pause dur="0.5"/> subdue the viewer's eye <pause dur="0.6"/> necessary foil <pause dur="0.3"/> to the decorative richness <pause dur="0.2"/> which threatens to overwhelm <pause dur="0.9"/> Ellar <pause dur="0.3"/> unable to face him <pause dur="0.4"/> lest he is an illusion of beauty <pause dur="0.5"/> turns to Manu for guidance</reading> <pause dur="1.2"/> Manu is the kind of magician of the village <reading>Manu opens his mouth <pause dur="0.6"/> but he has swallowed too much sea water <pause dur="0.2"/> to speak <pause dur="0.9"/> in his desperation to reach the shores of Africa</reading> <pause dur="0.4"/> Manu jumps overboard <pause dur="0.3"/> <reading>in his desperation to reach the shores of Africa <pause dur="0.3"/> he drank as much sea as he could <pause dur="0.3"/> to shorten the distance <pause dur="0.6"/> instead of words <pause dur="0.2"/> fish tumble out <pause dur="0.6"/> gorgeous and bizarre <pause dur="0.4"/> and dreadful in shape

and hue <pause dur="0.6"/> and mingling among the catch <pause dur="0.3"/> worms sea snakes <pause dur="0.2"/> sponges <pause dur="0.4"/> and other nameless life <pause dur="0.5"/> the new nameless and exotic world <pause dur="0.3"/> he carries in his belly <pause dur="0.5"/> spills out onto the floor <pause dur="0.4"/> confronting them <pause dur="0.3"/> with a spectacle <pause dur="0.2"/> of their own transformation <pause dur="1.0"/> Manu himself stares at what lies before him <pause dur="0.3"/> as he would stare as it <pause dur="0.2"/> at his magical pebbles <pause dur="0.5"/> but out of stupefaction <pause dur="0.3"/> not wisdom <pause dur="0.7"/> each secretly <pause dur="0.3"/> longs for the familiarity <pause dur="0.4"/> of their ordinariness <pause dur="0.5"/> instead of the artifice <pause dur="0.5"/> that Captain Thistlewood <pause dur="0.2"/> had made of their lives <pause dur="0.4"/> hence Tanda's sudden cry and agitated recognition <pause dur="0.3"/> of a particular fish <shift feature="voice" new="mimicking an other's voice"/>look <pause dur="0.2"/> look a tabla <shift feature="voice" new="normal"/><pause dur="0.4"/> he gestures <pause dur="0.9"/> as a flat <pause dur="0.2"/> dull looking fish <pause dur="0.4"/> then another <pause dur="0.3"/> slithers from Manu's mouth <pause dur="0.4"/> and falls onto the floor <pause dur="0.9"/> we all stare at the tabla <pause dur="0.6"/> a common river fish <pause dur="0.4"/> which often swelled the net of Tanda's wife <pause dur="0.4"/> and the realization <pause dur="0.2"/> that Manu had reached Africa <pause dur="1.2"/> makes makes us weep <pause dur="1.0"/> he had swum and swum <pause dur="0.4"/> swallowing up the distance <pause dur="0.4"/> until he reached the mouth of the <trunc>rid</trunc> river <pause dur="0.4"/> <trunc>lea</trunc> leading to our village <pause dur="0.5"/>

once more we turn to him for guidance <pause dur="0.5"/> wanting news of our village <pause dur="0.6"/> we want him to prophesy <pause dur="0.2"/> but backwards <pause dur="0.3"/> into the past <pause dur="0.5"/> into a time <pause dur="0.4"/> when we were still whole <pause dur="0.5"/> a time before Kaka's lies <pause dur="0.3"/> or Ellar's blood curse <pause dur="0.3"/> or my sinning with Saba <pause dur="0.3"/> or whatever it was that caused us <pause dur="0.3"/> to be murdered by the white man <pause dur="1.7"/> our nostalgia conjures forth <pause dur="0.2"/> other villagers from the mist <pause dur="0.4"/> they crowd into Captain Thistlewood's cabin <pause dur="0.3"/> swarming around Manu <pause dur="0.4"/> looking upon him with renewed reverence <pause dur="0.3"/> for his epic effort <pause dur="0.2"/> to reach home <pause dur="0.7"/> he who once failed <pause dur="0.4"/> to foretell our loss <pause dur="0.5"/> had found the saving trail <pause dur="0.3"/> back to our home <pause dur="0.4"/> jubilation breaks out in <pause dur="0.3"/> Captain Thistlewood <pause dur="0.4"/> restricted and Christian cabin <pause dur="0.7"/> Baju's nostrils <pause dur="0.3"/> clogged with

dirt from the assault of sailors <pause dur="0.3"/> clears mysteriously <pause dur="0.6"/> she raises her nose <pause dur="0.2"/> to the air <pause dur="0.4"/> and sniffs <pause dur="0.2"/> dawn mushrooms <pause dur="0.3"/> and the flowers' first opening <pause dur="0.4"/> and the breath of a newly dropped calf <pause dur="0.7"/> the closed air of the cabin <pause dur="0.4"/> are scented with goat droppings <pause dur="0.3"/> of the raw earth <pause dur="0.3"/> of a freshly dug trench <pause dur="0.5"/> she detects shrimps peeled <pause dur="0.3"/> and ready to be fried <pause dur="0.4"/> fish hooked on twigs <pause dur="0.3"/> waiting to be smoked <pause dur="0.3"/> dough that soon will be sugared and baked <pause dur="0.3"/> and all the other preparations <pause dur="0.3"/> that mark the beginning of day <pause dur="1.2"/> and the smells and tastes of our village <pause dur="0.3"/> so revive our senses <pause dur="0.3"/> that speech returns <pause dur="0.5"/> not in the grunting of white man <pause dur="0.5"/> but in the melody <pause dur="0.4"/> of our own language</reading> <pause dur="1.0"/> good <pause dur="2.2"/> cigarette break now </u><gap reason="break in recording" extent="uncertain"/> <u who="nm0001" trans="pause">

# <pause dur="0.3"/> <vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/><pause dur="1.9"/> yeah <pause dur="1.2"/> all right i'll end up by # <pause dur="3.1"/> by reading <pause dur="0.2"/> some passages <pause dur="1.0"/> from this long poem called Turner <pause dur="2.3"/> which i published i think in # <pause dur="0.2"/> ninety-four <pause dur="0.4"/> which took me about five years to write <pause dur="0.8"/> about nineteen-ninety to about nineteen ninety-three <pause dur="1.3"/> four years yeah <pause dur="0.9"/> because # unlike prose which which you <unclear>well</unclear> prose you have to work at it # you know you have to nag it <pause dur="0.9"/> you have to work at it <pause dur="0.6"/> # <pause dur="0.8"/> on a regular basis <pause dur="1.2"/> because there's a kind of plot <pause dur="0.7"/> therefore the plot has to have a <pause dur="0.2"/> momentum <pause dur="0.8"/> therefore the momentum has to have a conclusion <pause dur="0.7"/> so in a sense writing prose <pause dur="0.4"/> is easier <pause dur="1.5"/> in terms of # <pause dur="1.3"/> discernible parameters <pause dur="1.2"/> and boundaries than # than writing poetry so this took me a long time to write <pause dur="0.8"/> # <pause dur="0.5"/> and # it's it's a poem called Turner <pause dur="0.6"/> by the way before i <trunc>mentio</trunc> before i return i should like to welcome my accountant <pause dur="0.2"/> <gap reason="name" extent="2 words"/> <pause dur="1.0"/> the chap with a suit <pause dur="1.3"/><vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" n="ss" dur="1"/> i was talking about royalties earlier today <pause dur="0.5"/> well he makes sure that

i don't pay too much tax on them <pause dur="0.8"/> and # <vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" dur="1"/><pause dur="0.4"/> well welcome <gap reason="name" extent="1 word"/> yes <pause dur="0.5"/> i mean it's not very often you do a reading and your accountant turns up right <vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" dur="3"/> he's been my my accountant for what five years now <pause dur="0.8"/> yeah <pause dur="0.2"/> <gap reason="name" extent="1 word"/> the taxman <pause dur="0.4"/> # <pause dur="0.9"/> we're being antisocial not paying our taxes <pause dur="0.5"/> anyway # <pause dur="0.2"/> Turner is not about slavery <pause dur="0.4"/> Turner is about Turner this <trunc>po</trunc> this this this <pause dur="0.2"/> this poem is about Turner <pause dur="0.8"/> it's about <pause dur="1.0"/> it's about # <pause dur="0.6"/> Turner's painting and slavery <pause dur="0.5"/> rather than <pause dur="0.4"/> me writing on slavery <pause dur="1.7"/> and # basically <pause dur="0.4"/> in eighteen-thirty # <pause dur="1.5"/> thirty eighteen-forty <pause dur="1.0"/> eighteen-forty <pause dur="0.7"/> Turner <pause dur="0.6"/> and he was obviously painting this painting for many years <pause dur="0.6"/> # <pause dur="0.2"/> created <pause dur="0.2"/> his masterpiece <pause dur="2.2"/> generally acknowledged to be the greatest Turner <pause dur="1.0"/> Ruskin <pause dur="0.3"/> Turner's apologist and critic said this was the greatest painting <pause dur="0.5"/> in England <pause dur="0.5"/> and it's the greatest Turner the subject of which was the <pause dur="0.7"/> the # throwing overboard of slaves <pause dur="0.4"/> which i don't have to go into but you know what that <pause dur="0.2"/> what that involved right <pause dur="0.5"/> so # <pause dur="0.7"/> # <pause dur="0.2"/> and it's based on a case in the seventeen-eighties

i think <pause dur="0.3"/> <gap reason="inaudible" extent="1 sec"/> about this the Zong case where <pause dur="0.5"/> all of the slaves was thrown overboard <pause dur="0.7"/> # and their insurance value was reclaimed <pause dur="0.4"/> # <pause dur="1.5"/> and of course i can i think i'm right in saying that <pause dur="0.5"/> a whole lot of slaves <pause dur="0.5"/> African enslaved people <pause dur="0.6"/> many more died probably <pause dur="0.8"/> # after the abolition of slavery <pause dur="0.9"/> than during well perhaps you can't count it but you know because it was illegal <pause dur="0.6"/> and you got a pirate ship and a whole lot of slaves going to Hispaniola <pause dur="0.6"/> and a British <trunc>frig</trunc> frigates are chasing you down <pause dur="0.3"/> you just chuck your cargo right it's like <pause dur="0.2"/> dumping cocaine <pause dur="0.5"/> basically right <pause dur="0.9"/> so # <pause dur="0.5"/> anyway Turner <pause dur="0.4"/> did this fantastic painting <pause dur="0.6"/> i mean a <trunc>m</trunc> <pause dur="0.2"/> big i mean it's as big as # it's big <pause dur="0.2"/> yeah <pause dur="0.7"/> and in the middle of it <pause dur="0.2"/> is a ship <pause dur="1.3"/> # <pause dur="0.4"/> caught in a storm <pause dur="0.7"/> and you know that Turner is brilliant at storms right so the ship is caught in a storm it's caught between the immensities of sea and sky <pause dur="0.8"/> and and the <trunc>s</trunc> the sky is absolutely <pause dur="0.4"/> livid and and # <pause dur="0.2"/> purple and <pause dur="0.7"/> you know crimson <pause dur="1.0"/> bloody sky there's a

bloody sea <pause dur="0.4"/> right <pause dur="0.8"/> it's enormously <pause dur="0.2"/> passionate and # <pause dur="0.6"/> at the time it was called the sublime style <pause dur="0.2"/> yeah <pause dur="0.4"/> but it's an enormously passionate # storm <pause dur="1.0"/> so the sea is caught the the ship is caught in a storm in the mid-ground <pause dur="1.4"/> in the foreground <pause dur="0.7"/> there are these two little black legs peeping out of the water <pause dur="1.1"/> # <vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/><pause dur="0.8"/> very important footnotes in British history <pause dur="1.0"/> yeah <pause dur="0.9"/> perhaps <pause dur="0.8"/> some of the most important footnotes in British history but they're <pause dur="0.3"/> they're very much footnotes in the painting <pause dur="0.7"/> couple of black legs sticking out <pause dur="0.2"/> of the water <pause dur="1.0"/> and there's some <pause dur="0.2"/> some kind of <pause dur="0.2"/> kind of a <pause dur="1.4"/> neo-Gothic <pause dur="0.9"/> fish coming to gobble them up <pause dur="0.8"/> now those black legs are the Africans who drowned drowned head first right <pause dur="0.8"/> or in the painting they're drowned head first all i do really <pause dur="0.8"/> was # <pause dur="0.5"/> you know i just wanted to write a <pause dur="0.4"/> a poem about this painting <pause dur="0.7"/> was to awaken the dead African <pause dur="1.2"/><vocal desc="clears throat" iterated="n"/><pause dur="2.7"/> and # <pause dur="1.4"/> to give him a longing <pause dur="0.9"/> for <pause dur="1.6"/> # <pause dur="0.5"/> land <pause dur="0.9"/> memory <pause dur="1.0"/> # land

family <pause dur="0.5"/> # <pause dur="3.2"/> # so <pause dur="0.2"/> basically what i do is <pause dur="0.8"/> in a sense it's like Pincher Martin <pause dur="0.2"/> you know that novel <pause dur="0.6"/> by # <pause dur="1.2"/> Golding <pause dur="0.8"/> where a dead person is awakened <pause dur="1.0"/> so <pause dur="0.5"/> i do a Pincher Martin with the African <pause dur="1.3"/> he's awakened <pause dur="0.4"/> he's been dead for about three-hundred years <pause dur="0.6"/> no he's been dead for about # eighteen-forty to today <pause dur="0.4"/> hundred-and-fifty years <pause dur="0.5"/> so he's now awakened <pause dur="0.8"/> so <pause dur="0.3"/> when you've been dead for a hundred-and-fifty years <pause dur="0.6"/> what do you remember what do you long for <pause dur="0.8"/> you know in this in this poem he doesn't he doesn't even have language he <pause dur="0.4"/> he he tries to recover a sense of the language <pause dur="1.2"/> after a while he even doubts he's a man <pause dur="1.0"/> he's been dead for so long <pause dur="0.7"/> and the sea has transformed him <pause dur="1.0"/> so halfway through the poem he thinks perhaps he's a woman <pause dur="0.7"/><vocal desc="laugh" iterated="n"/><pause dur="1.0"/> # <pause dur="0.4"/> so these are passages in which # <pause dur="0.7"/> this is the first passage is <pause dur="0.7"/> where he awakens as it were <pause dur="1.1"/> # the other part of the poem is that a dead <pause dur="0.4"/> and a # is it dead it's # aborted no not <trunc>abor</trunc> stillborn a stillborn <pause dur="0.6"/> a stillborn child <pause dur="1.0"/> is thrown overboard as well <pause dur="0.8"/> not in the

Turner painting <pause dur="0.2"/> but in another painting <pause dur="0.3"/> in another ship <pause dur="0.9"/> and another century <pause dur="0.7"/> and the whole poem is about the movement of this stillborn child <pause dur="0.4"/> towards this awakened African <pause dur="1.4"/> and # explores the possibility of some kind of connection across time across paintings <pause dur="0.8"/> # <pause dur="0.3"/> between a possibility of a relationship between this # <pause dur="0.7"/> stillborn child <pause dur="0.3"/> and this # <pause dur="0.3"/> awakened dead African <pause dur="0.5"/> so obviously it's a bloody crazy poem <pause dur="0.7"/> and what i really wanted to do was not to write about slavery <pause dur="0.6"/> 'cause you see to write about slavery <pause dur="1.3"/> is to evoke guilt <pause dur="0.6"/> automatically <pause dur="1.0"/> yeah <pause dur="0.6"/> it's like to write about the Holocaust <pause dur="0.4"/> it's automatically <pause dur="0.8"/> if i if i wrote about the Holocaust and did a reading in Germany <pause dur="1.1"/> even if i'm writing shit <pause dur="0.9"/> yeah <pause dur="0.9"/> the Germans will listen silently <pause dur="0.9"/> yeah <pause dur="0.6"/> so because i live in the West <pause dur="1.1"/> i didn't really want to write about slavery <pause dur="0.9"/> because you <pause dur="0.2"/> <trunc>y</trunc> <pause dur="0.3"/> because your writing can suffer <pause dur="0.8"/> you know <pause dur="0.9"/> because people don't <trunc>e</trunc> <pause dur="0.3"/> people don't impose a set of literary criteria <pause dur="0.4"/> that they might impose on say # <pause dur="1.5"/> i

can't even think of an English writer <pause dur="0.2"/> but you know an English writer <pause dur="0.3"/> yeah <pause dur="0.6"/> and i didn't want to write <pause dur="0.5"/> slavery in a in a in a direct way that's why i wrote about the painting <pause dur="0.6"/> anyway this is # <pause dur="1.7"/> this is where he kind of misses his mother or tries to recreate <pause dur="0.5"/> a sense of mother <pause dur="2.0"/> so i'll read about three or four passages and <pause dur="0.4"/> and as i said the idea was to write about the sea i thought what i will do instead of writing about slavery <pause dur="0.4"/> write about the sea because the sea <pause dur="0.5"/> in the same way as the <pause dur="0.2"/> stories collide into each other <pause dur="0.4"/> in in the poem so <pause dur="0.3"/> you know that that was meant to reflect the <pause dur="0.5"/> the kind of the way the sea <pause dur="0.4"/> moves <pause dur="0.3"/> things crashing into <pause dur="0.8"/> crashing into each other <pause dur="1.0"/> <reading>the sea has brought me tribute from many lands <pause dur="0.8"/> chests of silver <pause dur="0.7"/> barrels of tobacco <pause dur="0.5"/> sugarloaves <pause dur="0.5"/> swords with gleaming handles <pause dur="0.4"/> crucifixes set in pearls which <pause dur="0.3"/> marvelled at <pause dur="0.5"/> but with the years grown rusty and mouldy <pause dur="0.4"/> abandoned <pause dur="0.4"/> cheap and counterfeit goods <pause dur="0.5"/> the sea has mocked and beggared me for centuries <pause dur="0.6"/>

except for scrolls in different letterings <pause dur="0.4"/> which before they dissolve <pause dur="0.6"/> i decipher as best i can <pause dur="1.0"/> these and the babbling of dying sailors <pause dur="0.4"/> are my means to languages <pause dur="0.3"/> and the wisdom of other tribes <pause dur="0.7"/> now the sea has delivered a child <pause dur="0.4"/> sought from the moon <pause dur="0.3"/> in years of courtship <pause dur="0.6"/> when only the light from that silent full eye saw me <pause dur="0.4"/> whilst many ships passed by indifferently <pause dur="0.2"/> she hides behind a veil <pause dur="0.3"/> like the brides of our village <pause dur="0.3"/> but watches me <pause dur="0.2"/> in loneliness and grief <pause dur="0.3"/> for that vast space <pause dur="0.3"/> that still carries my whisper to her ears <pause dur="0.3"/> vaster than the circumference of the sea <pause dur="0.4"/> that so swiftly drowned my early cries in its unending roar <pause dur="0.3"/> there is no land in sight <pause dur="0.3"/> no voice carries from that land <pause dur="0.4"/> my mother does not answer <pause dur="0.3"/> i cannot hear her calling <pause dur="0.3"/> as she did when i dragged myself to the bank of the pond <pause dur="0.4"/> my head a pool and fountain of blood <pause dur="0.4"/> and she runs to me screaming <pause dur="0.5"/> plucks me up with huge hands <pause dur="0.3"/> lays me down on land <pause dur="0.4"/> as the sea promised in early days <pause dur="0.4"/> clasped and pitched me

sideways <pause dur="0.3"/> in the direction of our village <pause dur="0.3"/> my dazed mind thought <pause dur="0.4"/> across a distance big beyond even Turner's grasp <pause dur="0.8"/> he sketches endless numbers in his book <pause dur="0.5"/> face wrinkled in concentration <pause dur="0.3"/> like an old seal's mouth <pause dur="0.3"/> brooding in crevices of ice for fish <pause dur="0.3"/> like my father counting beads at the end of each day <pause dur="0.4"/> reckoning which calf was left abandoned in the savannah <pause dur="0.4"/> lost from the herd <pause dur="0.3"/> eaten by wild beasts <pause dur="0.3"/> he checks that we are parcelled in equal lots <pause dur="0.3"/> men divided from women <pause dur="0.3"/> chained in fours <pause dur="0.3"/> and children subtracted from mothers <pause dur="0.4"/> when all things tally <pause dur="0.3"/> he snaps the book shut <pause dur="0.5"/> his creased mouth unfolding in a smile <pause dur="0.3"/> as when <pause dur="0.3"/> entering his cabin <pause dur="0.3"/> mind heavy with care <pause dur="0.4"/> breeding and multiplying percentages <pause dur="0.3"/> he beholds a boy <pause dur="0.2"/> dishevelled in his bed <pause dur="0.3"/> for months it seemed to speed me to a spot <pause dur="0.3"/> where my mother waited <pause dur="0.4"/> wringing her hands <pause dur="0.3"/> until i woke to find <pause dur="0.3"/> only sea <pause dur="1.1"/> months became years <pause dur="0.3"/> and i forgot the face of my mother <pause dur="0.3"/> the plaid cloth tied around her neck <pause dur="0.5"/> the scars on her forehead <pause dur="0.3"/> the silver nose which i

tugged <pause dur="0.2"/> made her start <pause dur="0.3"/> nearly rolling me from her lap <pause dur="0.4"/> but catching me in time <pause dur="0.3"/> and when i cried out in panic of falling <pause dur="0.3"/> pinned me tightly <pause dur="0.3"/> always to her bosom <pause dur="0.8"/> now i am loosed into the sea <pause dur="0.4"/> i no longer call <pause dur="0.3"/> i have even forgotten the words <pause dur="0.5"/> only the moon remains <pause dur="0.4"/> watching and loving <pause dur="0.5"/> across a vast space</reading> <pause dur="1.3"/> and then there's these <pause dur="0.3"/> other passages are about the moon <pause dur="0.3"/> <reading>sometimes <pause dur="0.3"/> half her face grows dark <pause dur="0.3"/> she sulks impatient of my arms <pause dur="0.3"/> all my entreaties grappled in a storm of rain <pause dur="0.4"/> nothing will soothe her then <pause dur="0.4"/> she cries herself to sleep <pause dur="0.5"/> or curves like a sickle that will wake the sky's throat <pause dur="0.5"/> or curls her lip in scorn of me a mere unborn with insufficient cowrie shells <pause dur="0.3"/> when others men <pause dur="0.2"/> substantial <pause dur="0.5"/> bespeak beseech her favours <pause dur="0.3"/> with necklaces of coloured glass to loop around her breasts <pause dur="0.3"/> men of presence <pause dur="0.4"/> neither ghosts nor portent of a past or future life <pause dur="0.4"/> such as i am <pause dur="0.3"/> now <pause dur="0.9"/> sometimes her cheeks are puffed <pause dur="0.5"/> her face lopsided <pause dur="0.4"/> and i think i must have blasted her in some

lover's rage <pause dur="0.4"/> my hand two centuries and more lifeless <pause dur="0.4"/> clenched in quick hate <pause dur="0.4"/> reached endlessly to bruise her face <pause dur="0.4"/> she disappears behind clouds for many nights a sudden thought writhes <pause dur="0.4"/> she might be dead <pause dur="0.7"/> i might never subject her again <pause dur="2.1"/> it was not her going <pause dur="0.2"/> but the manner of it <pause dur="1.0"/> like Turner's hand gripping my neck <pause dur="0.6"/> pushing me towards the edge <pause dur="0.3"/> that no noise comes from my mouth <pause dur="0.5"/> no lamentation as i fall towards the sea <pause dur="0.5"/> my breath <pause dur="0.2"/> held in shock until the waters quell me <pause dur="1.0"/> struggle came only after death <pause dur="0.5"/> the flush of betrayal <pause dur="0.3"/> and hate <pause dur="0.3"/> hardening my body like cork <pause dur="0.7"/> buoying me when i should have sunk and come to rest in the sea's bed <pause dur="0.4"/> among the dregs of creatures without names <pause dur="0.3"/> which roamed these waters before human birth <pause dur="0.4"/> jaws that gulped in shoals <pause dur="0.3"/> demons of the universe <pause dur="0.3"/> now grin like clowns <pause dur="0.3"/> tiny fish <pause dur="0.3"/> dart between the canyons of their teeth <pause dur="0.3"/> i should have sunk to these depths <pause dur="0.3"/> where terror <pause dur="0.4"/> is transformed into comedy <pause dur="0.7"/> where the sea <pause dur="0.4"/> with an undertaker's touch <pause dur="0.4"/> soothes and erases pain <pause dur="0.2"/>

from the faces of drowned sailors <pause dur="0.3"/> unpastes flesh from bone <pause dur="0.4"/> with all its scars <pause dur="0.4"/> boils <pause dur="0.2"/> stubble <pause dur="0.4"/> marks of debauchery <pause dur="1.6"/> i gather it in with dead arms <pause dur="0.3"/> like harvest time <pause dur="0.9"/> we trooped into the fields at first light <pause dur="0.6"/> the lame the hungry and frail <pause dur="0.4"/> young men snorting like oxen <pause dur="0.6"/> women trailing stiff cold children through mist <pause dur="0.3"/> that seeps from strange wounds in the land <pause dur="0.3"/> we float like ghosts to fields of corn <pause dur="0.4"/> all day i am a small boy <pause dur="0.3"/> nibbling at whatever grain falls from my <trunc>bro</trunc> mother's breast <pause dur="0.3"/> as she bends and weaves before the crop <pause dur="0.5"/> hugging a huge bundle of cobs to her body <pause dur="0.4"/> which flames in the sun <pause dur="0.4"/> which blinds me as i look up from her skirt <pause dur="0.4"/> which makes me reach like a drowning man gropes at the white crest of waves <pause dur="0.3"/> thinking it rope <pause dur="0.8"/> i can no longer see her face in the blackness <pause dur="0.3"/> the sun has reaped my eyes <pause dur="0.3"/> i struggle to find her in the blackness <pause dur="0.3"/> of the bottom of the sea <pause dur="0.5"/> where the bright sunken treasure <pause dur="0.4"/> barely cleeps keeps its glow</reading> <pause dur="1.8"/> so that was part of that kind of search for <pause dur="0.6"/>

family and # <pause dur="1.3"/> meaning and <pause dur="0.4"/> trying to connect up to the cosmos again in terms of <pause dur="1.0"/> kind of <pause dur="0.2"/> you know the romantic thing about the love for the moon <pause dur="0.4"/> and so the poem <pause dur="0.2"/> continues over about God knows how many pages <pause dur="0.5"/> until it reaches a climax <pause dur="0.6"/> # <pause dur="2.0"/> and i've always wanted to write something <pause dur="0.3"/> utterly <pause dur="0.2"/> utterly bleak <pause dur="4.4"/> you see <pause dur="1.2"/> i grew up in the eighteenth century which was the period of slavery <pause dur="2.2"/> and the greatest poetry of the eighteenth century <pause dur="0.6"/> is utterly <pause dur="0.5"/> utterly bleak <pause dur="1.2"/> the eighteenth century had a kind of eschatological imagination <pause dur="1.4"/> you know <pause dur="0.6"/> Hogarth's last print <pause dur="0.5"/> is called Bathos <pause dur="1.2"/> where the whole sun has collapsed <pause dur="0.6"/> the whole world has collapsed art has collapsed <pause dur="0.6"/> they really had a sense of <pause dur="0.2"/> utter collapse in the eighteenth century <pause dur="0.3"/> or early in the century you had Daniel Defoe's # <pause dur="0.3"/> Journal of the Plague Year <pause dur="0.9"/> where Defoe <pause dur="0.6"/> imagines <pause dur="0.7"/> that London is crumbling because of the plague <pause dur="0.4"/> i think why they really had this kind of <pause dur="0.4"/> eschatological imagination <pause dur="0.4"/> was because there was a period of <trunc>bourg</trunc> the

rise of the bourgeoisie <pause dur="1.3"/> protection of property trade <pause dur="0.7"/> you know perhaps they possessed <pause dur="0.6"/> and so therefore they <pause dur="0.3"/> the sense of loss in possession <pause dur="0.2"/> was profound <pause dur="0.4"/> anyway i was very influenced by the end of # <pause dur="0.5"/> The Dunciad <pause dur="0.6"/> this poem by <trunc>bla</trunc> # Pope <pause dur="1.7"/> which ends in a way that you just have to you either have to jump out of the window <pause dur="0.5"/> or you just have to kind of you know just hold your breath right <pause dur="0.3"/> you know <pause dur="0.2"/> <reading>thy hand <pause dur="0.8"/> great anarch <pause dur="1.0"/> makes the curtain fall</reading> <pause dur="0.3"/> or it may be lets <pause dur="0.3"/> <reading>thy hand great anarch <pause dur="0.8"/> lets the curson curtain fall</reading> <pause dur="1.3"/> let me say that again <pause dur="0.8"/> anarch A-N-A-R-C-H right <pause dur="0.4"/> <reading>thy hand great anarch <pause dur="0.8"/> lets the curtain fall <pause dur="0.9"/> and universal darkness <pause dur="0.5"/> buries <pause dur="0.3"/> all</reading> <pause dur="0.8"/><vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" dur="2"/><pause dur="0.5"/> i mean Jesus after that what do you do right <pause dur="0.7"/><vocal desc="laughter" iterated="y" n="sl" dur="1"/> # what do you do <pause dur="0.4"/> that's the end of The Dunciad the great poem of the eighteenth century <pause dur="0.8"/> yeah <pause dur="2.8"/> right so i thought i'd have a go at being bleak <pause dur="0.3"/> huh <pause dur="0.8"/> so here is # <pause dur="2.9"/> here is the # <pause dur="1.2"/> here are the last bits <pause dur="0.7"/> where he <pause dur="0.4"/> he then makes up two

sisters this awakened # African <pause dur="0.7"/> who by the way <pause dur="0.4"/> in the middle of the poem becomes an Indian <pause dur="0.9"/> yeah <pause dur="1.5"/> # <pause dur="2.5"/> 'cause Manu <pause dur="1.2"/> Manu his name <pause dur="0.3"/> Manu is a god <pause dur="0.5"/> in Indian mythology <pause dur="1.0"/> # you're a Hindu you probably know this <pause dur="1.1"/> Manu is the god of the flood in Manu is the Noah <pause dur="0.6"/> of Hindu mythology isn't he <pause dur="0.9"/> <reading>the jouti lay in different hands in different colours <pause dur="0.3"/> we stared bleakly at them <pause dur="0.3"/> and looked to Manu for guidance <pause dur="0.5"/> but he gave no instruction <pause dur="0.6"/> except <pause dur="0.6"/> and his voice gathered rage and unhappiness <pause dur="0.5"/> that in the future time <pause dur="0.4"/> each must learn to live <pause dur="0.3"/> beadless <pause dur="0.2"/> in a foreign land <pause dur="0.5"/> or perish <pause dur="0.7"/> or each must learn to make new jouti <pause dur="0.7"/> arrange them by instinct imagination study <pause dur="0.5"/> and arbitrary choice <pause dur="0.4"/> into a pattern <pause dur="0.3"/> pleasing to the self <pause dur="0.5"/> and to others of the scattered tribe <pause dur="0.6"/> or perish <pause dur="0.9"/> each will be barren of ancestral memory <pause dur="1.0"/> but each endowed richly <pause dur="0.2"/> with such emptiness <pause dur="0.5"/> from which to dream <pause dur="0.4"/> surmise <pause dur="0.4"/> invent <pause dur="0.8"/> immortalize though each will wear different coloured beads <pause dur="0.4"/> each will be Manu <pause dur="0.8"/> the source <pause dur="0.3"/> and future <pause dur="0.4"/> chronicles <pause dur="0.3"/> of our

tribe <pause dur="1.6"/> the first of my sisters <pause dur="0.4"/> stout <pause dur="0.4"/> extravagant <pause dur="0.6"/> i will name <pause dur="0.3"/> Rima <pause dur="1.1"/> even as a child she tempts fate <pause dur="0.5"/> tempts the hand of my father blossoming at her face <pause dur="0.4"/> but she will still deny the sin <pause dur="0.4"/> and multiply his faith in her <pause dur="0.3"/> the more she doubts the more convinced he grows of her purity <pause dur="0.8"/> afterwards she bites into his reparation of jhal cakes with playful teeth <pause dur="0.3"/> she will steal my spears my warriors my fortifications <pause dur="0.3"/> she will interrupt the most careful of ambushes with a stomp of her feet <pause dur="0.7"/> mashing down escarpments <pause dur="0.4"/> gouging deep holes in the battleground with her unhewn toenail <pause dur="0.4"/> i report her to my mother <pause dur="0.4"/> who slaps me instead <pause dur="0.3"/> for playing at killing <pause dur="0.9"/> nor will my father heed <pause dur="0.5"/> but turns his face to the earth <pause dur="0.3"/> and hoes like a beaten man <pause dur="0.8"/> he's been vanquished by her freedom <pause dur="0.9"/> she is wayward <pause dur="0.4"/> and sucks her teeth <pause dur="0.5"/> talks above the voices of the elders <pause dur="0.3"/> will not shield her eyes before them <pause dur="0.7"/> when she grows up <pause dur="0.4"/> she will love women <pause dur="0.4"/> more fiercely than men <pause dur="0.8"/> and die at childbirth <pause dur="0.4"/> with her husband fanning her <pause dur="0.4"/>

and marvelling at the deed <pause dur="0.5"/> the village idiot whom she married out of jest and spite <pause dur="0.3"/> she is all the valour and anguish of our tribe <pause dur="0.4"/> my beloved <pause dur="0.7"/> and we bury her in a space <pause dur="0.3"/> kept only for those who have uttered peculiarly <pause dur="0.6"/> those who have guarded our faith by prophecy <pause dur="0.4"/> who have called out in the voices of the hunter or betrayer <pause dur="0.4"/> so we could recognize before <pause dur="0.2"/> be <pause dur="0.2"/> we could recognize them beforehand <pause dur="0.7"/> and the women will come bearing stones <pause dur="0.3"/> each one placed on her grave <pause dur="0.3"/> a wish <pause dur="0.2"/> for her protection against kidnapping <pause dur="0.4"/> rape <pause dur="0.6"/> pregnancy beatings men <pause dur="0.5"/> all men <pause dur="0.6"/> Turner <pause dur="2.2"/> the first of my sisters i have named Rima <pause dur="1.3"/> i endow her with a clear voice <pause dur="0.6"/> fingers that coax melody from the crudest instrument <pause dur="0.8"/> melody that brings tears from men <pause dur="0.4"/> even Turner <pause dur="0.4"/> who sits cross-legged before her <pause dur="0.4"/> beguiled by song <pause dur="0.8"/> afterwards he will go to Ellar the secondborn <pause dur="0.6"/> whom he will ravish with whips <pause dur="0.2"/> stuff <trunc>rab</trunc> rags in her mouth to stifle her the rage <pause dur="0.6"/> rub salt into the stripes of her wounds in slow ecstatic ritual trance <pause dur="0.4"/> each

grain caressed and secreted into her ripped skin <pause dur="0.5"/> like a trader placing each counted coin back into his purse <pause dur="0.3"/> her flesh is open like the folds of a purse <pause dur="0.4"/> she receives his munificence of salt <pause dur="0.7"/> by the time he has done with her <pause dur="0.4"/> he has taken the rage from her mouth <pause dur="0.4"/> it opens and closes <pause dur="0.4"/> no word comes <pause dur="0.3"/> it opens and closes <pause dur="0.3"/> it keeps his treasures <pause dur="0.2"/> it will never tell their secret burial places <pause dur="0.4"/> he is content <pause dur="0.4"/> he has made her the keeper of his treasures <pause dur="0.3"/> he unties her hands and lets her go <pause dur="0.6"/> each night he sits in rapture before Rima <pause dur="0.4"/> weeping <pause dur="1.4"/> Turner <pause dur="0.4"/> crammed our boys' mouths too with riches <pause dur="0.6"/> his tongue spurting strange potions upon ours <pause dur="0.3"/> which left us dazed <pause dur="0.4"/> which made us forget the very sound of our speech <pause dur="0.4"/> each night <trunc>ap</trunc> <pause dur="0.4"/> aboard ship <pause dur="0.4"/> he gave selflessly the nipple of his tongue <pause dur="0.3"/> until we learned to say profitably <pause dur="0.3"/> in his own language <pause dur="0.5"/> we desire you <pause dur="0.8"/> we love you <pause dur="0.9"/> we forgive you <pause dur="0.8"/> he whispered eloquently into our ears <pause dur="0.3"/> even as we wriggled beneath him <pause dur="0.3"/> breathless with pain <pause dur="0.4"/> wanting to remove his hook <pause dur="0.3"/>

implanted in our flesh <pause dur="0.4"/> the more we struggled ungratefully <pause dur="0.3"/> the more steadfast his resolve <pause dur="0.2"/> to teach us words <pause dur="0.5"/> he fished us patiently <pause dur="0.3"/> obsessively <pause dur="0.5"/> until our stubbornness gave way <pause dur="0.4"/> to an exhaustion more complete than Manu's sleep <pause dur="0.4"/> after the sword bore into him <pause dur="0.5"/> and we repeated in a trance <pause dur="0.3"/> the words that shuddered from him <pause dur="0.7"/> blessed <pause dur="0.8"/> angelic <pause dur="0.7"/> sublime <pause dur="0.6"/> words that seemed to flow endlessly from him <pause dur="0.4"/> filling our mouths and bellies endlessly</reading> <pause dur="2.4"/> and then the last passage between this # <pause dur="0.8"/> stillborn child and this awakened African <reading>nigger it cries <pause dur="0.7"/> loosening from the hook of my desire <pause dur="0.8"/> drifting away from my body of lies <pause dur="0.3"/> i wanted to teach it a redemptive song <pause dur="0.9"/> fashion new descriptions of things <pause dur="0.5"/> new colours <pause dur="0.3"/> fountaining out of form <pause dur="0.6"/> i wanted to begin anew in the sea <pause dur="0.7"/> but the child would not bear the future nor its inventions <pause dur="0.6"/> and my face was rooted in the ground of memory <pause dur="0.5"/> a ground stampeded by herds of foreign men who swallow all its fruit <pause dur="0.4"/> and leave a trail of

dung for flies to colonize <pause dur="0.3"/> a tongueless earth bereft of song <pause dur="0.4"/> except for the idiot witter of wind through a dead wood <pause dur="0.5"/> nigger it cries <pause dur="0.4"/> naming itself <pause dur="0.5"/> naming the gods the earth and its globe of stars <pause dur="0.4"/> it dips below the surface <pause dur="0.3"/> frantically it tries to die <pause dur="0.3"/> to leave me beadless <pause dur="0.3"/> nothing and a slave to nothingness <pause dur="0.3"/> to the white enfolding wings of Turner <pause dur="0.3"/> brooding over my body <pause dur="0.2"/> stopping my mouth <pause dur="0.3"/> drowning me in the yolk of myself <pause dur="1.4"/> there is no mother <pause dur="1.0"/> family <pause dur="0.9"/> savannah fattening with cows <pause dur="0.4"/> community of faithful men <pause dur="0.3"/> no elders to foretell the conspiracy of stars <pause dur="0.5"/> magicians to douse our burning temples <pause dur="0.3"/> no moon <pause dur="0.4"/> no seed <pause dur="0.5"/> no priest to appease the malice of the gods by gifts of

precious speech <pause dur="0.4"/> rhetoric antique and lofty beyond the grasp and cunning of the heathen and conquistador <pause dur="0.6"/> chants <pause dur="0.3"/> shrieks <pause dur="0.3"/> invocations uttered on the first day spontaneously <pause dur="0.3"/> from the most obscure part of the self <pause dur="0.3"/> when the first of our tribe awoke <pause dur="0.6"/> and was lonely <pause dur="0.2"/> and hazarded foliage of thorns <pause dur="0.3"/> earth that still smouldered <pause dur="0.4"/> the piercing freshness of air in his lungs <pause dur="0.4"/> in search of another image of himself <pause dur="0.9"/> no savannah <pause dur="0.6"/> moon <pause dur="0.5"/> gods <pause dur="0.2"/> magicians to heal or curse <pause dur="0.3"/> harvests <pause dur="0.2"/> ceremonies <pause dur="0.3"/> no men to plough <pause dur="0.4"/> corn to fatten their herds <pause dur="0.3"/> no stars <pause dur="0.3"/> no land <pause dur="0.3"/> no words <pause dur="0.3"/> no community <pause dur="0.9"/> no mother</reading>