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carcanet _______ Photo credit: Javier Machado _______ “Ballad of Oxfraud” was previously published in Wasafiri no. 48, Summer 2006). _______ Contributors |

Christian Campbell
Modernism after T.S. Eliot
“Negroes do dis Negroes do dat Negroes be here Negroes be dere
Look at all dem Negroes!
Lord, my whiteness! Oh Lord, I’m white!”
Ballad of Oxfraud
I.
Bright barefoot boy from Marsh Harbour, Abaco, Abaco which wish to remain with the Crown when the country wanted free. Abaco of the Conchie Joe bosses, the subtle suck-teeth of black Bahamians and the rising tide of Haitians. Pigeon Pea, Sand Banks, The Mud, barefoot black boy who did want follow the footpaths of T.S. Eliot. Green Turtle Cay, Coopers Town, No Name Cay, Man-o-War Cay, Marsh Harbour, Cherokee Sound, seventeen year-old boy with sharkskin tough foot-bottom at the base of a candy-cane lighthouse reciting “Hollow Men.” Island boy who dared to apply to Merton College, Oxford and get a turn-up nose, but slip into Oxford Brookes Uni. nearby, good enough to sneak a glance at Merton some days and listen to the recording of “The Wasteland,” practicing that deadpan, faux English accent. Island colonial with good practice already.
II.
Up the road at Univ. College, poor Vidia Naipaul, decades before, sleeping with the heat turn all the way up, waking up in a sweat, swamp-wet nightmare that he was back in Trinidad. Just the other day the headline of the Sun was, Would you let this man near your daughter? Why yes, they were referring to Benjamin Zephaniah, Rasta poet, nominated for Oxford Professor of Poetry. T.S. Eliot was who this rockfoot man wish to be and since he could not, why not beat Oxford dons at they own game? Why not flam the spires and go back home to a country that reward the best flam, the best sham? Why not earn a Master’s in Tingumology, an LLB in Dis ‘n Dat, a PhD in Flamology? He trod all over Europe and America swinging whitefolk with his black Eliot jig. He wear ascots and bowties, long Merton College scarves and rolled his R’s like thunder. Everyone at Oxford was a fraud, and he could outdon the dons, Oxford Professor of Flam, chickcharney of chicanery, of dupery, bamboozlement, hoodwink, hustle, baloney; of banana oil, Abaco hogwash, skulduggery, swindle, fourberie, skunk, fix, shuffle, hoax.
III.
Back to The Bahamas, a red carpet rolled for him, hardfoot Abaco man, dancing in the road for our Oxbridge don, our Harvard man. All the fraud had make his hair fall out, had colour his teeth a yellow English shade, had fatten him like a Christmas feast hog, stuffed as a straw doll, full full of hot air, he was bald and plump as a West Indian M.P., fat men playing God. He wear 3-piece suits every Jesus Christ day in Nassau bushfire heat. He fight the Anglican priests and the lawyers that article locally for the best Oxbridge clip and tone. His mug grace the papers every other day, resident expert on the economy, politics, history, philosophy and most importantly, Dis ‘n Dat.
IV.
City of dreaming spires
City of beaming liars
City of screaming fires
Tweed jacket never washed
Tweed jacket never washed
P.I. Bridge is falling down
falling down falling down
Fancy dancer Junkanoo
Fancy dancer Junkanoo
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