Caribbean Writers

Video: The Two Cents Movement 

Nestled in the heart of downtown Port of Spain, Greyfriar's 

Church marks the introduction of Presbyterianism to 

Trinidad. In 1837, this church was established to serve the 

British settlers, most of whom were Presbyterian Scots. The 

Trinidad Presbyterian Association, formed in 1834 petitioned 

the Governor, Sir Ralph Woodford for a ministry dedicated to them. Woodford was a major contributor to the development of Port of Spain in the 19th century: the Cathedral of the  Holy Trinity and the Cathedral of Immaculate Conception were also built under his governorship.

THE Greyfriars Church of Scotland on Frede­rick Street, Port of Spain, has reportedly been sold to a private developer, and there is growing concern the building, which dates back to the 1800s, will be torn down. There is also anger the National Trust did not move to list the church, which would have given it legal protection against such a fate. And the family of one of the first reverends to minister at the church wants to know what will become of the graves of their ancestors, and of the church contents, which holds a part of Trinidad’s colonial history.

"It is like a bad dream. What will replace the church hall and the church itself? I pray not another glass-fronted monstrosity, centrally air-conditioned to match so much of what has been allowed to spoil the flavour of Port of Spain. If that were to be the case, it would be the proof that we are continuing our descent into a soulless, heartless, materialistic madhouse. My father and his brother, great grandsons of Reverend Brodie and elders in the church for much of their adult life, must be turning in their graves." - Jennifer De Verteuil

with thanks to Seamus Heaney

The blush of hibiscus bushes lightens road’s edge, spreads over the isle’s south shore.

The sea’s sucked out today— the reefs exposed as altar stones.

I came home to inhale the roots of altar stones I store in my heart, to know again the spawning truth the sea murmurs.

I came home to witness the land awaken from a sudden downpour, to watch how oleanders shrug, buttery alamandas

cup each raindrop, frangipani stiffen then reopen in stillness as brief and full as an evening shadow.

These rhythms, familiar as the deep soil they grow in, reassure, call something untouched in me to free itself below the sun.

Around here things use to give man fit The way they does sweep bad deeds under the carpet You and I know what I saying is true How them does cover up what certain people do Once you up there with rank and file You get away clean—a tap on the wrist and a smile Though you get catch red-handed in corruption Like a reward you get transferred with promotion

Chor: And everything get swept—under the carpet ………..Ask Outlet ‘bout Christian Children funds—if it’s under the carpet ………..And if the forensic report tried to put anything—under the carpet ………..Like the hurricane lumber business went—under the carpet ………..Etc. etc.. etc etc ————-

Around here man use to get real vex But had no means to take out their text You could only grumble and take your blows You were exclusively held in check by the likes of Mr. Rose No matter how you frustrate stress out yourself and tug They will sweep whatever they want to, under the rug It’s the order of the day once you in the club Your punishment for misdeed is transfer to a bigger job

But ’round here like things changing over Since the advent of Radio Observer School Children say they watching with the eyes of the Eagle And nothing go pass—everything go get the needle They say all the under-hand boo-bul, they go make disable And is only clean cards they can play on top the table From captain to cook, nobody getting no break That’s why they investigating the video tape

Chor: Cause no longer will things be swept—under the carpet ………..No corruption cesspool can be swept under the carpet ………..Etc. etc. etc etc - Marcus Christopher 

“He was a successful businessman in the ‘import/export’ sector who doubled as a band leader (trumpeter and saxophonist) and singer. He had sung calypso as early as 1953. He remembers debuting at the Happy Acre Nightclub singing in praise of the colonial government. He initiated his writing career, seriously in 1960.

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They say, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Behold, single mother three children living with her parents to survive.

A girl working two jobs, seven days a week, saving to go to school.

Heart-spurned lover, abuse victim, a decade later; trying to prove to her mother, it’s not her fault.

Voluptuous goddess whose partner is concerned about blood pressure, diet, shortness of breath.

Child in a grown body, with a woman’s years, trying too grab the attention of men who look like the picture of her father.

Bag lady, your eyes tell stories of glory, despair, success, failure deceit, withdrawn ineptness.

Grandmother falls from her bed in the home.

Daughter does not sue— tired of the long drives every month.

Life does not make you less beautiful.