IRA MATH­UR

This week’s spot­light is on T&T-born po­et and writer Gilberte Farah O’Sul­li­van, whose po­em “Ago­ra­pho­bia Around the Sa­van­nah” has been nom­i­nat­ed in the USA for the ‘Best of the Net’ Award (to be an­nounced in 2024).

Farah O’Sul­li­van, whose po­ems were first pub­lished in the Trinidad Ex­press when she was 13 and at­tend­ing Prov­i­dence Girls’ Sec­ondary School (a nun was im­pressed by her work and sent it to the pa­per), has been pub­lished glob­al­ly, in­clud­ing Moko Mag­a­zine (USVI), Or­ange Peel (USA), An­tir­rhinum (USA), Bar­ren (USA), Post Script (USA), Voice of Eve (USA), Gar­gouille (Aus­tralia), The Spring City (UK), Zan­na (UK), Sun­days by the Riv­er (Hol­land/UK). O Sul­li­van’s po­et­ry col­lec­tion is cur­rent­ly un­der con­sid­er­a­tion by a UK po­et­ry press.

Cur­rent­ly based in the UK, Farah O’Sul­li­van says hav­ing lived in Trinidad for 30 years (punc­tu­at­ed by two mi­gra­tions), the Caribbean land­scape is em­bed­ded in the “soul” of her po­et­ry. The urge to be near the sea is a run­ning ‘char­ac­ter’ in her work.

“I am haunt­ed by di­choto­mous themes of tran­sience and per­ma­nence, be­long­ing and non-be­long­ing. The in­ner and out­er life in­ter­min­gle in my work that ex­am­ines wom­an­hood, faith, myth, land­scape, fears, strange re­la­tion­ships, heart­break, dys­func­tion­al­i­ty, and the dis­turb­ing won­der of life while deeply root­ed in Trinidad.”

But, Farah O’Sul­li­van says Trinidad is “al­so a place of dan­ger and dis­place­ment. It’s a place she strives to love, “even though it can be rough on the heart.”

Farah O’Sul­li­van’s in­ter­na­tion­al­ly recog­nised po­em “Ago­ra­pho­bia Around the Sa­van­nah” must res­onate with women in Trinidad who reg­u­lar­ly vis­it the Queens Park Sa­van­nah in Port-of-Spain and any woman who has felt fear in pub­lic spaces. Japan­ese pan­nist Asa­mi Na­gakiya was found there in 2016, stran­gled on Ash Wednes­day un­der a tree. That mix­ture of fear and sad­ness around the beloved na­tion­al park has in­ten­si­fied for women in Trinidad af­ter 24-year-old Gabriel­la Rafael, of Diego Mar­tin, a moth­er of five, was raped and stran­gled in May this year.

Ago­ra­pho­bia Around the Sa­van­nah (ex­cerpt with miss­ing stan­zas). With An­tho­ny Vah­ni Capildeo (nom­i­nat­ed in the UKA for the Best of The Net award (an­nounced in 2024). All rights be­long to the au­thor, and ex­cerpts are pub­lished here with ex­press per­mis­sion from the au­thor.

Ago­ra­pho­bia Around the Sa­van­nah

With An­tho­ny Vah­ni Capildeo by Gilberte Farah O’Sul­li­van

Do I talk a set of wild­ness?

Wild­ness, but not chaos.

Cat­a­clysm I want cat­a­clysm.

Ex­plo­sion al­so sig­nals be­gin­nings

s p r e a d o u t m a s s i v e

Here was once a plan­ta­tion

Then cows, then air­planes, then hors­es, crick­et

Bod­ies buried, mas­quer­aders

...mur­ders,

A nip of kind­ness

to those who walked be­fore.

But as for now, at this mo­ment,

need a sin­gle jumbie seed

Look I found three!

On­ly take one at a time.

You could at least make

a hand-band with the oth­ers.

One seed at a time -

don’t con­fuse mat­ters.

Does it get hot when you rub it?

No, that is don­key­eye

Ah yes, cor­rec­tion tak­en

we are all in need of cor­rec­tion.

Can it be worn for pro­tec­tion?

Not sure about pro­tec­tion.

Can­not be­lieve you leave

so soon, back to your co­coon

Ex­pect you will miss the heat

…….

Girl, I am so ex­posed.

No rosary pea can com­fort me

Feel I’m go­ing mad some­times.

Feel to take rheum of dog eye,

put it in my own, see the dev­il clear­er.

If noth­ing else, at least you know good obeah.

(pub­lished by or­angepeel, 2022 USA)

Deleri­um, af­ter Plath

(Ex­cerpt) by Gilberte Farah O’Sul­li­van

I thank her too ear­ly,

the woman who has brought me

tea in a bro­ken han­dle cup

that was once my moth­er’s.

It’s plain or­ange pekoe,

the kind that ails your stom­ach–

a low brand of sym­pa­thy

no one else cares to steep.

Locked in the cup­board for years,

leaves es­cape the wee­vil-bur­rowed

fil­ter and set­tle like ring­worm dust.

This wors­ens the headache.

Last night I found her mod­el­ing pho­tos.

Her lips a gor­geous wound in sor­rel red

What man or beast could re­sist

a well-pressed camisole at her breast,

fresh­wa­ter pearls, a strand of sper­ma­to­zoa.

There is still some ham and mus­tard

left from Christ­mas, but she has

for­got­ten bread, so I do not eat.

Why can’t you be civ­il? My fa­ther asks.

Twelfth-cen­tu­ry nuns lopped off their noses

In hopes of a peace­able vir­gin­i­ty

Vikings blazed their con­vent any­way.

Agape-mouthed am I. In fu­ture

I must de­vise a clev­er­er plan

to avoid spit­ing my own face.

(pub­lished by Bar­ren mag­a­zine,

2018, USA)

Out­side Woman

by Gilberte Farah O’Sul­li­van (Ex­cerpt)

She came to him open-mouthed

like the caves of Gas­pa­ree,

black gums drip­ping sta­lac­tite

breath­ing ten­drils of herb,

Curs­ing a streak of blue

dev­ils on his prog­e­ny.

Un­re­pen­tant, she leapt the fire pass

feel­ing no pain, her steps

cal­loused since the day an en­e­my

broomed her feet

so she would not mar­ry.

He did not mind her pep­perseed tongue

It made him dream of coars­er food

he’d hun­gered for too long.

(Pub­lished in Voice of Eve, 2018)

Gilberte Farah O’Sul­li­van, cur­rent­ly pur­su­ing a diplo­ma in coun­selling and psy­chother­a­py in the UK, holds an MFA in Cre­ative Fic­tion/Cul­tur­al Stud­ies from UWI and BA in Eng­lish Lit­er­a­ture from the US and is cur­rent­ly edit­ing her un­pub­lished nov­el, My Dar­ling In­dra, which is set in Trinidad and based on fam­i­ly se­crets and scan­dals.

Ira Math­ur is a Guardian colum­nist and the win­ner of the non-fic­tion OCM Bo­cas Prize for Lit­er­a­ture 2023.